the flight of the wild swan
between earth and air
between life and fire
between transcendence and the fragile body
between the wild swan and the burnt man
between divine ecstasy and nuclear fall out
the royal swan of the soul floats on the cosmic ocean
despite the cosmic ocean being filled with blood
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For Wednesday Sense Day, a little peak behind the scenes, a little more about this poem. Following is a journal entry written as I was leading up to the poem, with the intention of responding to the image above by Ervin Janek
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'There is a figure that Dirk made when he was in year twelve. It’s the bust of a person whose flesh is melting from a nuclear bomb. I’m thinking about that sculpture because Ervin used it in a photo that I’m wanting to write about. The photo is called Flight of The Gander, named after one of Joseph Campbell’s books, Flight of The Wild Gander. In the photo a monk sits in contemplation or meditation next to Dirk’s melting head, and a gander is flying overhead.
'The Wild Gander is a symbol of paramahansa, literally ‘supreme swan’, it symbolizes spiritual discrimination. ‘The swan is equally at home on land and on water; similarly, the true sage is equally at home in the realms of matter and of spirit. To be in divine ecstasy and simultaneously to be actively wakeful is the paramahansa state; the 'royal swan' of the soul floats in the cosmic ocean.’
'But how, when beside you is a face melted by the heat of a nuclear explosion? How could the monk not be torn? Granted, we learn to live with the atrocities we see on the media everyday. We have to. But how can one possibly be in divine ecstasy?
'Perhaps, however, there is such a thing as transcendence. It would certainly beat depression. And in the end, what is the difference between one form of suffering and another? And what is it, when we are suddenly lifted by a sunset or a small bird, a child or a magnificent tree. What happens to our awareness of suffering?'
between earth and God --
the old man
You can see this image and others by Ervin Janek here.
There’s a space
where he isn’t.
It’s enormous and keeps
following me around
now here, now here.
The space used to be
full of laughter
and fun, compassion
With him I could
be my self.
When I lost him
I lost a true friend
The photo is by my husband Ervin Janek. It is called 'Mother and Son'. I find it very touching, especially in the context of this poem. It was done a long time before our son died, but it seems perfect.
The poem reminds me of some of the old Chinese poets, Li Po etc. What do you think?
I have a thing about this genesis story. It pisses me off that women take the rap for all that original sin shit, and have to cover their hair and be treated like dirt. Anyway it is fertile ground for creative stuff, as are most myths. This painting is called, Togetherness, with the subtitle, Surely the Omnipotent One Saw It All. Well, actually I forget what it was called, but something like that. I painted it a while ago now. Those blue eyes are His. I don't know how I came up with the idea that the serpent and Eve and Adam are one being, but I quite like it. Take responsibility for the serpent in you, and stop blaming others. Keep out of it God.
Following is a poem about the same story. Also written quite a while ago. I think I've blogged it before, but it's a good read. It will be in the book I have coming out at the end of the year.
Adam’s belly was tight with seriousness and blind faith.
He knew nothing of sensual delights or even animal instinct.
He was on his rock waiting for God I think.
He was lean with fasting. Meanwhile I was retching
on my desire and curiosity, growing thin
on stars and water. I wanted words and ideas,
vivid opinions, something more interesting
than the garden. Then I met the serpent.
He understood my predicament and boredom.
He shared with me some secrets he’d learnt
when he was in God’s good books –
that there is so much more and we can know it.
‘Well,’ I thought, ‘I’ve had enough of basking
on lawns all day. Give me some stimulation.’
So I enticed Adam down from his rock
and we shared a bit of knowledge.
I’d been so used to him hanging around on rocks
that I hadn’t even noticed his superb body.
The sex we had was so intense it was embarrassing,
hence the fig leaves, besides which later
we could strip them off each other.
God heard our moans. That’s what woke him up.
He didn’t have a lot to say because he was so jealous
but he cast us out of his paradise into the rest of his creation.
Out here there is this minor problem of death
but the sex is still good.
Here is a profile of Ervin and me about (among other things) our Exhibition at Gallery 1855 last month. A bit of a look into behind the scenes stuff, thinking, aims, questions and answers, etc.
If you're wondering about this image, our opening speaker, Gavin Blake, had us all sing 'Happy Birthday' to Ervin. How often do you get to do something so delightfully frivolous at an exhibition opening? It was a hoot.
a love of life
what you cannot change
he says, weeping
a bag of stones
a head of poems
my Mother’s Day
the pen scratches
calls of a night bird