Finding the Colors: Recently published poetry and photos, July 2021
Meteor Crater, more Kalevala, Numina, Trees and Plants
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First, a visit back in time to the tiny village of Holleford, Ontario, just north of Kingston, a place not easy to find on a map, where a large meteorite crashed and left a crater long ago. Here is one image from this mini-photo essay that was just published in Wanderlust Journal.
https://wanderlust-journal.com/2021/07/11/7647/
The second in my trio of prose poems retelling episodes from the Finnish national epic The Kalevala, appeared recently in the summer solstice issue of Gone Lawn journal.
http://gonelawn.net/journal/issue41/Freer.php
Here it is, in an alternate, non-prose poem format.
Tears to Pearls
Daring, reliable shaman, Väinämöinen,
eternal poet, sails north to gloom and sedges
to steal back the Sampo, magic three-part mill
fashioned of cow’s milk, swan quill, barley,
ewe’s summer fleece—one part to grind flour,
one for salt, one for money—three binfuls
every morning to ensure prosperity
for its owner (that’s all anyone wants,
despite the beauty of its ciphered lid).
He chants spells, travels safely through rapids,
marshlands, inland waters, until the ship stalls
on a giant pike’s shoulders and must be freed,
he cuts the fish in two with a sword (what else
could he do), tail part into the sea, front part
into his boat, he steers to an island to cook
the pike and eat it until only bones remain.
Väinämöinen crafts a five-stringed harp
from the pikebones (one can make the first
of its kind from anything), body from jaw,
pegs from teeth, but the kantele sends out
no joyful music at the hands of any islander,
nor can any in the Northland make it ring,
its charming chords speak only for its maker.
Animals come to listen: squirrel, weasel,
elk, lynx, wolf, bear, eagle, hawk, swan,
salmon, carp, perch (even pike, not knowing
the music’s source), all weep to hear the harp,
the songmaker too, his tears big as peas,
cranberries, partridge eggs, a swallow’s head,
the tears roll to the sea, down below the water.
Väinämöinen offers a gift to the one
who can retrieve his tears (there is always
an impossible task), asks the people gathered,
asks the raven but even he does not comply,
only the blue-billed scaup offers to dive,
finds rare blue pearls, the tears changed
by sweet tones into lasting treasure.
* Source material: E. Lönnrot, The Kalevala, Runos 39-41, trans. E. Friberg (Otava Publishing, 1988).
Also in the summer solstice issue of Gone Lawn journal, another prose poem written for a good friend.
Numina
for Liz M.
No stories were ever told about the Numina*, practical gods of ancient Rome, helpers and protectors of families, who guarded the cradle, presided over children's food, dignified everyday life.
**
After miscarriage, residual cells—unseen microchimerisms—travel the mother's body like a relentless spring tide of Numina, morph into other types of cells, intertwine with hers in a delicate, familial ballet.
They tell their own stories: how they endure the low-grade hum of waiting, defend and fight for the mother's life, protect future tiny siblings, offer second chances. The last quotes the first, looped in love.
* Italicized line: E. Hamilton, Mythology, p. 44 (Mentor Books, 1940).
And to finish, two recently published photos, one of new-growth pine trees against a backdrop of burned trees in Glacier National Park that appeared in Montana Mouthful for their issue with a theme of New Beginnings:
In Young Ravens Literary Review, a “roots” themed issue, this photo of tiny plants growing in the rock crevices of The Burren, a unique ecosystem and geographical area in the west of Ireland:
Other casual photos of mine, published and unpublished, are on my Flickr page in case you are interested.
https://www.flickr.com/photos/190505440@N06/
Thanks for coming along on this journey!
I love the prose poem - and in fact, even more when it's laid out as in Finding the Colors! And so few people in the English-speaking world are familiar with the Kalevala, so it's truly an inspired project. The photos are also wonderful, especially the one of the little shoots growing in the rock crevices.