Canto XIX
The poet and historian Robert Graves had found Her, locked away among
the musty, still forbidden, past. No less glamorous than the last day
Her feet had been bathed in wine and dried by the hair of fair maidens.
Shining forth, immortalized forever, his name to be attached to a
Goddess...The White Goddess.
The One whose ambivalence (Hers alone) is blessed. The One that cannot
be denied...though hidden from view these millennia. A woman with power
is stern to so many who would model the fair as the earth...to plow,
place seed in... to dishevel in hunger, to abandon to meagre Winter. The
White Goddess is more than earth, She is the very disposition of the
elements. Nothing persists without Her. One nation after another needed
to personify Godhood in their kings...lusting for power that paid
nothing to Her. Never allowing even that one Roman day to set aside for
Her.
Wanting no one to know how She gave both the men and their women new seasons of expectation,
allowing love to come with harvest...not just wealth...preferring even famine to grasp that last hoard of gold from the poor.
The White Goddess
I was not whole until You took my lust,
Giving back love.
I was not open to all You had to caress
Until you showed me tenderness.
I was not intoxicated to gentleness
Except when You sang the Song of David,
Making forged iron soft to sweet Earth.
The maidens gather at Your temple steps.
Baskets of flower petals blessed by
their tiny picking finger tips.
Can I love You any better than this?,
To throw what I have at Your feet.
Counting You will return in brown season
To harbor me, changing bitter to sweet.
The maidens gather at Your temple steps.
Baskets of flower petals blessed by
their tiny picking finger tips.
Copyright May 2001 James C. Horak
James,
ReplyDeleteI come back here from time to time to read through your Cantos . They all have a a particular music within them , they all carry a weight and depth of wisdom that I dive into and swim within and learn from. Poetry and prose have for me long been a source to drink from , without fully knowing why . They answer an instinctual longing for something greater , more expansive than what is passed around in daily expressions, I seek for that which matches the glory of what I see within nature , what I yearn for us to fully express here on this earth , the beauty of the Moon , and its true stories , the bright passing of a shooting star . The same feeling rises from listening to a beautiful piece of music, but it is even greater than that when I contemplate the things you have revealed to us and combine that knowledge with a new understanding of the vast canvas of the cosmos. I just love the beauty of the expression that takes place within a poem such as this , the phrasing , rhythm , at times it is almost a synesthesia that takes over. . I turn to the art form for healing and nurturing and it has never failed me. Your words here , in the introduction and within the poem , say so much that I have felt in my heart , an encapsulation of a greater longing, expressed with a deep respect and a tender beauty . *
"Making forged iron soft to sweet Earth.
The maidens gather at Your temple steps.
Baskets of flower petals blessed by
their tiny picking finger tips. "
How I would love to be able to answer this with my own poem , perhaps one day I will. :) A heartfelt thanks to you James .
Mhairead .