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~ Epistles (Mark Jarman)
~ Poetry of the Divine Feminine
(Jane Galer)
~ Breathing (Carol Aronof)
~ The Most Secret Window (Natalie
Vanderbilt)
Epistles (Mark Jarman)
A Catholic who claimed that St. Francis is perhaps the most
beloved of saints would meet few arguments, even from non-Catholics.
His popularity might be gauged by the number of gardens in
which his statue appears, usually feeding birds or holding
out his delicate hand to deer and rabbits. Many garden owners
aren't especially religious, but they're attracted to St.
Francis anyway. And why not? In humility and compassion, he
almost transcends those pious partygoers, his fellow saints.
But even the divine Francis faced a late test that plagued
his life of service and devotion. He feared lepers. He found
them repulsive, disgusting, horrific. Seeing one on the road
or in the village, he'd literally turn and run away like a
hysterical child. This uncontrollable fear almost led to Francis
renouncing his vows and leaving the monastery. How could he
do God's work when he couldn't even do the work of a simple,
compassionate man?
Francis's spiritual struggle was terrific. We know he succeeded
(we need only check a few gardens to be assured of that),
but how? Walking down a lane one day, Francis met up with
his worst nightmare. A horribly disfigured leper burst out
of the hedge and onto the road directly in Francis's path.
The men stopped, facing each other. A moment later, Francis
threw his arms around the leper and kissed him on the mouth.
A signature moment, a St. Francis moment.
This is a beautiful, inspiring resolution, but we can only
wonder about Francis's years of struggle before he spiritually
broke through.
Mark Jarman's new book of poetry consists of 30 letters
to God, to believers and non-believers, to familiars, and
to himself that give us the marvelous experience of living
and working through just such a struggle. EPISTLES is Jarman's
honest, insightful, painful, and uplifting account of meeting
and embracing his leper.
READER ALERT! These are not one-trick-pony poems. These
are dense, provocative, edgy, yet relentlessly reasonable
reflections on the meaning of faith in our scary America and
only slightly less frightening world. I delight in reading
these poems aloud, the better to catch their stick-in-your-heart
cadences, their often surprising yet clear as spring water
imagery, and their uncompromising truths. Reading aloud also
unveils the subtleties of Jarman's often exquisite thought.
A believer who has long suffered dramatic doubt, Jarman addresses
God and us with a familiarity that undercuts reverence without
destroying it. He questions, questions, and then questions
some more. At times I can imagine him in God's eyes, who regards
the poet as that charming A-student who is at times annoying
because he always has a question, then one more after that.
In spiritual practice, the goal is integration, making the
practice seamless with all that we do in our daily lives.
Jarman succeeds, and the proof is in every page. Whether he
is jogging, watching birds, contemplating trees and flowers,
lying in bed beside his wife, remembering, debating religious
fine points, teaching, or probing the language of science,
Jarman is faithful to spiritual questing as The Point of his
time here on earth.
As a result, he has given us the gift of his most mature,
best book. Again, read one or two of these epistles aloud
each day. I find that they work nicely in my own daily practice
of prayers, poems, and mantras. What better recommendation
for a book of poetry than that?
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Poetry of the Divine Feminine (Jane
Galer)
Jane Galer lives on the wild northern California coast in
a map-only town called Elk. It is a wild, lonely place that
I imagine drives one mad, or inspires one to enormous wakefulness.
No one desiring the comfort of the in-between could live there.
It’s a fecund, dramatic landscape that almost demands
art, or artful being, of its tenants. This poet is exemplary
in her attention to that demand.
Too Deep for Tears, Galer’s first book, invites
us to savor poems made out of velvet green hills and scudding
clouds, night blooming jasmine, fog, hawk and gull. Most of
all, these poems celebrate Aphrodite. Everywhere her changeable
moon watches us. Whether we’re experiencing the poet’s
riffs in this collection’s third section (The Inner
Realm), or traveling with her through the second section’s
homage to Ireland, we’re aware of the fact that we’re
caught up in a powerful expression of feminine energy.
It’s not female lust or Feminism I mean. It has nothing
to do with familiar distinctions between male and female.
These poems contain something new that is very old; it was
long suppressed and almost forgotten, but it has reappeared
with great power in recent years, and it just might save our
world if we are wise enough to open ourselves to it. I speak,
of course, of the Divine Feminine, the source of life, love,
and selfless power. Men and women were once bound together
in fortunate service to this force, but the subjugation of
women by paranoid men created a world of darkness in which
we wander blind to this day.
I beg you: do not be confused. The Divine Feminine is not
Pussy Power. It is not a subjugating force seeking to enslave
men economically, physically, politically, or spiritually.
Rather, it is a spiritual contract with nature, an expansive
opening. It is a surrender to intimacy, a shedding of self-interest
and an ecstatic celebration of the beauty in everything. But
in order to perceive it, we must wake up. We must open our
senses in mindful awareness of all that is exquisite in each
precious moment. That awareness brings one to the altar of
Aphrodite and the Divine Feminine. The courageous and the
wide awake are already there, and Jane Galer is with them.
Perhaps it is necessary to reassure you that Galer does not
write poems of madness. In her verse, she demonstrates repeatedly
that she is accomplished in using complex and simple forms.
She has a healthy sense of humor and an earthy, utterly natural
ability to emotionally undress when it is appropriate. Her
poems arise from the practice, both physical and spiritual,
of mindfully leaning into"winds swift with poetry and
magic tongues," and giving in to "a freefall of
longing/measured by zodiacal whimsy/my fate to wander."
However it came to pass (and all paths are unique), Galer’s
transfiguration to Aphrodite priestess is apparent everywhere
in Too Deep for Tears. The title, appropriately inherited
from Wordsworth, echoes in every poem, and in the elephant
memory of our devotion. These poems distill life into every
human emotion, and they rain down in ecstasy. The ghosts of
Yeats and Sappho are with Galer, too, and for a time they
are with us, her fortunate readers.
This is an auspicious debut, a timely singing. Mother Earth
has never been more receptive. It’s time for us to wake
up, embrace such good news, and act for the benefit of all
beings.
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I have exhaled old stars,
atoms of lovers entwined
in my marrow, good stories
and bad news.
Thus begins Carol Aronof’s poem, Breathing,
which like most of her poems explores the mysterious connections
between human beings, nature, and worlds beyond the veil.
There is nothing occasional or haphazard about her agenda,
her method. Her poems and photographs are integral parts of
a grand whole, so that one can start anywhere in this book,
read in any direction, and feel right at home in the company
of a generous spiritual mentor and companion.
Aronof’s poetry and photographs are rare gifts. She
writes with striking sensual clarity and a sensitivity to
the natural world that reminds one of Mary Oliver and Emily
Dickinson. She is fearless and compassionate, an unforgettable
yogini or tantric priestess among us.
For this reason alone it may take some time for this poet
to find her audience. Those who pay attention to poetry today
are conditioned to accept much less intensity and engagement
in verse. Occasional poems, meandering poems, word game poems,
poems written for the approval of small, select audiences
garner most of what little attention poetry receives. Aronof
is light years beyond these games.
In a way, it’s a shame. It’s a shame because her
poems are so timely yet timeless, so uplifting and deeply
spiritual. They are the poems we need now, more than ever.
Experiencing them inspires profound connections to our world
and our own spiritual practice. They surprise, challenge,
delight, and reassure us. They deliver us to a condition where
"Resting/in the ground of being, deathless peace prevails."
Aronoff’s exquisite photographs, which accompany each
poem, brilliantly reinforce this message and add visual imagery
that calms and focuses the mind. I cannot think of a more
profound and successful integration of text and photography.
Aronoff’s eye and ear and heart are unique and brilliant.
If it were in my power, I would make this collection required
reading for politicians everywhere, who are so bereft of spirituality
and integrity.
Integrity is the word, the condition, buttressing Aronoff’s
twin projects of poetry and photography. It’s a word
the world nods to yet seems to divorce so easily from daily
conduct. This poet’s fierce defense of it reminds us
that all of us are still capable of living as if guided by
integrity in everything we say and do.
No one questions my appearance
on the lip of trumpet vine; for once
I’m no imposter nor dream catcher
in someone else’s dream.
What more can we ask of poetry? Of living? Be good to yourself
and read this book, then give a copy to everyone you care
about. Each poem and each photograph will lead you to an experience
that is perhaps best described as blossoming.
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Natalie Vanderbilt’s
The Most Secret Window is a tour de force.
I first encountered this remarkable project in a workshop
at the Taos Writers Conference and quickly realized that I
was reading something out of the ordinary. Its American precursors
are Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Edwin Arlington Robinson,
the contemporary epics of George Keithley, Brenda Marie Osbey,
Frederick Pollack, and David Mason, and the Irish dramas of
W. B. Yeats.
Like all of these ancestors, Vanderbilt creates an evocative
world that enriches a reader’s existence beyond measure.
The receptive reader will find her perception of time and
passion forever changed. As Yeats memorably wrote, "A
terrible beauty is born."
Set in San Francisco and Maine, The Most Secret Window
presents the story of a shipping magnate, Grayson, and his
Maine lover, Lara, whom he has never met except in dreams.
The premise and relationship so described may seem unrewarding,
even frustrating, but I encourage readers not to give up too
soon.
Grayson’s is a life of unforgiving structure and responsibility.
His shipping empire is under constant attack by a brutal adversary,
Selby. His real-time woman, Katherine, is a beautiful, emotionally
remote individual with a steely heart and an agenda that contains
her own self-interest. His best friend (best since boyhood)
and business lieutenant lacks the imaginative depth to commiserate
with his heartache. Only in his dreams, in the seductive,
compassionate arms of Lara, is Grayson able to find expansive
love and serenity. This impossible gift grants him the space
he needs to develop his own compassion, not just for his lover,
but for all beings. The story’s relentless tension arises
from his impossible yet inevitable travel from one world to
the other and back again.
We are familiar with tales that transport us back and forth
in time and dimension, but few stories come to us with such
exquisite, tormenting balance. That is what this epic poem
is all about: balancing passions and ambition. How does one
open oneself wholly to love in a world that reduces love to
an amusement or a business transaction, something partaken
of in the dark, small hours between stages of combat and acquisition?
How does one literally make time for love when one is so thoroughly
conditioned for conquest? Inevitably, those who cannot break
through the veil end up settling for less.
Her lips pressed to his and stirred to life
An unforgiving and painful passion.
They had done the forbidden in earthly life,
They had found one another with thought.
Instead of body to body, the human strife,
They’d done something they’d never been taught.
When one opens oneself to love, one surrenders the requirements
of old paradigms and becomes a new person. That new being
does not fit in an emotional straitjacket or war zone.
Such a person may not fit in any concept we recognize. Grayson’s
conflict is itself epic, exhilarating and tragic in its many
scenes and acts, and Lara, despite the ethereal fact of her
presence, becomes somehow more real to us than all of the
other very real characters in the story. Though Vanderbilt’s
zest for jarring, brutal action scenes periodically shocks
us, though the San Francisco she paints is weirdly fascinating,
it is the lovers themselves who compel us to read on. There
is an elusive urgency in human emotion that few writers are
really successful in fully recognizing and bringing to life
in poems. Vanderbilt is one of the few. In this epic tale
she creates a compassionate, passionate alternative to a world
that too often dozes in dreamless sleep.
The universe is smaller
Than the love
That flows between us.
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