SOVEREIGN

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Aeturnus: The Feast of Ages

Golden threads of light nurture ancient aether,

Woven dreams playing ‘cross bleak Northern shores;

Glowing in blind-black storms of frosted weather...

A snow-owl thro’ halo’s of heaven soars.

Roar of Boreas: swart screams into bitter cold,

Thro’ limbs of death dancing hawthorn, greenest pine;

Aurora’s ribbons flowing: lucent on bold blue...

Spectral hues streaming in waves thro’ space and time.

Polaris: stellar regent pearl, in guiding strong,

Thro’ sleep and years, navigating the knowing soul;

Sov’reign Arcticus chants a celestial song...

Willow’s bear revolves ‘round the crown of the pole.

Three flames: Magi charting the brightest star,

Caspar, Melchior, Balthazzar set on sure path;

Compassing desert, mountain, sea and lands afar...

Wisdom in the quest for the prophecy of true faith.

Gold, frankincense, myrrh: blossoms of Mother’s Earth,

Honour-gifts for the divine birth, new hope springs;

Treasure-balm: the warm spirit of Heaven’s hearth....

Word of Glory revealed: Angel Gabriel sings.

Vibrant echoes thrum deep in a church of stones,

Wicks flicker praise on shadow’d walls: songs lift a veil

Psalms adore in faith, love’s vision inspiring tones...

Welcome brighter bliss to vales of ghostly pale.

The tender prayer of worth is ever burning,

In shrines revered: shines eternal in dim-lit night

Breath of every dawn emerging, each Yule a yearning;

The feast of All-Ages... For the Prince of All-Light.

Friday, September 19, 2008

Sionnach: The Hawks Tale of Tadghan the Fox

Sionnach: The Hawks Tale of Tadghan the Fox, Poem by Lord Carville

In this 'conachlonn' (a simple Bardic form of chain verse) I have tried to evoke the path of life that revolves in and around a forest footpath with the main characters of the fox and the hawk. Various activities are seen in sharp, penetrative glimpses, sounds and colors. I have also included some alliteration and linking cross rhymes.

Harrow'd tale of Prince Todd unlocks;

Foxs' dark damp earthen burrow,

Durrow's forest of mighty oaks.

Rooks perch black in cawing sorrow,

Follow the path by trickling brook

Drunk the trout in silver'd shallow

Fallow deer in soft shadows lurk -

Stark glimpse of fierce snapping horror,

Sparrows rise in wild frightened flock,

Work is hardest hunting hallowed,

Hollow echoes of far distant barks

Dark is deaths' intention t'morrow

Borrowed life for life sustaining spark,

Fork through leaves the killer glowered...

Billowed strength and the final crack

Smack of sharpest teeth; poor fellow,

Willows curtain hides the sneaky rake,

Drake tastes of fine feathered tallow,

Mellow now; a placid reddish lake,

Snakes whistle b'tween furnish yarrow,

Yellow speckled dawn of sun's sparks

Larks chant choral in dappled meadows

Narrow path to his hearth he walks,

Stalks now sweet dreams in mossy slumber,

Summer'd eye of the sensuous hawk;

Talk of trails well harrow'd.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

A Sonnet in Praise of Solitary Pissers

Hark! What wond’rous muse echoes thro’ pale walls?

Tinkling streams slip murmurs ‘cross yonder vales,

Whistling to world’s end; swift waterfalls,

Sweet liquors flow in glistening amber trails.

From deepest caves concealed in fleshy silks,

Dams break wild in passions wet farewell kiss,

Nature’s purpose; to sprinkle golden milk;

Jewel crusted cunt and curly cock in bliss.

Chosen praise; true athletic aim is bound,

Each crotch in careful urine rhyme resorts

Ripe fruit slashed, juice flows from blessed mound;

On thrones at home, abroad, all fine exotic ports.

A common prayer to vast oceans expanse –

Lonesome pissers assume the holy stance...!

Sunday, July 6, 2008

Caim: The Soul of My Child

This is a poem I wrote in tribute of the daughter of a dear friend, Paul, who died of cancer aged only 21 years. It professes my belief that death is not the end of existence but an ‘ever-flowing’ continuum. I have tried to establish the feeling of joy, fragility and sorrow which accompanies the death of a child (similarly the death of our Samuel, our own boy) – but in this case the demise of a dearly beloved young lady with immense potential. The structure of the poem is based on the Gaelic concept of ‘caim’ – which means a ‘circle’ and I have employed it in terms of a revolving and flowing life, a circle of family members and friends and a wholeness, a connected spirit of being.

Caim

The child of my soul was an apple seed

Composed in bliss, an eternal kiss on the eve;

Summer’s honey; fragrant exchange of passion

Two became one in rapture.

Gentle breath from a slowly arising sun,

Her tender limbs grew into empty rooms, life

Love, laughter, and joy, the whistle of leaves

Wind delicate mosaic of music.

A melodious heart with transparent wings

Beautiful but fragile form of aspirations

Diadem of moon; silent and solemn witness

Sharpened teeth of a violent black storm.

Astringent clouds swirling down, maleficent

Before her first blossoming, cut and snatched

And complete silence now, an empty room

Space beyond the grasp of our fingertips.

Deep longing for one more warm embrace

A yearning for confirmation of essence

Which is now but an echo, lost in faraway

Flickering light in the bosom of the west.

A despair that trembles in tides, and out

Tears flowing from the oceans’ depths

The core of an apple reveals the seed

The memory of her...

Which is the soul of my child.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Floridian Ode

For all good Floridians, east and west, their honesty, forthright and generous manners, their steadfastness throughout the trials and tribulations in history and political change, fortitude and perseverance amidst inclement and inconstant seasons, but mostly for bearing with great dignity that essential repose and attitude of fair outlook which shines as an example of true character and nobility.

A hue of tropic harmony whispers sweet ‘cross an azure sky,

Dawn’s fair flame of time sweeps the shores in gilded sigh,

Perfumed paschal flower first caught and blessed in Spanish eye.

In search of youthful fountains, virgin sands claimed by foreign ships…

The Martyr Charles to French Louisiana, Paris’ peace settled the lands,

Pure Pensacola’s Indian crown, with King George and Britain stands,

Flowing rivers roar from East to West, maps redrawn by distant hands.

Opulent groves of orange fruits, revolution rises in crisis and rips…

Walls rebuilt by independent folk, a bright star rises to guide the strong,

Seventy days of sweet liberty, then General Jackson’s battle song

Good souls sued for victory, fertile fields bought in treaty; right or wrong?

Seasons change, thunder then sun in turn, tempests of birth, life to death slips…

The lightening strike of civil war; and enrolled into the Confederate cause,

A peaceful land in savage shots, Lincoln’s cause for slaves deals blows,

Yet bearing the truth, considerate, in the end a rose from thorns she grows.

Never a land forgotten, constant beauty forever fragrant on men’s lips.

Image: General James Grant of Ballindalloch (1720-1806) an interesting and colorful figure. He enjoyed a distinguished career in the British Army – serving much of his time in American. He was a young major in the French and Indian War (1758), led an expedition against the Cherokees in North Carolina (1761), served as Governor of East Florida (1763-1771) and was promoted to Major General during the American War of Independence. General Grant was a noted bon vivant and always traveled with his own personal chef and a generous cache of fine wines and brandy. After retiring from the army with the rank of General, he served as a Member of Parliament. King George III presented General Grant with life-sized portraits of the King, and Queen Charlotte, by the famous painter Allan Ramsay. Those paintings still adorn the walls of the dining hall at Ballindalloch Castle.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Chaucer and the Reevers

A ballad exploring the subtle or hidden dimensions of ‘The Reeves Tale’ by Geoffrey Chaucer.

This tale has always fascinated me because of the unknown or unrealized connections with Northumberland: the two scholars speaking in the dialect of that region. For me the central key to understanding the text is in the interplay of words; reve, reeve and reever, whilst a Reeve was the administrative political representative of a King in a particular area, in Northumberland a Reever was a poet/bandit of the borders, and ‘to reve’ is to steal. Here I see a microcosmic satire on the political organization of Chaucer’s day, a commentary on ethics and morality gone wild, the corruption of religion symbolized by the miller who assumes complete (and often illegal) control of an essential process in bread-making. A pun on the name of St. Cuthbert, making him ‘cutberd’ or deceiver enhances this attack on religion, combined with the dubious origin of Symkins wife; the daughter of a ‘Parson’ or parish priest. Brute force, philosophy, deception, vengeance, lust and savage violence are the key elements of this tale, and I cannot but envisage (for some reason) the two scholars as the mythic Castor and Pollux on a mission from Cambridge to investigate the theft of grain and correct the wrongdoing.

What grieves a Reever in a Miller dear?

A Sheffield blade to prick the conscious thought

The Poet mocks in language o’ so clear

True words, the dialect cannot be bought.

Pride glows, dark heritage, found false and caught;

The trumpet blasts across a bridge of moans,

Perhaps the key lies in ancestral bones.

Bitter sweet broth, the Reever’s choicest cheer,

Tyne-sons Castor and Pollux, of scholars taught

They, knowing blind wife, loose daughter, no fear…

To Cornish king the horseman and the boxer sought

Within a Godless throne, false peacock’s fort;

The joke goes up and down in swyving rhyme

See night and day, and read between the line.

Drunken louts snore well on strong brewed beer,

The well of thought dries up in dreamy drought

Lusty-lad avenges with a stiffened spear

Pissed-wife mistakes her husband’s ugly snout

Heaven’s blessed leaven lost in sighing bouts

All is lost in a corrupt crown of greed

Natural law is but the thieves’ right creed.

But when the tale told true to common speech

Tis pearls to swine the poet’s most often preach

Delight in words behind the curtains closed

To see beneath the meal of bones the Poet posed.

The Emperor Jones

Review: The Emperor Jones, a modern political tragedy… May 30, 2008

The Emperor Jones is a play that incorporates controversial themes, psychological symbolism and serious social, religious and political issues that can be difficult to grasp and even more troublesome to consider. It is set immediately prior to the U.S. invasion and occupation of Haiti in 1915. In that year on July 28th, President Woodrow Wilson sent 330 Marines to Port au Prince in response to the revolutionary overthrow of the Haitian dictator Jean Vilbrun Guillaume Sam. The intention was to protect U.S. and foreign ‘interests’ on the island through the subjugation of the ‘rebels’ and the installation of an American controlled administration there. USMC commanders were subsequently placed as governors of the island and their primary method of administration was dictatorial, repressive, racist and violent. The continued occupation culminated in a rebellion in 1918 by at least 40,000 rebel Haitians, of which the US Marines killed 2000. The American government withdrew in 1934 but invaded again in 1994 and 2004.

The play was written by Eugene O’Neill in 1920 as a response to this invasion and occupation, and when it first opened it received critical acclaim as a contemporary political and social commentary. It is also important to understand Haiti in the context of colonial history. First occupied by the Spanish who decimated the Native American Taino population and started to import African slaves, it later changed hands to the French. A rebellion in 1793 led the French Commissioners to abolish slavery. Although Haiti achieved independence from France in 1825 there was a continued tradition of revolts, coups, assassinations and political divisions, combined with social inequality and extreme and repressive governance leading up to the corrupt autocracy of Papa Doc and the Duvaliers (1964-1971) who maintained order through the use of death squads or Tonton Macoute. Another key aspect of the play is the incorporation of elements of native West African tribal religion or Vodou, which remains as an essential heritage of slaves imported to the island. Despite the majority of Haitians being Roman Catholic by persuasion these traditional beliefs and practices are still in vogue.

I wish that I had been forearmed with this knowledge on the political and historical background of Haiti before watching the play. To its credit Aurora Fox and the director (Donnie Betts) have inserted an initial monologue by an ‘old woman’ (played by Norma Johnson) which attempts in a highly evocative and artistic manner to demonstrate the context of the situation, but I thought it ambiguous and was left bewildered. My only impression was of Haiti being dominated by various colonial powers. The play then proceeds to chart the last remaining day and night of the self-proclaimed emperor Brutus Jones (Keith Hatten), who, aided and abetted and later compromised by a rather synthetic British colonial character called Henry Smithers (Greg Price) is eventually caught by rebels and shot. Before his eventual demise Emperor Jones must come to terms with his role as an African-American who rose to political power and who persecuted and abused his fellow people, of his own heritage and descent. And so, as a fugitive on the run through a dense dark jungle, he is forced to reflect on himself and his actions through various visionary experiences. Metaphorically this jungle represents the ‘collective unconscious’ of the psychologist Carl Jung, and which was one of O’Neill’s sources of inspiration. The collective unconscious is the deepest aspect of the human mind, accessible only methods of deep meditation, ritual immersion or extreme physical or mental experience… and is that area in which the human archetypes, myths and sources of heritage dwell. Jones then is confronted by these shadows of himself and his ancestry; a chain gang, a murdered victim, a slave auction, and going deeper back to Africa… a Vodou priest dancing across the ultimate source of existence; the river of life and origins.

Emperor Jones has a revolver with six rounds, one of which is made of silver. This silver round is the last, to be used to commit suicide. Jones uses all the bullets in an attempt to exterminate his visions which arise in a sequential process to make him face the reality of existence, and perhaps to evoke a sense of contemplative regret for his actions. Symbolically the silver bullet is that thought which destroys the dual nature of existence, in myth the antidote which destroys the ‘werewolf’ nature, which is cruel, despotic and savage. In the final river vision Jones is unable to make the leap across the stream of primal existence and thus gives away his salvation personified by the silver token. Hereafter he is completely doomed, psychologically disturbed, paranoid and unable to leave the jungle except as a corpse.

This is a highly complex play with many interwoven narratives from differing sources. It can therefore be bewildering and confusing, leaving an audience with more questions than answers. Out of sheer frustration many might write the performance off as a political commentary, but it is important to consider the deeper implications of human psychology, cultural heritage and behavior; just as we can repress others through various actions we can also suppress ourselves. The multi-faceted aspects of denial are then the central topic of the play as portrayed by the Emperor Jones, and in this sense the play has the tendency to reflect the thoughts and concerns of the viewer. Each of us can see something of ourselves in Brutus Jones, and our own inner struggle to find a compatible harbor of harmony in the world. The ever-present sound of the drum through the play (Fred ‘BaBa Ilu Ile’ Jordan) calls us to that self examination, and dares us to peer into our own ‘heart of darkness.’

The Emperor Jones by Eugene O’Neill. April 11 to May 11 2008.

Directed by Donnie Betts. With Chelley Canales, April Charmaine, Keith Hatten, Fred Jordan, Norma Johnson, Mimi Jorling, Greg Price, Kent Randell, Daymeon Rembert, Robin Wallace, and DeAndre Carroll.

The Aurora Fox Center Theatre is located at 9900 E. Colfax Ave. Aurora, CO, 80010.

Tel 303 361 2910.