Saturday, July 4, 2009

Arianrhod: Queen of Heaven



Arianrhod

Thro darkest violet vales of shade
Her crescent crown appears in light
New bright moon of silver'd braid
A Queen invoked from velvet night
The Grace appears from whispered praise
The Goddess in cloak of purest white.

Unshrouded she walks thro our minds
Dancing in streams before out eyes
Inspiring dreams with love refined
Mortal souls stretched to highest skies
Heavens brow, a form majestic, designed…
A bridge of quiet, silent beams and sighs.

Her blessing bestowed thro age and time
From depths of space, eternal bond
Banished thought of death: tremulous rhyme
Ancient spinning wheel, a voice beyond
Echoes our prayer with words sublime
Ever watching, waiting to respond.



All Rights Reserved/Copyright David John Drew 2009

Monday, March 2, 2009

The Ferryman and the Ship Yard

 


Chinkle of the ferry chains

 

In the river's downward wind,

 

Secures the dire mooring

 

Decayed landing platform...

 

Where thousands embarked, left and

 

Crossed and returned

 

For work; now is silent;

 

Swinging in tides, holding

 

Now… Only a harbor of

 

Memories.

 

 

 

In a dense fog comes a ghost...

 

A monk, nestled

 

In the oak ribs, and

 

Leather of a coracle...

 

Sinews struggling with the tunes

 

Of deep, hidden currents

 

One solid oar dipping

 

In rippling shadows

 

Of murmuring...

 

Dark energies.

 

Chanting a psalm

 

Through sheets of cold sleet

 

Creating ringlets and triskeles

 

On the cold iced surface

 

Of green, brackish Water.

 

 


Looking back, turning round

 

At the Southern bank, and shore

 

Of shingle, looking back

 

Across the river, with all time...

 

All the history, a dim haze

 

retreated and gone.

 

 

 

Hammers now silent;

 

No riveters or the bright

 

Embers of welder's torches;

 

Who talks with that...

 

That dialect now?

 

The tongues are also

 

Silent... unheard... Long gone and lost,

 

The precious Gold coin of an Emperor

 

Buried deep in the earth.

 

 

All Rights Reserved/Copyright David John Drew 2009.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Jean Francois D'or and the Eccentric Club


The Eccentric Club, formerly known in its various incarnations as The Illustrious Society of Eccentrics, The Everlasting Society of Eccentrics, The Eccentric Society Club and, finally, The Eccentric Club. It was once one of the most important institutions of the British society. Its name is a long established and reputable brand, its members were amongst those who had shaped the British culture into what it is now, its history is inseparable with that of Britain itself... Founded a number of times by seemingly unrelated and socially different groups of people, for centuries it served as a meeting point to many great and original minds, pioneers of thought in artistic, literary, theatrical, scientific, legal and political circles, providing an amicable environment for their recreational and creative pastime as well as a testing ground for the novel and controversial theories and approaches to the issues equally important to the British society and the entire mankind.

First records of The Eccentric Club began with its official opening in 1781:

"Lookat that eccentric wheel in that steam engine, what motion would you get out of it without that wheel's eccentricity - only rest. So in society you would get precious little driving force out of it, but for eccentricities having free andactive motion. Let us encourage them, let us utilize them! (Applause)." -(Extract of the opening speech by its first president, 1781).

I composed a poem Inspired by the forthcoming 'Monthly General Meeting' of the Eccentric Club in London; which will incorporate a festival of eccentric poetry- featuring cutting-edge contemporary verse versus lyric recollections from the dusty archival drawers of the authors and publishers. In this I adopted the traditional sonnet, an example by the Bard himself: William Shakespeare and reworked it according to the modernist anarchic principles ofthe Dadaist poet Tristran Tzara, employing the sharpened capabilities of a pair of scissors. I thus set about chopping up the Elizabethan Bard's well crafted verse, subjecting it to another ancient form of random divination and re-composing it within a new framework. I kept the sonnet format (abab cdcd efef gg), added a few words of my own and decided to dedicate this one to the Jean Francois Dor and the Eccentric Club.

THE METHOD:

To Make A Dadist Poem

Take a newspaper.
Take some scissors.
Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem.
Cut out the article.
Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag.
Shake gently.
Next take out each cutting one after the other.
Copy conscientiously in the order in which they left the bag.
The poem will resemble you.
And there you are--an infinitely original author of charming sensibility, even though unappreciated by the vulgar herd. 

ByTristan Tzara

(TristanTzara (April 16, 1896 - December 25, 1963) is the pseudonym of Sami Rosenstock, born in Moinesti, Bacău, Romania. A poet and essayist who lived for the majority of his life in France, he is known mainly as a founder of Dada, a nihilistic revolutionary movement in the arts.)

PRE-OPERATION OVERVIEW:

William Shakespeare. Sonnet XVIII

1. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
2. Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
3. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
4. And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
5. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
6. And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
7. And every fair from fair sometime declines,
8. By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed:
9. But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
10. Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
11. Nor shall death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
12. When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st,
13. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
14. So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

POST-OPERATIVE STUDY:

Possession eternal complexion hot summers untrimmed day? long this the thou rough wanderest lines and death sometime life when too nature's and in eyes thou thou shall men sometimes changing brag chance summer eternal shade compare fair as often gives temperate fair lease more dimmed thee in shake shall can short that from can his owest see declines summer nor thee his growest breathe every of date thy gold buds the heaven fair this or do fade so by I may and thou shines lives but of to lovely in course not or and art more and lose darling hath a eye of no to so shall winds long all too a.

DR.SHELLY'S DRAMATIC RECONSTRUCTION:

The Sonnet Reconstructed: The Days of Gold, dedicated to Jean Francois Dor Director.

In possession of your eternal complexion;
Long lease of those hot, untrimmed summer days,
Thou beam wanders in my rough direction
Thro life's nature tho' sometime death too brays.
And when thy men shall sometimes, in thy eyes
Brag the shady chance of summer eternal
And compare the fair, as temperate oft gives guise
Tis short shake for thee, less dimmed in each vernal;
The more yer summer declines, this all can'st see
T'more your breath grows, in all dates, in every way;
Fades not his fair gold buds of heaven: but flows free
And so, may thy Sun-shine thro lives of mortal clay…

A darling course too lovely in art and yet more
So eyes and long winds shall ever rest on thee: Dor.


CONCLUSION:

Tristran Tzara recommends a newspaper clipping although in this instance I used a poem by a reputable bard. I might have gone completely wild and written something truly avant-garde but something within me begged for the traditional format of the sonnet. With the references to 'summer', 'sun' and by inference 'gold' I decided to dedicate and end the composition to J.F.D. (the French/Belgic 'd'or' beingthe word for gold). And so, everything has been examined, probed, dissected, illuminated, reconstructed, re-appraised and dedicated: fulfilling the standard requirements for combining the ancient with the contemporary. The central anarchic principle of the Dada poem allows the poet to do whatever he/she desires, regardless of any convention: so although I have followed atraditional format in this example, I need not have.

In all good faith,

David John Drew. Copyright / All Rights Reserved 2009.

Image: André Breton, René Hilsum, Louis Aragon and Paul Eluard posing with a copy of Dada 3, 1919.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

A Tribute: Shanahan’s Last Stand

 


Shanahan’s Last Stand

Here is a poem I wrote in honor of Michael Shanahan, who was fired as the head coach of the Denver Broncos on the last day of 2008. I tried to evoke not just the man, but also his name in history, some of his achievements and demise. Not all in classical ‘Deibhidhe’ meter. 

 

“Quando cadit Coliseus; cadet et Roma...” – Bede the Venerable

 

True the glorious tale, behold...

Of Shanahan, strictly good and bold!

 

Cosrach, brother of Cineadh;

Cosrach of Donchadh, well-bred

Donchadh Cuan, son of Seanchan

Paragons of Mother Shannon.

 

Clan Ui Bloid of the Dal gCais

Of Thomond, Munster: good grace

The Tordealbhaigh, O’Briens...

With MacNamara’s battle reigns.

 

Then Limerick, Cork, Waterford;

Bodyke, Feakle, Clare’s fair ward

Omulled the East, sweet Carlow

Wexford: Thro’ sun, wind, and snow.

 

The stronger kin grows ever strong;

Til famine is the lands’ sad song

Sept and Clans move far away

To prover their worth, earn their pay.

 

To foreign lands labour sought;

Wild geese in distant ports no doubt

In ships ‘cross oceans, another world

From Dublin to seek New York’s gold.

 

New Irish, of American breed;

Prospectors yearn to succeed

The ‘old-ways’ now reinvented

By émigré’s on prairie homesteads.

 

From Windy City’s Oak Park;

A son of Eire, green birthmark

Born of a dream, guided right

Stream of sparks, full of light.

 

Youngsters play to catch and run;

Chicago Bulls: All games hard won

Leyden High School to Illinois

Spirit of a sporting boy.

 

Lumberjacks and Gophers Gold;

College titles: the athlete bold

Watching, running, learning play

Reaching to tackle day by day.

 

Field-crushed and kidney lost;

Hard the red blood, dear the cost

Too near to death, feeling pain

Bleeding is a joyless strain.

 

From Quarterback to coaching;

With Raiders on an Angel’s wing

To green of St. Francis’ field

A lightening rod, spearhead, shield.

 

Denver Bronco’s: The best man;

Success: San Diego and Miami Clan

In nineteen ninety eight and nine

Green Bay Packers hear a victors rhyme.

 

All effort in discipline

Focus is a sharpened thing

Preparation: true battle plan

Men controlled by a tough man.

 

Soul of Leadership, of laurels

Of crowns won on hard hills

Never sleeping: tight-lipped and worn

Never faded, your loss we mourn

 

Thus the Man’s tale told so far...

Perhaps he leaves for another shore?

 

All Rights Reserved 2018 & Copyright David John Drew ‘Ollamh Draoi’

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Compass of the Winds

 


Compass of the Winds, a poem by Lord Carville, Ollamh-Draoi

These few verses were inspired by the words of Angus the Culdee in the 'Saltair na Rain' (translated by Whitely Stokes in 1883). In the first section of the manuscript (dated to 985 - 1061 CE) he discusses the various Druidic winds in relation to creation, perhaps a remnant of an older Celtic creation myth with east as the purple wind, south as the white wind, west as the dun/gray wind and north as the black wind.


Dawns' love pierces dark sky blue,
Suns' gold in Eastern purple hue;
The womb of births': illuminating days...
Earth warmed by Royal; flames, fine rays.

Fair hand, the good and right,
Noble Spirit of purest white;
Virtue and honor, bless'd South...
Ever-best, fortune of a sweet mouth.

Haze of West is death devotion,
Dun-gray, brown, dusk-wind ocean;
Consumed, beneath waves, of drowning...
Grave sound of distant mourning.

Hard bitter North looms at left,
Black frost of souls lost, bereft;
Frozen Her of ill renown...
Dark cells never saw the light of dawn.

All Rights Reserved & Copyright January 2009 David John Drew






Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Michael Phelps, & An Uninvited Guest - Two Cinquains

 


Michael Phelps Commemorative

I wanted to write a poem about the year passing and got to thinking about time lost and gained... no sooner do we believe that we have gained and won - then we are old and forlorn, and barely capable of getting by without a mechanical aid. Nut this thought led me to think of sportsmen - forever chasing time, and then Michael Phelps came to my mind... a man who has been described as the greatest Olympian ever, winning eight gold medals at the Olympics in Beijing. I decided to apply the cinquain format to a tributary poem , with the fourth line of eight syllables as the anchor in honor of a swimming genius!

Baltimore Bullet

Dolphin,
Flips on a dime...
Against time: Butterfly
Eight gold medals: one mighty span,
Fast man.

On the theme of an uninvited guest

My uninvited guest was a small and irritating seasonal visitor who decided to really get up my nose and cause me no end of irritation... to the point where I was forced to consult my physician, and here is the poem:

'Aflucination'

Cough in
Rough rhino prose.
Dose of disease, foggy
Bug, nose squatter - evil flu-dream
Cold scream


All Rights Reserved & Copyright: David John Drew 2008 'Lord Carville'

Saturday, December 20, 2008

Aeturnus: The Feast of Ages


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.


 

Copyright & All Rights Reserved / 12-20-2008 / David John Drew ‘Versificator Regis’ DBWF