Note the almond
Tree overmuch with fruit. The almond
Pressed is oil sweet.
From the the ancient city of Aquincum,
the borders of Pannonia, across the limes,
the limits of the Rome, onward
to the Carpathian Basin of Pécs,
we traveled—
thirty-some seekers
of the ruins.
…Do you hear?
That pulse?
A whirl of images
the press of heat
the cool of blue
and the tree
of almonds…
dropping nuts
like bones.
From the five good emperors
I have learned that there were five good emperors,
A trip to Aquincum, the ruins of an ancient city in Budapest, can lead one to other places. For me, the road circled back Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who perhaps wrote a part of his book Meditations at Aquincum
“Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time. The twining strands of fate wove both of them together: your own existence and the things that happen to you.” (V. 8, trans. Gregory Hays)
“Soon you’ll be ashes or bones. A mere name at most—and even that is just a sound, an echo. The things we want in life are empty, stale, trivial” (V. 33, trans. Gregory Hays)
Remnants of antiquity remind me of the brevity of life. Breathe it in …hold it. And, then read this lovely poem by Lisa Jarnot.
From the window blinds, from the sun decayed,
from the heart, a brimming record braised and turned.
“Huipil” by Natalia Toledo, as translated into English by Claire Sullivan
My skin bursts with the flowers etched upon my dress.
Anyone who has traveled to Mexico has seen a huipil, a traditional garment decorated by hand-woven designs, embroidery, ribbons or lace.
in Hungary there are beautiful embroidered blouses; many of the designs remind me of the huipeles or of Mexico. Some, depending on the region, are more decorated than others.
I am going to the fiestas to dance…
Photo courtesy of Comcast
There is one that is white with a few simple flowers at the collar that evoke the Mayan dress of the Yucatan. It causes one to consider the origins of the Mayas, their proposed Asian connection.
I don’t know anything about such matters except that when I try to decipher the indigenous languages of Mexico or Hungarian, I am totally confused.
A Treatise on Shelling Beans by Wiesław Myśliwski, as translated by Bill Johnston
Archipelago Books, 2013
When people can be divided by something the always will be.
It doesn’t have to be a river
As I waited for my flight across the Atlantic Ocean, I considered borders-those divisions that exist inside and out There’s the ocean, the language & the fear of crossing.
It’s the tension between wanting to go and wanting to stay.
…he invited me to at least come for the mushroom picking.
But if you do not make the journey, you may not taste the pappardelle, the butter cream, the chanterelles.
But don’t give up, Never give up. It doesn’t always repay people, but maybe with you it will.
I ran into this Little Free Library in the Mutter Gottes Historic District in Covington, KY last Sunday night. It was fun to browse through the books and see what had been left.
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Here’s Pearls S. Buck and a look at cultural imperialism….
And Thomas Hardy’s Far From the Maddening Crowd, which is where I wanted to go after 10 hours in airports on Monday.
I haled me a woman from the street,
Shameless, but, oh, so fair!
I bade her sit in the model’s seat
And I painted her sitting there.
MotherOfGod CC BY 3.0 Photo by Greg Hume
Whenever I visit a certain college friend in Cincinnati, he introduces me to something new, something really cool.
A couple of years ago, he took me to the Cincinnati Observatory , which houses the world’s oldest telescope. Yes, this is true.
Last weekend, he led me to the Mutter Gottess, which is actually in Northern Kentucky but within walking distance of Ohio.
Mother of God Church (Covington, Kentucky), CC BY-SA 3.0 Photo courtesy of Nheyob
Then came, with a knowing nod,
A connoisseur, and I heard him say;
“’Tis Mary, the Mother of God.”
Mutter Gottes, or Mother of God, is a vibrant Catholic Parish in the Mutter Gottes Historic District in Covington, KY. The original church was built in 1842 but soon the parish outgrew its size and its second building was dedicated on September 10, 1871.
It turned out to be a Mary-Mother-of-God sort of weekend as I had spent the night before at my 8th grade reunion at Our Lady of the Rosary School.
As a result of twelve years of Catholic education, I’ve had a full serving of Mariology and Mary portraits so it was fun to find Service’s poem, “My Madonna.”
Robert_W._Service
Robert Service was a British-Canadian known as the “Bard of the Yukon.” During his lifetime he was a well-known and commercially successful poet yet Service never called his work poetry. ““Verse, not poetry, is what I was after.”
So I painted a halo round her hair,
And I sold her and took my fee,
“Consider the Hands that Write this Letter”
BY ARACELIS GIRMAY
after Marina Wilson
Left palm pressed flat against paper,
as we have done before, over my heart,…
For the last week, I’ve been at war with the mail—junk mail that is. It was taking over my psyche. I needed some peace, some comfort so I looked to poetry, my reliable friend.
Arecelis Girmay’s poem reminded me of the beauty of receiving hand written notes. I used to have a daily practice of writing one note a day to a friend.
I looked forward to the selection of the notecards, the decision as to what to say, what not to say— the physicality of walking to the mail box and slipping each note into that slim slot.
Could I revive this practice, I mused. I doubt it. With social media, I no longer track street addresses.
The rush of receiving Christmas cards—I miss it. I used to hang all that color and glitter around the front door. Ted Kooser’s poem “Christmas Mail” calls up that era.
Cards in each mailbox,
angel, manger, star and lamb
“The Poem Bodies Make” by Luis Alberto Ambroggio, as translated by Naomi Ayala
Behold the poem the bodies
of gods who love one another make;
This poem is so lovely, its language so lush. The call to the reader loops me in—to the poem, the image.
Listen to how they knock against each other with the breath of waves;
heart open, light infusing them;
Arco de Córdoba 2007-11-16 CC BY-SA 2. Photo courtesy of Walter Gomez –
Ambroggio was born in Córdoba, Argentina. Although I have never been to Argentina, I have a touch of it close by at Esquina Tango. Dance classes, Yoga, Latin American films and Spanish conversation—it’s a fun place.
High heels and dancing make me smile. I rarely dance but when in Austin I head to Esquina Tango and catch Salsa Aerobics on Saturdays. The foot moves are fast. I’m off beat most of the time yet I find myself feeling lighter, more hopeful. Perhaps it is the music, the lift and tilt of the Spanish language.
Speaking of lift, here is one of Ambroggio’s poems in Spanish, “Mi Primer Vuelo”, or “My First Flight.”
Con mi sonrisa feliz
le traigo algo del sol triunfante.
12.
Common names include
Mile-a-minute-vine
foot-a-night-vine
cuss-you-vine
drop-it-and-run-vine.
Covering seven million acres,
and counting. Photo courtesy of Scott Ehardt
For four years, my husband and I traveled back and forth to Oxford, MS while our daughter was a student at The University of Mississippi. Now that she has graduated and moved on, we miss Ole Miss—The Grove, The Square, and Ajax.
We timed out trips from Texas to reach Oxford in time for lunch at Ajax. Predictably, I always ordered the vegetable plate. The expression “vegetable plate” sounds flat and thin; it cannot begin to evoke the blessed experience of eating a plate of mashed potatoes, squash casserole, fried okra and cheese grits with a glass of $4.50 white wine.
I first encountered kudzu in Mississippi. I thought it was so green, fertile, lovely until I discovered that its shade kills the tree it covers. This invasive weed was introduced to the US in 1876 at the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia.
4.
I asked a neighbor, early on,
if there was a way
to get rid of it—
Well, he said,
over the kudzu fence,
I suppose
if you sprayed it
with whiskey…
Fennelly’s “Kudzu Chronicles” is a book length poem in thirteen sections. Reading it is a journey back and forth in history—from the actual to the personal and return. Each section surprises and takes us somewhere unexpected.
and let them nibble acorns off my grave.
Then let the kudzu blanket me,
For the first time since 1972, the Ole Miss baseball team is in the College World Series. Sunday at 7 CDT is the first game vs Virginia. I’ll be cheering them on with other Ole Miss fans at a watch party in Austin. Bourbon, tailgate food and “Hotty Toddy’s” all around. It won’t be Oxford—or Omaha for that matter—but it will be as close as we can get.
Alice-Catherine 