Sunday, November 17, 2019

"Aphrodite in Brooklyn and Other Mythic Voices" - Illustrated Collection of Poems 1970 - 2010

I stopped writing poetry somewhere in my late 50's (and as I write this, I am recently entered into my 7th decade). I still keep a Blog, and I still make art..........but I don't know where the Muse of poetry went, it seems She abandoned me somewhere along the road. So this is the trail of my poetry, all I have really, from the early 1970's to the last poems.

I find these poems are touchstones along the path, lucid and sometimes numinous artifacts that, by touching them again, enable me to renew my acquaintance with those luminous moments of insight, love, loss, and above all, the sheer beauty of being alive. Beyond that, there is a pattern, a woven pentimento that glitters  beneath each seeming surface, a pattern that enfolds me from young adulthood to old age and belongs to all and none of those "identities". There is a voice here  I recognize as uniquely my own. Archiving these poems in this little collection, even better, having the pleasure of illustrating them............. has allowed me to hear that voice again.

I believe that it is important to cherish, archive, and share those moments, those touchstones, in whatever form they may be expressed, be it storytelling, poetry, visual arts, music.............. they are a Gift to the world we each can make, uniquely rising from each unique life.  I have no extended family now, no parents or siblings or children or grandchildren who would value my work or thoughts, so I make this Collection for myself, and as a Gift or Offering to any of my friends who happen to like poetry, and to any fellow Wayfarer who may chance upon it as well. If you find a resonance here with your own voice, I am pleased indeed.


Love is Saraswati's river
flowing through our lands.

She will feed the rice fields,
She will accept our woven offerings.
She will bear our ashes
and the fires of Kintamani
to the sea.

she neither takes nor gives:

we impose these significances
upon the flowers we cast in her.

From birth to death,
Saraswati's river sustains us to the sea.