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Posts Tagged ‘transformation’

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And now, at last, these geometries fade and waver,
Shimmer and dissolve. They pale into dream by the minute,
Their patterns particular, their patterns platonic, eidetic,
Now smudge and stumble, arching poetry drowned
As crystalline mechanics impose precisions of direction.
Here revolve the greater means, the spheres of motion.
More primal their causes, more abstract and faceless
In their godwards ascending.

Spera nona – spera motus octave spera que fit motus eius de septentrione ad meridiem et e converso ( ninth sphere, which moves the eighth sphere and causes it to travel from north to south and vice versa)

We spin and drift
Caught in a mighty flow of will,
Ninth and tenth now are these spheres,
Mighty, faceless,
A slow measuring out
Of purpose,
A swing of footsteps,
A steady scythe, left to right.
A fall of stars,
A winnowing light.

Spera decima – spera suprema qua fit motus de occidente ad orientem et est pricipium motus (tenth sphere – highest sphere in which takes place the movement from west to east and which is the principal of all movement).

Fold up and slew the horizons.
The palaces of motion,
Hollow vowels, time evolving
Revolving through centuries
Turning one way, turning another,
A dance, stately and preposterous.

Natura pricipium corporis (Nature as the principal of bodies)

The four spheres of the soul:
Anima vegetabilis
Anima animalis
Anima rationabilis
Anima celestis

Discontiguous,
Folded between the transcendent, fierce certainty
Of angels, and sullen dust,
(The grinding orbs of time and space),
Float four soul worlds,
Unhinged, awaiting injection,
Awaiting ejection:
A breathed upon word to vivify
And consecrate voiceless earth.

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Before and After Li Po

( improvisations on the poem “Jingting Shan Hill” by Li Po, following the lead of Robert Okaji)

Characters are rendered:

Crowd birds high fly utmost
Lonely cloud alone go idle
Mutual watch both not tire
Only be Jingting Shan

1
Birds, a scattered knot
In distant depth.
One cloud aimless
(This thought).
Lost the mirror distance,
Resonant, the still hill.

2
Silent swing the flock.
Wind flute, too, silent
At this peak of distance.
We exist only because
Of the other.
Green hill breathing.

3
Caught, the distant, sweet movement.
An upper air, a life of song and wind,
Silent here from this depth.
See too, there is one small cloud,
Sweet movement hesitant.
So, now, eye sinks earthwards,
Locks on swelling hill,
There before, and there after,
A poet’s gaze.

4
Scribble splatter
Brush of birds.
Splashed distant sky.
One thought lost,
The hand and eye
Follow each other,
Equally curious.
A mountain of bone
And earth,
Misted,
Remains.

5
The names matter.
On the tongue, in memory.
Located the sweep of sky,
The noisy flock of one mind,
The moment,
A congregation
Of blessings.

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I have been looking at this work now and then for a while. Like the soul, (should it exist), this is a work in progress. It takes its ideas from medieval cosmography, where there is a concentric hierarchy of planes and beings extending down from, and up to, the Godhead. A mythic universe, populated with the history of thought and dreaming

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Or do we descend,
Pulled by the centre?
Or split, (not knowing)
Each way seeming the
One, right way,
Disorientated
Or reorientated, lost
Or on the road home,
(Something, something here
Is familiar..)

Centrum mundi

The centre of horizon’s cross,
Hung saviour seeing
All things,
Constrained, speared
By:

Terra
Acqua
Aer
Ignis
Corpus corruptibilis quod est
Quatuor elementa,

This corruptible body
Consisting of four elements.
Corruptible, corrupt, corrupting,
Spinning away ( or towards)
Perfection. Untrustworthy,
Fickle mud rising
Yearning for perfect emptiness.

Then, in their spheres of crystal motion
Each in their turning, each lord of spirits,
Masters of music, ordainers of action,
Gatekeepers, judge and jailors.

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Spera lunae, luna

Chimes she does and roars,
Moon scything time.
Each mother’s mirror,
Queen of slow oceans
Queen of indigo night.
Ever thirsting, drawing moisture,
A mist of dream, a catalogue
Of sorrows whispered in midnight,
A chariot of ice tears, her starry train.

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gold turquoise blue2

KEY THREE

(St. Brendan’s Chapel, Barra)

Nowhere nearer
The Isles of the Blest,
The dead gather together,
Warrior and child.

Coaxed by a hand of hills
The land launched
Into silver sunset ocean.

Go on, you can do it.
It will be alright,
Wonders await you…
The voyage into mystery
Stepping stones to heaven.

Eternal islands,
Eternal seas.

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