W e might think of history as what is rendered up of the past in recorded memory, recorded by those who are in a position to do so, having access to the power of public inscription.
But there is an important underground stream of history I have learnt to recognize: secret letters, journals, inscriptions, scribblings on bits of paper smuggled out of prisons. Poetry takes as its purview what is deeply felt and is essentially unsayable; that is the paradox on which the poem necessarily turns.
P oetry takes as its purview what is deeply felt and is essentially unsayable; that is the paradox on which the poem necessarily turns. A poet uses language as a painter uses color, a primary material out of which to make art. But language that is used all the time and all around us—in sound bites, advertisements, political rhetoric, newsprint—needs to be rinsed free so that it can be used as the stuff of art. The poem in its act of meaning-making turns away from the literal, its truth bound to what can be evoked. And evocation is sparked by memory.
Wild About Poetry: OTHERNESS
In his reflections, he writes of how poetry—far from dealing with the literal—reaches into what lies in memory, in memory fragments. It does not fall within workday expression. It is rather of a form that must be tasted by an act of blissful relishing on the part of a delicate mind through the stimulation of previously deposited memory elements.
This in a strict sense is the soul of poetry. W hile poetry is bound to the sensorium, to the sensual powers of bodily being, to memory that draws its power from feelings heightened by the senses, it is also bound to place. It is in place that we locate ourselves, mark ourselves in relation with others; it is in place that we survive. But what becomes of the past when place is torn away, when the sensorium is radically displaced, and when exile or dislocation marks out the limits of existence? W hy do we have poetry in a time like this? For me that question folds into another: What does it mean to belong in a violent world?
It makes us inhabitants of a world to which the familiar world is a chaos. It reproduces the common universe of which we are portions and percipients, and it purges from our inward sight the film of familiarity which obscures from us the wonder of our being. What is this counterworld, this being within our being, this zone of desire that poetry evokes? Surely there is a great and buried truth here, something to do with our ecstatic being, the piercings of sense that mere rationality cannot afford, a way of making sense, lacking which we would all be hostages in our own skins.
T here have been moments in our shared human history in particular parts of the world where poets and also singers have been banned. But why? What is there to fear? Precisely this: the force of the quicksilver self that poetry sets free—desire that can never be bound by laws and legislations.
This is the force of the human, the spirit level of our lives. T he poem is an invention that exists in spite of history. Most of the forces in our ordinary lives as we live them now conspire against the making of a poem. There might be some space for the published poem, but not for its creation: no ritualized space is given where one is allowed to sit and brood, although universities can give you a modicum of that.
In a time of violence, the task of poetry is in some way to reconcile us to our world and to allow us a measure of tenderness and grace with which to exist. P oetry is a forsaken art not for those who write or practice it, but for many others. Then comes a leap of faith. Now this seems to me to be a leap that could not sustain the body that sought to land, from its free fall, into some possible space of survival.
I hear little hooks popping. A bodice unbuttoning. A heart pounding, breathing. B ut should we? Surely the affective life—and, I would argue, poetry in the broadest possible sense that Shelley meant—is crucial even in the life of legislators and the decisions that are made.
In memoriam of Meena Alexander (1951-2018).
The nature of gun laws and the issues of immigration are just two examples that we might make, drawn from our recent debates. In dreams like rain my mother visits.
Her voice will not be silenced for it is formidable and echoes those of all beloved. Thankfully, there are writers like Helene Cardona that move beyond this box in their work. Left unchecked, this narrative creates separation between human beings and animals that, at the core, justifies and allows for the extinction of the latter. The idea of hidden treasures experienced in dreams is shared in From the Heart with Grace.
In dreaming is the Divine created The beauty of this piece is that the dreamer does not want to be in control. This lesson is learned from the penguin who serves as teacher. Therefore, a more free self comes about from the interaction with the animal. Cardona admits that she is not reinventing the wheel in calling attention to the need for unity between human beings and the natural world. Other poets have done what she is doing. In a more contemporary context, one can put forth Mary Oliver as a poet whose work reflect the move toward wholeness of life.
In talking about the process of writing, Oliver said she likes to take walks and gets inspired to write during the walks i. On the other hand, it is not the waking world but sleep that serves as inspiration for Cardona. I trace patterns in dreams through being disguised undone like particles broken apart revealing pieces of me.
I pursue elusive sleep in the hope to heal mishaps the last chance to anchor my boat It is interesting that Oliver and Cardona take separate paths to reach the same conclusion, that of the need for the wholeness of life. This happening shows astute inventiveness on the part of Cardona. Dreamer is one of the longer poems in the collection, and is also one of the strongest. Consider this, be fortunate, grateful, consider this, be alive for the greatest gift is given with death. There is no end and no beginning, Surrender, surrender, surrender The person becomes a free self in surrendering to what is experienced in dreams and living accordingly when awake.
- Promoting Workplace Well-being.
- Famous Poems.
- The Collected Works of Louisa May Alcott (Unexpurgated Edition) (Halcyon Classics)?
- Lafayette (Images of America)?
Fortunately, her work helps show the way. A poet's pleasure is to withhold a little of his meaning, to intensify it by mystification. He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. The introductory praises and Foreword give ready inspiration to any serious poet, along with a full-page list of acknowledgements for further reading. They act as thresholds on which to pause and reflect, before entering each section. Cardona has chosen the latter to capture curiosity, imagination, images of water and sky dependent on winds and physical states. One of the advantages of a bilingual version of poems is to draw attention to the syntax, and to intensify the mystery of seeming discrepancies.
Titles shimmer somewhat differently in the French translation. What is a self?
Dream of a Black Fox
What is an animal self with the sound of Jungian anima? All these poems have been published in a broad range of journals and reviews. The themes in this collection are universal and the poems cover such, themes as; classicism, cosmology, psychology, philosophy, nature, and touching on areas of theism. We are taken on a long winding journey by an evocative descriptive ability.
- In My Dream I Dreamed A Poem | Thought Catalog.
- A Glimpse of the Mersey: A touching saga of love, family and jealousy.
- ALPHABET POEMS.
- Dream Poetry as Dream Work | SpringerLink;
Helene Cardona adeptly shows her skill as a poet in this collection. Review: Dreaming My Animal Selves reviewed by Michael Meteyer Helene Cardona has managed the impossible here: she has combined a perfect mastery of words with an exquisite imagination to explore the inner world of animals and the hidden worlds of the human heart.
The poems in DREAMING themselves have the quality of dreams, where all things are possible, and we fly "behind a procession of swans to an island in the heart of Paris The dream opens forgotten realms of creation. Cardona wears her erudition lightly, so that what is most evident at first is a deep sense of love for the world and a marvel of its creations: her heart has mastered possibility.
As for forms, however formless dreams may seem, it is only the writers of the highest rank who can sculpt the feeling of a dream in language. In "Peregrine Pantoum" Helene Cardona has taken on one of the most complex and difficult poetic forms in existence, the pantoun, and accomplishes it with grace and elegant and apparent ease it's not easy, it's impossible. Please, you try it I loved this book.