"Not yet a breach, but an expansion"

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
~ John Donne ~

A clear umblicus
goes out invisibly between,
thread we spin fluid and finer than hair
but strong enough to hang a bridge on.
~ Marge Piercy ~
A couple of excellent poems reminiscent
of Franz Kafka and Czeslaw Milosz:

Bridging
Being together is knowing
even if what we know
is that we cannot really be together
caught in the teeth of the machinery
of the wrong moments of our lives.

A clear umblicus
goes out invisibly between,
thread we spin fluid and finer than hair
but strong enough to hang a bridge on.

That bridge will be there
a blacklight rainbow arching
out of your skull
whenever you need
whenever you can open your
eyes and want
to walk upon it.

Nobody can live on a bridge
or plant potatoes
but it is fine for comings and goings,
meetings, partings and long views
and a real connection to someplace else
where you may
in the crazy weathers of struggle
now and again want to be.
~ Marge Piercy

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:

So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.*
~ John Donne

This might look like sunset -- or a forest fire! --
but was actually sunrise, 21 March 2017

P.S.
Also thinking of recent crime series The Bridge
and haunting theme song "Hollow Talk"

And then you cut
You cut it out
*And everything
Goes back to the beginning . . .

Songwriters: Anders Rhedin, David Hughes,
Fridolin Nordsoe, Jannis Noya Makrigiannis
Sung by Choir of Young Believers

Also -- beautiful, poignant, unforgettable

Featured in Nobody's Darling
"Troubled Man" from Quiet Lights
[lyrics below, in comments]

Theme from Home Fires
"Siren" by Samuel Sim

Theme from Summer's Lease
Carmina Valles by Chameleon
Composer Nigel Hess

Theme from Les Choristes
"Cerf-Volant" ~ "The Kite"

Music video from Six Feet Under
~ Pilot Final Scene ~
Waiting by The Devlins

Day of Light

Wall Tile for Lucia Day
by
Erkers Marie Persson
As with so many of the December customs, St. Lucia's Feast Day is a celebration of light, vision, and enlightenment. Lucia, Lucy, Lux, Lucis -- all refer to Light. St. Lucia is a bringer of light -- in the form of candles, and breakfast in bed, early in the morning. And, as one who was violently deprived of her own eyesight, she has also become the patron saint of the blind.

Gerry and I brainstormed for a couple of songs in keeping with the day and came up with these; neither Christmas songs nor St. Lucy songs -- but a couple of our favorites on the theme of Light:

Blinded by the Light
"Mama always told me not to look into the eye's of the sun
But mama, that's where the fun is . . .
I tripped the merry-go-round
With this very unpleasin', sneezin' and wheezin,
the calliope crashed to the ground . . . "
by
Bruce Springsteen
as performed by
Manfred Mann's Earth Band

and

I Saw the Light
"It was late last night
I was feeling something wasn't right
There was not another soul in sight
Only you, only you . . .
Then you gazed up at me and the answer was plain to see
'Cause I saw the light in your eyes . . . "
by
Todd Rundgren

Hope you enjoy these classic rock tunes!

********************

For more Lucia Day Connections
Check out my new post,
"Day of Light"
coming tomorrow on
The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker:
A Fortnightly [every 14th & 28th]
Literary Blog of Connection & Coincidence;
Custom & Ceremony

Click here
to see last year's
Quotidian post & photo from 2020
. . . and take a look at this 2007 post,
direct from Sweden,
by Tiffany!

Always Autumn

Photograph by Ben McCartney
"The suspicion that even God is partial to autumn
has overwhelmed others,
including John Donne, who enthused:
"In Heaven, it is always Autumn."

comment by American Essayist,
Frank Trippett, 1926 - 98

Click to read the entirety of Trippett's excellent autumnal essay --
ranging in topic from ancient harvest legends
to the U. S. Consitition to the World Series --
"A Season for Hymning and Hawing"
from Time Magazine Archives
Monday, Sept. 19, 1977

***************

In the original words of
John Donne, 1572 - 1631
English Metaphysical Poet
from a sermon preached Christmas Day, 1624

. . . in heaven it is always autumn, his mercies are ever in their maturity. We ask panem quotidianum today if you will hear his voice Psalm 95: 7], today he he will hear you. . . . He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; he can bring thy summer out of winter, though thou have no spring, though in the ways of fortune, or understanding or conscience, thou have been benighted till now, wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied til now, now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries . . .
[emphasis added]

***************

and inspired by Donne's sermon,
this lovely fall reverie by American Poet
Elizabeth Spires (b 1952)

In Heaven It's Always Autumn

In heaven it is always autumn. The leaves are always near
to falling there but never fall, and pairs of souls out walking
heaven’s paths no longer feel the weight of years upon them.
Safe in heaven’s calm, they take each other’s arm,
the light shining through them, all joy and terror gone.
But we are far from heaven here, in a garden ragged and unkept
as Eden would be with the walls knocked down, the paths littered
with the unswept leaves of many years, bright keepsakes
for children of the Fall. The light is gold, the sun pulling
the long shadow soul out of each thing, disclosing an outcome.
The last roses of the year nod their frail heads,
like listeners listening to all that’s said, to ask,
"What brought us here? What seed? What rain? What light?
What forced us upward through dark earth? What made us bloom?
What wind shall take us soon, sweeping the garden bare?"
Their voiceless voices hang there, as ours might,
if we were roses, too. Their beds are blanketed with leaves,
tended by an absent gardener whose life is elsewhere.
It is the last of many last days. Is it enough?
To rest in this moment? To turn our faces to the sun?
To watch the lineaments of a world passing?
To feel the metal of a black iron bench, cool and eternal,
press against our skin? To apprehend a chill as clouds pass
overhead, turning us to shivering shade and shadow?
And then to be restored, small miracle, the sun shining brightly
as before? We go on, you leading the way, a figure
leaning on a cane that leaves its mark on the earth.
My friend, you have led me farther than I have ever been.
To a garden in autumn. To a heaven of impermanence
where the final falling off is slow, a slow and radiant happening.
The light is gold. And while we’re here, I think it must be heaven.

[See also: poem for summer]

**************************

Lastly, this elegiac concluding passage
from the novel Cold Mountain by American novelist
Charles Frazier (b. 1950)
Ada had tried to love all the year equally, with no discrimination against the greyness of winter, its smell of rotted leaves underfoot, the stillness in the woods and fields. Nevertheless, she could not get over loving autumn best, and she could not entirely overcome the sentimentality of finding poignancy in the fall of leaves, of seeing it as the conclusion to the year and therefore metaphoric, though she knew the seasons came around and around and had neither inauguration nor epilogue" (355).

Earlier in the novel, Frazier refers to
"a day so autumnal that to write anything
about it would be to engage in elegy" (257).

Huckleberry

Another June lake image from friend and photographer Jay Beets:I could swear that's Huckleberry Finn down there on the dock,
with his fishing pole, waiting for his raft to arrive!
What a wise child, Huckleberry Finn -- Mark Twain's quintessential boy of summer! Of Huckleberry's many memorable observations on his journey down the Mississippi, my favorite has to be the last line of Chapter 24 when his innocence and sense of honor is further tarnished by the chicanery of his elders: "It was enough to make a body ashamed of the human race."

And from No. 44, The Mysterious Stranger: "Ernest Wasserman, 17, apprentice; braggert, malicious, hateful, coward, liar, cruel, underhanded, treacherous. He and Moses had a sort of half fondness for each other, which was natural, they having one or more traits in common, down among the lower grades of traits. . . . when she heard my tale she was full of pity for me and maledictions for Ernest, and promised him a piece of her mind, with foot-notes and illustrations."

Speaking of Huckleberry Finn, the following musical was recently recommended to me by my friend Burnetta Hinterthuer, a botanist and woman of letters:
Big River by Roger MillerBurnetta is a discerning scholar who seeks merit in all and never loses her sense of humor along the way. Everything she suggests is excellent; so I ordered a copy of Big River from amazon and was listening to it in the car a couple of weeks ago while driving around town running errands. Just as the song "Free At Last" began to play, I experienced my coincidence of the day, when the traffic slowed for the passing of a funeral cortege. As I idled alongside the road waiting for the stream of cars to pass, Roger Miller's perfectly timed lyrics filled my head:

Free At Last

I wish by golly I could spread my wings and fly
And let my grounded soul be free for just a little while
To be like eagles when they ride upon the wind
And taste the sweetest taste of freedom for my soul

Then I'd be free at least, free at last
Great God Almighty, I'd be free at last

To let my feelings lie where harm cannot come by
And hurt this always hurtin' heart
That needs to rest awhile
I wish by golly I could spread my wings and fly
And taste the sweetest taste of freedom for my soul

Then I'd be free at least, free at last
Great God Almighty, I'd be free at last

I'd be free at least, I'd be free at last
Great God Almighty, I'd be free at last

words & lyrics by American Singer and Songwriter
Roger Miller, 1936 - 1992

As the CD advanced to the final track "Muddy Water," the flow of traffic resumed, and the still small voice of John Donne whispered in my heart:
"never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
it tolls for thee."

Insidious Trauma

X-ray: Normal Ankle and Foot

In Memoriam
ENYI OKEREKE, 1954 - 2008

"Death, be not proud . . .
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery."

from "Sonnet #10"
by John Donne, 1572 - 1631
English Metaphysical Poet
I had the occasion to meet Dr. Enyi Okereke in Philadelphia back in 2000, when I developed a mysterious persistent pain in my left ankle. Had I been skiing, fallen, worn strange shoes, twisted my ankle in any way? No. I recollected nothing of the sort. After some analysis of my case, Dr. Okereke cured me with a couple of shots of cortisone. I spent the next 24 hours with an ankle swollen larger and aching more than ever before, but as the swelling subsided, so did the pain, and it has stayed away for a decade. So, in my mind, Dr. Okereke was a miracle worker, and one of the kindest, funniest physicians I have ever had the privilege to meet.

On the afternoon of my first scheduled appointment with him, I had hoped to squeeze in a visit on short notice before picking my children up from school. The waiting room was crowded, and an hour passed. All the doctors were running behind, and as the time drew near for me to fetch the boys, I realized that both I and the scheduling desk had been much too optimistic. I let the receptionist know that I would have to leave without keeping my appointment, and we rescheduled for another day, first thing in the morning. When that morning arrived, the waiting room was quiet, and I was called to Dr. Okereke's office at the appointed time.

Glancing over my "new patient" chart, Dr. Okereke observed the notation that I had departed the previous week without seeing him. "Yes," I replied, "the appointments were getting all backed up and I couldn't wait any longer."

"Oh dear, he asked, "was I having a bad day?"

I laughed, and said, "Apparently you were!"

I was so warmed by his humor, and charmed by his joke of asking me how his day had been going.

I also joked with him about the similarity of our last names:

Carr - i - ker

Oker - e - ke
Mine was Germanic, his Nigerian, but maybe somewhere back in the mists of linguistic history, they were derived from the same root word. [I have the same curiosity about the surnames of several other friends whose families hail from various points around the globe, yet our names are all so similar: Carrigan / Carillo / Annecharico. But that's another story!]

As for my ankle, a number of times during the course of my treatment, I received questionnaires from insurance companies asking if I had injured myself on someone else's property, fallen on their driveway, tripped on their stairs. Was there someone to blame? Someone to sue for my aches and pains? But such was not the case. I could think of no external event, no evident cause for this effect.

Dr. Okereke had a different idea. His diagnosis: insidious trauma. Remember all those childhood bicycle accidents? It's true, I was not a natural when it came to keeping my balance! Well, the scabs and scars might have disappeared long ago, but deep inside each cell, the memory remained. Thanks to Dr. Okereke, I gained a new respect for my body's capacity to remember. In a related observation, Madeleine L'Engle points out in A Wrinkle in Time: "Sometimes we can't know what spiritual damage it [trauma] leaves even when physical recovery is complete" (189; see also my previous QK post: "Grief & Relief" / updated for FN: "Grief & Relief").

A year or so after my ankle crisis, my husband was called for jury duty. He was dismissed after the first round of questions when all M. D.s and Ph. D.s were asked to identify themselves and be excused. Apparently, the case was a lawsuit, a patient not satisfied with the outcome of his orthopedic surgery. "A doctor named Okereke," Gerry informed me, not recalling the name from my appointments the previous year. "What!" I was astonished. How dare anyone sue Dr. Okereke. I could not abide hearing a word spoken against him!

Our paths crossed for only an hour or so, but he made a lasting impression on me. Over the years, I've told my Dr. Okereke stories many times -- his sense of humor over the "bad day"; the oddly coincidental jury duty conflict; the intriguing concept of "insidious trauma" that I learned from him (applicable in so many psychosomatic ways); and my hunch that our names are somehow etymologically connected. This last topic came up in conversation just the other day, and Gerry volunteered to do some googling for me.

Sore dismayed is perhaps the only way to describe how I felt when Gerry informed me that sadly, the first few citations to appear on his web search were Dr. Okereke's obituary and numerous eulogies in his honor. No! Vibrant Dr. Okereke not here on earth with us? What insidious trauma could have laid him low, so unfairly, so many years before his time? How could this be possible when he seemed so invincible? Yet in a way he remains so. You have only to look at the many loving words delivered on his behalf to see that I was not alone in my estimation of this kind and humorous and helpful man. Invincible!
REST IN PEACE
FRIENDS OF ENYI
ENYI MD FOUNDATION


"I am not resigned
to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be,
for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. . . .

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

from "Dirge Without Music"
by Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 - 1950
American Lyrical Poet