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Friday, December 21, 2012

WINTER SOLSTICE POEM



First Day of Winter
“All secrets are witnessed.”- Barbara Kingsolver

Somewhere glaciers that haven’t
moved for hundreds of years
shift ever so slightly, give
birth to currents only lantern fish see.
Somewhere the last leaf drops
unnoticed from the limbs of a dogwood,
lands square on the back of a beetle
who stills at the sudden shade.
At the same time a tropical storm
rises anonymously in the Gulf of Mexico,
geese fly through sheets of ice pellets
that never make it to the ground,
rain floods island lowlands,
mud crawls down a mountainside
swallowing a house whole,
the only witness a lost llama,
teats swollen and weeping milk.

Here the rusty chimes wake me
from dreams of sailing
together across glassy water,
I warm my hands on a coffee mug,
watch thunderclouds roll
across the sky in a pattern I’ve never seen
while your unborn daughter
sends tidal waves up her mother’s spine,
still deciding if conditions are right for travel,
and when you call to tell me,
your voice crackles on the line--
I know there must be lightning
but the clouds are so thick I can’t see it.

- Irene Latham

How 'bout that illustration? A wonderful artist Jeff Faulk (who goes by Monk for his illustrations) penned this one, and both poem and illustrations appear in my book WHAT CAME BEFORE.

I did, in fact, write this poem on an actual first day of winter. It's one of those pieces I'm not sure I completely understand myself, so I am especially interested in how others interpret it.

I do know that I often write poems inspired by science, and this includes the butterfly effect which is about how one tiny happening in one place can cause larger things to happen in other places.

Sometimes a little mystery is the best thing that can happen to a poem.

For more winter solstice poetry guaranteed to light the darkest day, visit Heidi at My Juicy Little Universe!

27 comments:

  1. Hi, Irene. So many interesting strands in this poem. The lantern fish, the baby biding its time in the dark. It's amazing, when you don't have a destination in mind, where a poem can travel.

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    1. Laura, I love how you put that: when you don't have a destination in mind, where a poem can travel. Happy traveling to you, friend! Thanks for stopping by.

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  2. Stunning poem, and glorious art. Hmmm.... the constant motion and fragility of life - birth, death, rebirth? As I write this, there are sirens not far from me on the main road....

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    1. Robyn, I love that you get motion out of this poem... and isn't life always fragile? Thanks for sharing. Happy holidays to you and your family. xo

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  3. Gorgeous. I love the currents that only lantern fish can see.

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    1. Thank you, Liz - I've written a number of poems that include lantern fish... I guess my muse likes them. :) Happy day to you!

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  4. What a poem! It has such vivid details. I love the lead-in quote. Sometimes you have to let the poem take you where it will.

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    1. Tabatha, I'd love to see the poem you'd write with that lead-in quote. Also, I love your poem over at Robyn's. Wonderful! Happy first day of winter to you, and thanks for stopping by.

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  5. Weather and birth are a mystery, what's inside, what's outside: thank you the beautiful reminder of that. I read and part of me was howling, what happened to that baby?! And part of me knew I had to sit back and hope and marvel.

    Irene, thank you for your sustaining poems and posts. I don't always take the minute to comment, but I often think about how glad I am that you're in the world. xo

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    1. Jeannine, I am so glad you are in the world, too, and it is always ALWAYS a joy to hear from you. Yes to mystery! And love to you and yours this holiday season. xo

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  6. Oh, beautiful! Thank you for sharing this, Irene.
    The 'butterfly effect' has definitely inspired my writing this year too.

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    1. Sheri, I've been thinking about you all day! Excited for your new ideas/direction... keep going! And thanks so much for stopping by.

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  7. Isn't it funny how we each bring our own baggage to a poem? I read this with a sense of loss. The mother llama and the mother with the unborn child were the two images that jumped for me, but that is probably because I will not be spending this Christmas with my own children. This is a really haunting poem requiring more than one reading. Excellent. Thank you for sharing it.

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    1. Joy, you are so right about the baggage we bring. :) I am feeling your loss as my son, age 18, is away for the holidays for the very first time. We'll have to use poetry to keep us company. Happy holidays to you, and happy writing!

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  8. So much intense imagery here, with so many details - it's sombre, yet uplifting. Really well done.

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    1. Thank you, Matt! Happy first day of winter to you.. and happy writing in the new year!

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  9. Oh I love this! The way the quote sets up the season's journey of Doppler effects is the perfect guide. For me, this poem says everything is a home, a foundation for what exists and is to exist. Thank you for sharing this and for allowing us to take what we will from it. Beautifully done, Irene!

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    1. Oh, I love what you got out of it, Pam! The quote is one that I could use for a number of poems.. maybe you can too?? Thanks for stopping by!

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  10. Awesome poem, Irene! I read it through several times; it gave me the chills.

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    1. Thank you, BJ... I think chills & poetry is a good thing. :) Happy first day of winter to you, and thanks for stopping by!

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  11. Your poem is packed with wonderful images, Irene - dogwood, beetle, geese, llama, and more. I love the idea that an action somewhere impacts something else. A lovely poem, and the illustration is perfect.

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    1. Thank you, Joyce - I adore the illustration too. Thanks so much for stopping by!

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  12. Thank you, Irene, for joining in the Solstice edition of PF, and for this mysterious poem--I read your comments about it first, and I agree: my favorite of my own poems are often those that write themselves without waiting for me to understand quite what I'm trying to say. All those faraway happenings, funneling in towards the most inward secret, a baby "still deciding if conditions are right for travel." Stunning.

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  13. This is gorgeous, Irene--the lantern fish, the geese, the ice pellets. All the beauty and wildness and unpredictability of the world. And then the unborn baby, who I sort of had the feeling was not only seeing if the time was right to be born but was also somehow choosing between life and death....I agree with whomever above said it required multiple readings.

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  14. This is such an unexpected, haunting poem, Irene. A stream of consciousness journey into a sense of such deep loss... fascinating to see where your art took you, and also to read how others have interpreted the poem.

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  15. I am late, but wanted to tell you how marvelous the lines are, Irene. I love that undercurrent of mystery (as said in the quote-secrets) in our earth that no one can quite understand, with some glorious & some tragic. It's meaningful to me because of this past week's sadness, but also that the glaciers do move, especially on certain important days, & we can glory in the mystery of that. Thank you.

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  16. As I'm reading this, I'm intermittently warming my hands on a mug of hot apple cider. Everything is mysteriously connected -- every last little mysterious thing!

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