Shining Together (a) 1996

 

     Shining Together

They read to each other:

The weather report, the music reviews;

They talk about how ‘they’ distort,

Lie and smother the news;

Corruption and power –

And hour by hour

They shine together:

Because birds of a feather

Can flock – if they’re cool,

Drawing back when there’s bias,

When either sounds pious,

When one starts to pule

The thing is to laugh, joke or tease –

To lighten the air and put loved one at ease.

A quiet solution,

A quiet ablution.

For best become the worst of friends

If lightness ends.

That said, together is no tether –

More a test and/or reward.

If you can weather

Jokes, old stories, youth-days’ glories

Now seraphic,

Rage in traffic,

Family fetes,

Shine permeates.

While sharing the sofa watching TV,

Legs up in harmony,

He rubbing her feet and her rubbing his:

Complete.

The treatise.

©

Shining Together #1 96.10.11Love Relationships;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

She Was Like 1996

 

      She Was Like

She was like a flower slight

That has to grow in secret’s spell

To bloom. Is such an image right?

Is there such a flower? Well,

She was one alright, her light

In secret, undisturbed, Fertilized

By loneliness itself. Outside

Influence tried on for size

Proved far outsize; for her to bide

Her time in darkness’ peace, not being

Helped by hothouse heat, its fuel

A forced support, proved best for freeing

And expanding goodness’ rule,

Joy’s renewal.

She was like a fragile bird

Who sings its instinct song atop

The highest branch alone, unstirred

By staring, stirring mass. Bopping

Bird, creating son and word

For anyone who like to eavesdrop.

Beak aimed high, not for the mate-bird

Only, but for world and dewdrop,

Micro-macro-outer-inner

Universe. Who can grow

Midst crowd, much noise and tv dinner?

Solitude and nature’s peepshow

Are the dynamo

For embryonic angels.

©

She Was Like 3.11.1996Pure Nakedness; Vaguely About Music;

Arlene Corwin

Safe To Hope 1996

 

Safe To Hope

Oh, I’m simple, oh so simple,

Unmelodious my ways.

I cannot fabricate my life

The way film writers write screenplays –

Notions, potions, schemes, and forms,

Plots, sub-plots, ideas in swarms.

I can’t produce, I can’t direct:

The star that can’t create effect.

All that I know how to do

Is what I do without the fringes;

Nuance-less and unrefined,

Stating what is on my mind,

And sometimes blocked – a giveaway

For inner problems still unsolved.

So I wait – sometimes for years –

For something like cosmic approval,

And like witness that I am,

Observe that I quite often get

My inmost, unsaid wants all-cleared.

With lack of diplomatic skills,

No aptitude for repartee and making good,

I drip no sweat.

That luck should come to me with frills

Astounds me to the –enth degree.

It isn’t me that’s at the helm

Directing this most random film.

Oh, artless simpleton and dope,

Oh, blundering dunce who cannot cope,

Oh, deaf, must, limbless blind who grope

For fortune’s whim – it’s safe to hope.

©S

afe To Hope 96.10.12Pure Nakedness; To The Child Mystic; I Is Always You Is We;

Arlene Corwin

 

Sadhana For Vanity 1996

 

      Sadhana For Vanity

I once decided I was vain.

I’d look in stores as I walked by –

Not stores themselves, but windows. I

Would check my face, my waist, my gait,

Or look at men as they came toward me

Just to check if/that they saw me.

Then I recollected rabbis on the streets

Where I grew up who, walking,

Hands behind their backs, looking

Down, not tempting fate,

Walked slowly on, eyes on their toes.

I took that pose,

Not checking up on man or face.

Hands clasped behind, I’d walk

From place to focused place

Absorbed within. It worked.

I lost that consciousness.

Focus more, vanity less,

I’d crossed a threshold over which

I’ve stayed since then. It’s more than thirty

Years since flirty vanity got lost.

It wasn’t hard. It was a silent

Game concocted from non-violent

Powers of the will

That used the daily schedule

As no-drill rule:

No drill, its fear of failing.

Modus operandi was the days’ events:

Creativeness, one’s life a mess,

Youth’s understanding, (which was less

Than that of Brooklyn cockroaches)

I broached that song till I was strong

And slavish urge to look was gone.

A toast to those who feel lost;

To fixing the play that hinders the sunray;

To years of fears

And life robotic and hypnotic:

A toast to gone!

Through self-formed discipline

Created from without within.

*a sadhana is a spiritual exercise designed to achieve a specific purpose.

©

 

Sadhana For Vanity 96.8.3I Is Always You Is We; Pure Nakedness; To The Child Mystic; Circling Round Vanities;

The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Circling Round Woman;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

 

 

Sadhana For Too Much Talk 1996

     Sadhana For Too Much Talk

I talk too much. And you.

I can’t control your talk,

It’s something you must do,

For when it comes to holding down

The person my role rolls in,

It’s myself that I constrain

Because there’s no more time to lose,

At sixty-one, the chat-filled fun a basic blues.

(It’ not been fun, more nervous tic,

A way to entertain, to quickly

Fit in – wading into sin.

With a device one learns to sacrifice

The group whoop.

With divorce comes new release,

Creating silences so sweet

That ramblings cease

Without defeat or caustic heat.

For now, I’m still involved. I cable

What excites me while at table.

“Have your read…”and “You must read…”

Still vocalizing every need.

Long silences and cadences;

Long spaces in the conversation;

Topics not in violation

Of those spoken up in heaven:

Practice for the coming nineteen ninety-seven.

*a sadhana is a spiritual practice designed to execute a specific purpose.

©Sadhana For Too Much Talk 96.8.21

I Is Always You Is We; Pure Nakedness; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative;

To The Child Mystic; Circling Round Woman;

Arlene Corwin

 

Revised View Of My Parents 1996 2007

     Revised View Of My Parents

A shorthand that I understand,

Essential for my peace of mind:

No more at war with mother’s dark, illogic mind,

No more preferring daddy’s kind

But weak, artistic presence, pleasantries.

Now, today, with daddy clearly

On his way, and mother nearly mad with sadness,

Locked in bed and impotent to run and help,

She eighty-four, he eighty-seven – at death’s door,

Three thousand miles away, derangement his finale.

Now that I know Arlene a bit,

The strengths and tendencies that show,

And some that don’t, I wish to forfeit

All the old complaints and sufferings,

Replacing them with grateful yea’s

For useful gifts and graceful traits,

(The freebees that I took for granted

Or assumed were shaped by ways

Of don’t know what.)

I know now never could have been

If mother had not been exactly

Who she was, and dad the same –

And that does not include my name.

View revised, not over-, undersized,

I’ve re-evaluated mom and dad.

It’s time now to apologize

For thoughts unkind: thoughts just plain bad,

Too analytical and double bound –

A blind unquestioning and double-binding paradox

That locks the brain into the box in which it runs around;

To reach the point where one no longer

Alternates between the passive and aggressive

To feel briefly stronger…

Gone to error’s happy land, left free of frenzied cleft.

Since the honeycomb of home is love,

And all roads lead to Rome,

It is love’s inauguration that has changed my view.

My children, will you need that too?

I do expect you will.

©Revised View Of My Parents 96.8.27.revised 07.4.6

Love Relationships; Mother Book; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

Resistance Movement 1996

 

     Resistance Movement

I was born to preach

So as to reach my inner layers

The resistance of this creature

A technique for forming prayers.

Poetizing to be taught the things

Not bought, but sought.

Resistance is occasion.

To get rid of I-must have-ness.

-I must have my cup of coffee.

-How I yearn to stay in bed.

Big things put aside for sun.

I ignore a weak fourth finger

Or my intonation. I elect less

Challenge and I choose to linger

Over obstacles less thorny –

Not to mention being horny.

Action wrong, right, action -non,

Secret of the action won –

This resistance is a tool

The fuel, the gruel, the school, a duel:

The grandest teacher – pain its feature,

Finely tuned and eighteen jewel.

©

Resistance Movement 96.6.6Definitely Didactic; Pure Nakedness; I Is Always You Is We;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

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