Arlene Corwin Poetry

Married, unmarried, with children, without – this reaches out for all in one or other .

There Are Daughters, Sons*

There is a daughter and a son
One or more to almost everyone.
And when we’re gone
We want to leave a sign
That we were here.
A legacy, a benefaction
Some provision
Carried to a future, a hereafter
With a memory or memories
That we were here,
The seed in us that brought them where
They are right now.

Some symbol
In a form tactile;
Visual (a picture, books)
Aural (music)
Journals, diaries or cash.
Reminders in moments of flashback.

We love our progeny,
We think of them as prodigies,
Love so miraculous and strange.
Phenomenon we cannot, would not change
For all the tea in China.

Read this, sons and daughters;
Be respecters, benefactors of your own
To carry on and far beyond
The life on loan.

There Are Daughters, Sons 2.26.2020 Love Relationships II; Arlene Nover Corwin

*To Jonathan & Jennifer

Is There A Case For Divination?

If one can make some sense, shed light on signs,
What can be made known?
Deep, explorable your nature,
You can only go so far
Interpreting a star.

There seems to be significance in divination,
Most of life interpretation anyway.

What, if any knowledge
Is no more than collage
When so much of memory is fanciful,
Wishful thinking, swishing round inside the brain –
Imagination.

Many hundred years ago
One of the first books ever printed
Was a book of divination.
Book, I Ching;*
Introduction by Carl Jung,
Annotation by Confucius
Translation: Richard Wilhelm, sundry others.

Rational and philosophical; precise results;
All based upon your own projections,
Circumstance. your mind, the generations…

Scientific, not a bit BUT…
With sincerity,
A mastery of modus operandi
Six throws of the coins produce
A grasp of future consciousness,
An understanding for success.

A case for divination?
Locked into the brain is something magical,
Some second sense, some second sight,
That seeks to make predictions
Out of dark and light
To give a sense of meaning
That controls the everything.

Is There A Case For Divination? 2.25.2020 Circling Round Reality; Nature Of &In Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin
*I Ching: Book Of Changes

More Bits Of The Puzzle

Now that we’ve captured,
Not just pictured
One hole, one small galactic hole
(After all
It’s only fifty-six Earth suns)
One wonders:
“What is black hole knowledge good for? And,
“Where do we go from here?”
In ignorance and innocence,
Cluelessness and inexperience, I answer,
Knowledge of that kind must lead, by definition
To more knowledge of its kind;
Gluing more and more bits that we find,
So that we understand more of its soul –
And isn’t that the goal?
To understand the (w)hole?

More Bits Of The Puzzle 4.11.2019 revised 2.18.2020 Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Reality; Arlene Nover Corwin

It happens sometimes that one hits the wrong button. As in this case, I pressed a button (are they really called ‘buttons’?) which brought up a blank page. Not knowing what to do with or about it, I started writing and this came out:

A Blank Page

What to write when suddenly
A blank page stands in front of me!
It’s but to fill it – but with what?

Daily news both bleak and dreary
Filling ear and piercing eye
Via the overloaded drained, strained brain.
So much for day’s TV.

Info of another kind, where black holes find themselves headlined –
Stupefying wonders to the likes of me,
Might fill my page ineffably,
Broadening a brooding mood of triviality
Which harm a sense of good half veiled
And shrouded by the bad.

The blank, unused and unfilled paper,
Though computerised
And will end up in cyber skies,
Is something rich – a helping hand;
No caper to be joked about, ignored, and, and,..

It is a treasure ill-ignored,
A storehouse/keeper and procedure
To converse, the emphasis on ‘verse’
With you.

A Blank Page 4.12.2019/revised 2.18.2020 Our Times, Our Culture II; Circling Round Computers; The Processes: Creative, Thinking; Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

The Great Communicator
(self confidence, low self-esteem)

He eats the cake, the bread home baked;
He never asks or comments.
Eats in silence.

There are men with little interest,
Curiosity, desire to know;
Silent husbands
With repeated jokes, repeated patterns;
Showing growth, but oh, so slowly.
Holy moly!*.
Passive in aggression, but aggression there.
Defensive, self-protective;
Inner stuff that doesn’t dare,
Except in dreams when he is violent.
Mostly silent,
He observes the weather, future seasons.
He can reason, have his reasons
Sometimes faulty, sometimes right.
Doesn’t recognise a compliment – can’t take it in.
Apologize? It doesn’t happen.
And those violent jerks at night!
Reveal a healing that has never taken place:
The chases, villainous and shadowed faces, traces of what nowadays
Is called low self-esteem.
It’s natural one wants to scream, become a fem-
inist.
It’s so unnerving!
Serving no one in particular.
Who needs a ‘great communicator’
Like the one who wants no insight.

*exclamation US dated or humorous
used to express surprise or dismay: holy moly, this is exciting news!
ORIGIN
late 19th century: alteration of holy Moses, popularized in the 1940s by the character Captain Marvel in DC Comics’ comic book of the same name.
The Great Communicator 2.17.2020 Pure Nakedness II; Love Relationships II; Arlene Nover Corwin

     Writing all the time, dreaming about good rhyme, meter, theme, here’s what I scribbled last night in bed, watching TV.

Everything Comes To An End, Or Does It?

Walking down the avenue,
Masses walking toward me,
Thinking all too suddenly:
“None of you will be here
In a hundred years”

Then again watching the telly
(British English for TV)
Witness to a documentary
(BBC coincidentally)
“Forsaken Structures” (do not quote me)
Buildings, bridges, monumental fixtures,
pictures, architectures…
Seeing these phantasmagoria
Fanatical and gory, built for lasting glory
Disappear rot, lost to time,
Corroding or exploding; stored in history.
So it goes,
As often said, ‘the way the wind blows’.

Now for the gigantic BUT…
Everything comes to an end – or does it?
Does it turn, re-turn transformed, renewed?
Expansion and contraction going on and on and on…
Is the law of cause/effect a law or non-?
Strolling avenue-rs come again, again,
Each soul etern-
al?

Everything Comes To An End… 2.16.2020 Birth, Death & In Between III; Arlene Nover Corwin

Many Hours, Many Days

So many wonder, many ask
About the writing: task
Or inspiration?
I say perspiration.
(not exactly, for there’s joy and fun
in reading what you’ve ultimately done)
Still yet,
It’s work and effort,
Spadework fundamental, elemental;
Work, but also preparation mental
for what is to follow
All the golden yellow years to come.
First a phrase, a thought, a sight,
A theme the middle of the night.
The paper, pen, computer close;
The start of slogging elbow grease.

First draft, still filled by sweat
May probably be filled with sh_t.
It doesn’t matter, for
The after-write will be to edit.

Changes, flexibility, ability to cross things out,
Delete, expunge, all but destroy…
There is a certain joy in that.
But still, it’s to exert an effort.
To create is always effort.
To excite and rouse yourself an effort always
Work, but worth it.

Here’s the send-off:
In the end and after years
It’s actually easier.
The fears that held you back have disappeared.
Ideas developed, riper.
Technique, range your own:
It’s called a style. You’ve a rone,*
A drainpipe in your brain
To carry off unwanted stuff
And carry on much wanted t-raining.

Many hours, many days in which to raise your standard.
Many years of joy and tears –
It all adds up up to guarantees and widened spheres
Of self-esteem and understanding.

*a gutter for carrying off rain from a roof:
Many Hours, Many Days 2.12.2020 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

Many Hours, Many Days

So many wonder, many ask
About the writing: task
Or inspiration?
I say perspiration.
(not exactly, for there’s joy and fun
in reading what you’ve ultimately done)
Still yet,
It’s work and effort,
Spadework fundamental, elemental;
Work, but also preparation mental
for what is to follow
All the golden yellow years to come.
First a phrase, a thought, a sight,
A theme the middle of the night.
The paper, pen, computer close;
The start of slogging elbow grease.

First draft, still filled by sweat
May probably be filled with sh_t.
It doesn’t matter, for
The after-write will be to edit.

Changes, flexibility, ability to cross things out,
Delete, expunge, all but destroy…
There is a certain joy in that.
But still, it’s to exert an effort.
To create is always effort.
To excite and rouse yourself an effort always
Work, but worth it.

Here’s the send-off:
In the end and after years
It’s actually easier.
The fears that held you back have disappeared.
Ideas developed, riper.
Technique, range your own:
It’s called a style. You’ve a rone,*
A drainpipe in your brain
To carry off unwanted stuff
And carry on much wanted t-raining.

Many hours, many days in which to raise your standard.
Many years of joy and tears –
It all adds up up to guarantees and widened spheres
Of self-esteem and understanding.

*a gutter for carrying off rain from a roof:
Many Hours, Many Days 2.12.2020 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Arlene Nover Corwin

I’ve written about doctor care before – two or three poems. My back is hurting and I don’t know why. I’ll try once more to find a reason and/or treatment.

Just Thinking

Such doubts
About
So many things –
Shadows, bags, those awful rings;
Answers one seems to not get
Concerning age’s yet debated issues,
Thrown around like used up tissues.

Falling hair, backbone hurting –
Here and there uncertainty.
Is it a kidney? Old or recent?
Every enquiry to be decided
While one feels derailed, derided.

Lots of, loads of telephoning,
Steps before one
reaches someone;
No one seems to own or loan a way to ask.
You’re in a casket prematurely,
(which means much too, MUCH TOO soon).

What’s this? Substance and significance?
What, the chances of a cure?
“I’m not sure”, one sometimes hears.
“It’s not my specialty.” The doctor bears
No blame, no shame.
C’est domage!
The damage does not have a name.

One knows that doctors have great stress.
That they say “Yes, I’ll help”, and try.
Meanwhile one winces, yelps or cries
When pains unknown are thrown up, shown up
To be borne with courage,
Taking age as it will come.
Ho hum, just thinking.
JustThinking 2.11.2020 Nature Of & In Reality; Circling Round Experience; Arlene Nover Corwin

Seeing God In Everything

Make it a habit to see God in everything.
To go inside the biologic brain
And train.
The practice simple but not easy
Time and effort: key.

Repetition means repeat;
It also means rehearse.
It has the power to reverse
What feels a curse to grace,
A sense that everything is in your favour,
Savouring its flavour
In Itself a nice affair.
It needs a run-through every day
Or else the feeling gets away.

It’s hard to not take note of pain
Which comes again, again, again…
A something you can’t comprehend.
The man I live with renders
thanks
Each morning when the body wakes,
Though there is pain he cannot shake.
Perhaps that is the way to solve
A problem unresolvable:
Wait, translate, try to love an obscure It above.

Faith: a puzzle all its own.
A koan. A hurdle. Complication.
Yet we take on faith coin’s worth;
A sun, moon, star
Which always have been always are…
We trust the unseen power source:
Atoms, protons just because
We know they’re laws.

If one can take a a blind belief
Finding that it gives relief-
A circumstance wished for
Has been dished up suddenly.
Why not start to practice seeing
God and good in the entirety
of your existence,
Giving in without resistance
What comes fleetingly each moment
And what comes fittingly to be!

Seeing God In Everything 2.10.2020 God Book II; Circling Round Reality; The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative II; Circling Round Meditation; Arlene Nover Corwin