"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Deuteronomy 31:6)

Introduction:

My photo
Current: Danbury, CT, United States
Welcome! A few years ago, I discovered an application that artists employ in their works to bring cultural awareness to their audiences. Having discerned this semiotic theory that applies to literature, music, art, film, and the media, I have devoted the blog, "Theory of Iconic Realism" to explore this theory. The link to the publisher of my book is below. If you or your university would like a copy of this book for your library or if you would like to review it for a scholarly journal, please contact the Edwin Mellen Press at the link listed below. Looking forward to hearing from you!

Announcements

I will present or have presented research on Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) at the following location(s):

March, 2021: Lenoir-Rhyne University, Hickory, North Carolina: "Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan): A Nineteenth Century Advocate for Positive Change through Creative Vision"

October, 2019: Elms College, Chicopee, Massachusetts: "A Declaration of Independence: Dissolving Sociolinguistic Borders in the Literature of Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan)"

13 July, 2021

Blindness


 Below is a poem I wrote a few years ago. I took the photograph whilst driving south of Dublin, lost and 'blind' to the correct pathway to a professional conference at I.A.D.T. in Dun Laoghaire. Thanks to a few gentlemen at Dunphey's Pub and their fine directions with a hand-drawn map, I was able to make it to the afternoon panels. Having learned my lesson, the following day, I took the bus. 

(A church near Dun Laoghaire, Ireland, photograph by me)

Blind
A blinding
moves her
to close the blind
shielding her
from brilliance
Outside-
the hour of dusk
palpitates
with a creative verve
releasing gold
Within-
a beam expands
that cannot blind
for Memory
sustains the weakest eye.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

05 July, 2021

Winged Inspiration

Photos taken in my garden

Winged Inspiration

Today,
a bee flies wistfully,
nectar gathering for the hive,
Today,
a butterfly shares the space
of time and floral beauty,
collecting heavenly nourishment.
Today,
the lavender grows more alluring
in service
to its insect guests.
And as my eyes are permitted to view
this treasured scene
of serenity and industry,
I am compelled
to make a difference
before Tomorrow.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

02 July, 2021

A Yankee Doodle Dandy

A dear friend was like a surrogate Mom to me and just about everyone else in town.  Every 4th of July, she could be seen in the town parade, riding the back of a motorcycle. (See photo below.) She was the mother of several children now living across the U.S., grandma and great-grandma to oodles more, and just a love. If you have the time, click (tick) onto A Patriotic Wave  to visit my other blog and another poem. 

Happy 4th of July from Connecticut, U.S.A! 

A Yankee Doodle Dandy
She's everybody's Mother.
She 'owns' the third pew
 at Mass on Sunday and daily, too,
just to be sure the priests stay true.
 She's an early bird all right
this merry widow dressed in red.

Prayed for the man for whom she wore white
50+ years ago
whispered one last "I love you!"
Sang the blues.
Then...
hopped on the back of this one's bike,
held on tight to save her life. 

Waves, smiles, stories to share,
filling up on love
feathered boa in mid-air
This yankee doodle dandy
in red, white and blue!

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

18 June, 2021

Memories of My Dad

A few years ago, I participated in a literary challenge to write about our fathers. I wrote this one for Father's Day. This is not a poem; it's a reflection of the time that my father brought me some Siberian iris tubes, and each year, I feel his presence as the irises propagate annually. The ones in the photo are from this year's blooms. 


Blue Iris:
A Reflection of my Dad

I didn’t realize it would be the final kiss on his dimpled cheek, that the irises he brought would be his last gift to me. “They’re blue, like your eyes, and they have your name,” he winks as he carefully unwraps the newspaper and inspects each delicate tuber. 

Thinking back as if it were just yesterday…
* I was picking green apples in our backyard on a hot August afternoon. I glanced down to see my T-shirt covered with ants; I ran, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy! Calmly, he brushed the ants off my shivering 4-year old self. “There, there, it’s nothing. See? All gone.”
* Glancing down at my hands now, I remember my little fingers clinging tightly to the rim of the old green wheelbarrow, as I sit atop a pile of fresh grass clippings, inhaling the sweetness. My own dimpled smile reflects his as he merrily sings to the tunes on the radio.
* His lap is the best seat in the house while we watch the Tigers defeat the Red Sox on T.V.
* As a sophomore in high school, I can still hear his lighter click as he inhales yet another Lucky Strike and patiently draws lines and digits as my dad the chemist patiently explains one more geometry theorem to me for the night.
* Purple heart, bronze star, and a battle wound scar in his leg that never kept him from running with the ball during many a neighborhood baseball game.

Once, he brought a spray of blue Siberian irises for me to plant in my garden. There, outside my window grows a sea of blue, each year more irises than the year before, winking at me, loving me. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

15 June, 2021

Bloomsday! (June 16th)

I took this photo of O'Neill's Pub, Suffolk St., Dublin, Ireland 27 May, 2010.
---that was the one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you yes that was why I liked him---  (from Molly Bloom's soliloquy in the novel, Ulysses, by James Joyce)

Happy Bloomsday! In James Joyce's novel, Ulysses, Leopold Bloom epitomizes the concept of circuitous paths, as he meanders through the streets of Dublin on the 16th of June, 1904. The following is an excerpt from a paper I presented in Dun Laoghaire last year. It will be a chapter in a book to be published this year with Peter Lang Publishers and illustrates the use of iconic realism in James Joyce's Ulysses as well as in the medieval poem, Roman de la Rose. The following excerpt from that chapter discusses the character, Molly Bloom, who speaks out in the final 'Penelope' chapter through 40 pages of stream of consciousness and not a punctuation point to be found... an amazing read!

            In his novel, Ulysses, James Joyce illustrates parochial dissonance by means of Victorian feminine perceptions throughout Molly Bloom’s soliloquy in the final chapter of his epic tale. Using stream of consciousness in a manner unparalleled at this novel’s publication, Joyce leads his audience to the entrance of the sphere of Molly’s mind, taking the reader to every crevice of her feminine consciousness. Joyce defies the social stigma of women during this era as he interweaves Molly Bloom’s expression of a unique feminine point of view.

            Through Molly’s voice, he seeks answers to his own challenge with a feminine defiance of human weakness. The Ireland in which James Joyce lives is in the midst of revolution. As Joyce leaves his ancestral home, he allows his own genius to flourish. He sees the result of the male world’s design for women and seeks to illuminate the world with its significance. His personal associations with women frame the female portrait of Molly Bloom, as he places Molly in the midst of the Victorian era, with its focus on proper placement of gender roles, customs and even nations, carries the burden of living with this regimented philosophical point of view. Joyce designs the person of Molly to reveal traits that originate from conventional Victorian masculine ideas of how a woman should act or think. Joyce writes Molly as one whose actions have a tendency to focus upon her sexual desires. Molly, like Ireland, is a contradiction of human spirit. On one hand, she is independent, wild, yet she depends on the ruler of her heart for identity. 

11 June, 2021

"Singing the "Blues"

Every year, when my irises bloom, thoughts of my Dad return to me. Below is a poem about the irises that he brought to me many years ago. "They're your flower, Jeanne Iris. The blue matches the blue in your eyes and they bear your name." This was a significant statement, for my genetic 'flaw' of blue eyes had always made me feel like an outsider, for everyone else in my family had brown eyes. 

The second poem describes the first thing I experience in the morning. My favorite time of day is that moment when I first awaken, sometimes still dreaming, and I look out my window to a lovely little forest, night animals still calling to their mates, no human sound outdoors at all. It's just before dawn, and just after that 'darkest hour,' and for only a few minutes, everything is blue. 



Blue Iris
My Dad brought me some irises
one day
I planted them,
and when 'moving day' arrived,
those bulbs were dug up
brought along for the ride.
Now, every June, they appear
bearing memories of his smiles 
more vividly than the previous year
keeping his beautiful memory alive.
Now, as I strive
to achieve daily goals,
his voice rings clearly in my ear:
"You can be anything you want to be, my dear...
if you just persevere."  


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

Just Before Dawn
Eyes open slowly.
Still, I walk along that lovely beach
and glance up to see a small village.
That same, intriguing dream,
now, it fades away
with the early morning mist.
 I feel a gentle, cool breeze
waft across my face
and turn my head
toward the choir of crickets,
still calling to their mates.
An owl wings its way
midst entangled branches,
eerily hooting through the blue.
My gaze reaches the maple tree
standing tall in this tableau
all blue, shades of blue, no other color
but blue. Everywhere!
Leaves, tree trunks, even the lone deer,
all blue.
It's no longer evening, not yet dawn.
Sky and sea are one magic hue.
The song of one bird greets me:
a prayer for the new day
in this tranquil moment of
blue.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

10 June, 2021

Fractal Force

A few years ago, another blogger gave our poetry group a line prompt to use for our weekly poetry read. The line was as follows: "I am a crooked line." Well, the first thought that came to my mind was FRACTALS! To view more fractals and listen to some ambient music, click HERE.

Photo from Bing Images
http://www.citi.io/2015/02/28/science-for-designers-scaling-and-fractals/

Fractal Force
I am a crooked line.
My course
parallels spirit
conforming
non-conformist
weaves between
giving and receiving
audaciously
on the humble fringe of
pure
infinite
ubiquitous
love.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos