Sydney Owenson: Weaving Threads of Culture Together

From my book: 

In Sydney Owenson’s national tales, she weaves together threads of disenfranchisement and enchantment, capturing the essence of the politically inspired Romantic era, in which the grand is intentionally written to be grander, where literary characterizations entwine with political forces within a civil society. 

The English aristocracy and the publishing community accept Owenson as a significant member of their elite societies through her writing and marriage to Sir Charles Morgan. Even though she takes the name, ‘Lady Morgan,’ she remains loyal to her Irish roots as Sydney Owenson. Her loyalty to both identities serves her expressive purposes well, for she carefully coordinates these unique influences into her text by merging the English tale of aristocratic inheritance with Irish ideology. 

Not only did Sydney Owenson bring innovation to Irish literature in the form of national tales written from a woman’s perspective, but also she included illuminating research in each of her works on the historical significance of her characters, their personal and political milieux, and their sociolinguistic backgrounds. She includes a wide range of socioeconomic and ethnic variables within the linguistic components of her characters’ discourse. 

For these reasons, she has been an excellent choice in researching the relevance of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries’ revolutionary period in Europe and America. Her interest in uniting political factions and social classes as a way to open communication for the cause of justice in Ireland during this era is clearly evident in her thematic structures and characterizations. 

Faith like a Rock (or Ode to a Friend)

Decades ago, I lived in Atlanta and received a letter from a friend who lived in my hometown in Michigan. She wrote to tell me that our mutual friend in Junior High School had committed suicide. We were all cheerleaders, and it was so sad to learn that this young girl came to such a sad ending. After praying, I wrote this poem, "Faith like a Rock (or Ode to a Friend)." Unfortunately, our friend ended up as a drifting river. 

Photo of a stream near my home with a small, gentle waterfall and many rocks

Faith like a Rock

(or Ode to a Friend)

So this is life ~

engulfing 

the sorrows and heartaches

of human weakness.

There are no tides without the ocean depths.

A tear can stroke my cheek,

but where is Faith?

The heart can contain emotions.

The soul can contain feelings.

A waterfall may flow forever, 

but without the steadfast Rock,

it is only a drifting river.

Each of us has a Rock

which harbors our heart. 

The stronger the Rock, 

the more tender the soul. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

A Day with Wintry Trees

This poem is a brief narrative that describes one full wintry day. Since we're about to experience another New England Nor'easter this weekend, I thought it would be appropriate. 

I took these photos in Danbury, Connecticut.

A Day with Wintry Trees

As morning sun

awakens each snowflake

adorning bare limbs,

and trees sigh

in serenity's brilliance,

one last, gold leaf glistens

in the snowy shower

when a brisk wind

draws its stem from a tree,

and in this release,

the leaf tumbles

in a dance of jubilation.

This leaf drifts to the ground,

and the tree,

now naked and sparkling

in the sun's warmth,

stands tall and ready

to accept its wintry destiny.

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

Golden sun illumines

the end of this day.

Behind striated clouds

of pink and orange,

an aqua sky enhances

the illumination

as dancing branches rattle,

yielding to the variant wind.

She breathes in the song

of this winter night

and surrenders to its peace,

lets the brisk, fresh air

fill her smile, for she sees

the tiny footprints of animals

braver than she,

leading to the tree's hollow.

Nurtured by the moon’s iridescence 

and a dominion of love,

they snuggle 

within a newly fallen leaf.

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

Evergreens mingle

with snow-kissed branches.

The canopy opens

to welcome a thousand stars

spread across the midnight sky,

and under their distant radiance,

she whispers, “Humbly, I adore Thee.” 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos  

You can hear me recite this poem by clicking HERE.

Empty Nest

 

Empty Nest

Nest of winter

left over from the hot, summer months,

carefully interlaced grasses

rest peacefully against a raftered wall.

This nest that once was the home, 

center of life for the young feathered ones

whose songs welcomed sleepy ears each morning

and sang 'good night' echoes to begin each evening. 

Now, the silence reigns,

bringing with it the howling, wintry winds, 

as the strength of woven grasses awaits

another answered prayer for the warmth and hope 

of Spring.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

The Mill

Long ago, a friend told me about this beautiful mill, located in Floyd County, Virginia. I found a picture of it in a history book and saw the serene beauty of this sight, so I took out my oil paints and painted my own version of the mill: Mabry Mill is its name. Below are two photos. One is a photo from Google Images. The other is my painting of the lovely Mabry Mill in Floyd County, Virginia. The poem revolves around this stalwart mill.

The 'melodious Lark' in the poem refers to Ralph Vaughn Williams' masterpiece, The Lark Ascending. You can hear the lovely melody if you click HERE. 

Photo of Mabry Mill, Virginia

 from Google Images

 

My painting of Mabry Mill, Virginia

                                             

The Mill

Quietly and peaceful

 The Mill does stand

In harmony with God's land,

and in its tranquil solitude

the melodious Lark 

sings its sweet etude. 

All the while, 

the Mill in steady repose sings: 

"I'll be here

as long as the wind does carry

His song through the realms of time. 

I'll be here for you ~ 

My love will ne'er weary

for your spirit 

inspires

my Joy. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To hear my reading of this poem on Pod-omatic, click HERE.)

Ash Wednesday

 

“But thou, when thou fastest anoint thy head, and wash thy face; That thou appear not to men to fast, but to thy Father who is in secret: and thy Father who seeth in secret, will repay thee.”

(Matthew 6:17-18) kjv

Bluebird Dream

Years ago, TFE's Poetry Bus  had Kate the Emerging Writer as its driver. She provided us with three excellent prompts, and I chose to apply my own version of l'esprit d'escalier for Prompt III and a little of Prompt II, too, so I guess this was a combo plate. For those unfamiliar with bluebirds, they are the most beautiful little birds on the planet. Below, I've included a photo of one that I took from my living room window... for your viewing pleasure.

Bluebird perched on a maple tree branch

Bluebird Dream

Letting the pen fall,

she sighed into a dream.

There, her responses

were perfectly timed

and no one left the room

unaffected.

She was strong, efficient.

Perseverance was her game.

Not one soul

would even consider

challenging her decisions.

They wouldn’t dare.

A bluebird awakened her.

So small, beautiful

iridescent blue

and sweetly chirping.

Suddenly, it darted past her

and again in the other direction.

Soon, she saw a pair of wings

much larger, bolder.

That bird flew high and away.

The bluebird perched

on a limb of the maple tree,

panting, confident, dreaming.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To hear my reading of this poem on Pod-omatic, click HERE.)