One Waft

A waft of air, lifting leaves from a tree in my backyard.

One Waft

One waft of autumnal air: 

tumbles the gold leaf 

and lifts the hawk's wing; 

each with its own resolve.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Goal: Inspiration

Me, on my side deck, years ago,

reading Sydney Owenson's (Lady Morgan's) Book of Memoirs

Goal: Inspiration

With each cleansing breath 

she inhales 

the aroma of the glow, 

releases 

toxic confusion,

breathes 

purity of heart and mind,

feels

the respiration 

moving through her body.

Through her brain,

each thought

dances

to effervescent stirrings 

as her dream

evolves

from ache to inspiration.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear my reading of this poem, please click HERE .

"Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy, A Deleted Segment of Walt Disney's 1940 film, "Fantasia"

Click below to view the film clip: 

"Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy, A Deleted Segment of Walt Disney's 1940 film, "Fantasia"

I came upon this beautiful interpretation of "Clair de Lune" by Claude Debussy, deleted from the final version of the Disney classic film, Fantasia. A visual and aural illustration of life's circularity, this film depicts innovation in the art of filmmaking for the time in which the artists and musicians collaborated to create this film. The love expressed in this one scene makes my heart sing. Moreover, I really love the blue tones in the scene above, for they remind me of the very early morning, right before sunrise, when the flora and fauna all contain shades of blue.  

Below is the opening recitative from my operetta, Luminescence, an interpretation of the 13th century poem, Roman de la Rose. It also focuses on the moon as it relinquishes its light to the sun:

The moon, known as Lunula, emits a soft, silver glow onto the indigo and deep green foliage where life renews in the created shadows of the garden’s crevices. Then, she silently dismisses darkness from the fertile land. As daybreak slowly creates an elusive blush, Lunula moves aside to allow her eminence, the sun, its splendid glow in the dawning light. Knowing that her radiance is dependent on the reflection of the sun, Lunula illuminates this shaded, overgrown venue with dignity and grace, providing inspiration for the precious life over which her luminescence humbly drifts. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos 

To hear me read this, please click HERE.

Guided Steps

This photo reveals the gorgeous mountains of Cullowhee, North Carolina

"How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace; that bringeth good tidings of good, that publisheth salvation..." (Isaiah 52:7) kjv

Guided Steps 

To serve, 

to bring joy,

to surround oneself 

with the Love of Him 

by whom the sacrifice

bestows onto to us a purity 

of spirit, grace, and everlasting peace. 

To walk alone with the One 

who justifies our being

with purpose of Love

through faithful steps,

guided by Divinity. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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. 

The Slug: "Fortune Favors the Brave"

"Fortes fortuna iuvat!" 
(Fortune favors the brave!) 

~ Latin Proverb

Sometimes, with certain 'green-eyed' slugs, we have to take defensive action; other times, it pays simply to observe the power of Light. 

www.thisgardenisillegal.com/ 2006/07/how-to-ki..

The Slug

Hypocritical green-eyed slug

compulsively feeds upon

the entrails of authenticity.

Vomiting truth along its way,

its impish, soul-less self

solely thrives on

cunning insults and ineptness.

It binges on fictional fervor

slinking in slimy skin,

 blinded by its own limitations.

It lurks about for its next victim

to entice with fabricated promises,

while other small, spineless creatures

easily fall prey to its ‘virtue.’

However...

 the Truth that this slug rejects

soon takes on a life of its own,

swirling through the air with sweet fragrance,

fusing with fortitude.

Yet still, slinking along, the slug

slowly attempts to cross my path…

I lift my elegant boot

to squish it! Squish it good!

Ah, but there's no need to squish,
for below me, I witness:

evaporating in the powerful Light,
slimy innards,
consumed
from their lack of substance. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE. 

Strength Within

Since transformation is part of my blog's title, I composed this villanelle, containing the poetic framework creating a linguistic form of life's ebb and flow. This poem's theme is that a loving, driving, force that emanates from the Divine, can bring a transforming strength, and I hope you enjoy it. 

Photo is of East Lake, Danbury, CT

Strength Within

Draw from Love that brings your verve its aim,

for gently comes the mission that will bring

the strength within that only you can name.

Your passion resonates hope; now proclaim

the song that desires your voice, and boldly sing.

Draw from Love that brings your verve its aim!

Intricacy builds clarity as the frame 

of delicately interlaced might, healing

the strength within that only you can name.

 

Travail with challenge evolves, as the game

of motivating resolve becomes your freeing.

Draw from Love that brings your verve its aim.

Benevolence and wonder: Adventure’s name

and yours when life moves on by loving

the strength within that only you can name.

Acknowledge from your heart that you can't tame

the Sacred Grace from unleashing torment’s cling.

Draw from Love that brings your verve its aim,

the strength within that only you can name.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this villanelle, please click HERE. 

The Holy Rosary

 October 7th was the Feast of Our Lady of the Holy Rosary. Let's use this tactile praying device to bring the power of our Lord, Jesus Christ into our midst. Reciting the prayers of the Rosary is a powerful, meditative communication in which many have engaged through the centuries. 

Here is a link to a broadcast from Dr. Taylor Marshall on 19 quotes regarding the praying of the Holy Rosary: https://youtu.be/TICywhRRLk8

Below are brief step-by-step instructions for praying the Rosary: 

https://youtu.be/VgsadNfbMYA

Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) and Disparate Characterizations in The Missionary

Cover of Sydney Owenson's novel, The Missionary

From my book, pp. 33-34: 

In her 1811 novel, The Missionary, Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan) uses realism in conjunction with an icon to illustrate her views on cultural adaptation. In the following passage, she describes the realistic nature of Hilarion as a young, conflicted priest, who sacrifices earthly pleasures to honor his faith:

All that could touch in the saint, or impose in the man breathed around him: the sublimity of religion, and the splendour of beauty, the purity of faith, and the dignity of manhood; grace and majesty, holiness and simplicity, diffusing their combined influence over his form and motions, his look and air. (The Missionary, p. 82)

In contrast, Luxima, the Hindu Priestess, embodies beauty with spirituality as she interacts with the Missionary through her “dovelike eyes and innocent hands…raised in same direction, for gazing on the glories of the firmament, a feeling of rapturous devotion, awakened and exalted by the enthusiasm of the Missionary, filled her soul.” (The Missionary, p. 121) Not only do her characters contain realistic qualities that independently represent their iconic associations, but her setting this tale in India, provides the other realistic aspect of Owenson’s novel, for in the seventeenth century, India is the focus of European nations, who are seeking new economic and political territories to whet their imperial appetites. Moreover, the Catholic Church, having made so many dissenters from its powerful stance, needed to expand its philosophical territories, so the emergence of missionaries became a reality in India during the early seventeenth century. Portuguese missionaries do travel to India for the purpose of religious conversion of the non-Christian Hindus. Owenson draws upon observations from the historical documentations of Francois Bernier (1625-1688) to provide anthropological references as a means to create realistic characterizations, as she brings two people together in a Garden of Eden to form the genesis of a consciousness that alerts her audience to the possibilities of overzealous proselytizing of any stalwart community.

Owenson represents iconic realism with the placement of Hilarion, the Franciscan Priest, an icon of Jesus Christ and European philosophy, physically and spiritually immersed with Indian culture through his interaction with an Indian Priestess, the icon of 17^th century Hindu community and victimized follower of a faith and culture that is targeted for conversion. As Thomas Kavanagh points out:

The signified meanings, instead of being accepted as such, instead of taking us outside the text as text, become themselves the signifiers of the iconic signs, of a continuing movement, of a second temporality definable only within the parameters of the text.” [1]

Hilarion is a Catholic Missionary because he is the nephew to the Archbishop of Lisbon. Although her description of his qualities is quite flattering, under his cloak of religiosity, his true nature is simply that of an ordinary man. As a true follower of Jesus Christ, he transfigures into a real person with real emotions and real anxieties regarding the bureaucracy of his organized religion. In Owenson’s portrayal of him as an icon set within the realism of seventeenth century India, he signifies two elements: the Catholic Church of the Inquisition period and imperialistic England, whose dogmatic government maintains its own mission to convert the Irish to the British consciousness. John Locke, in his essay on the “Powers of the Commonwealth” refers to this form of bureaucracy in government and religion:

For no man or society of men having a power to deliver up their preservation, or consequently the means of it, to the absolute will and arbitrary dominion of another, whenever anyone shall go about to bring them into such a slavish condition, they will always have a right to preserve what they have not a power to part with, and to rid themselves of those who invade this fundamental, sacred, and unalterable law of self-preservation for which they entered society. And thus the community may be said in this respect to be always the supreme power, but not as considered under any form of government, because this power of the people can never take place till the government be dissolved. [2]

Thus, the hierarchy of authority within human society creates significant conflict of interest for those whose mindset differs from the status quo. Owenson demonstrates this conflict through her disparate characterizations.

________________________________________________________________________

[1] Thomas Kavanagh, “Time and Narration: Indexical and Iconic Models” in Comparative Literature, MLN, 86. 6 (1971), p. 832.

[2] John Locke, in Howard R. Penniman (ed.), John Locke: On Politics and Education (Roslyn, New York:  Walter J. Black, Inc., 1947), p. 152. 

One October Day

 

One October Day

Today, I took my usual walk 
and what did I hear? 
Golden leaves tumbling through the branches
spinning, dancing, composing 
the joyful sonance
of a thousand hands clapping. 
A few leaves tumbled onto my head. 
(Does this mean my prayers have been answered?)
Trees with variegated shades of russet, gold, red, and green, 
like giant bouquets presented from the azure sky.
Old rock walls display their historical wisdom 
as they uphold the dried, withered vines 
from Summer's sun. 
People walking, riding bikes, 
chatting with friends on their phones
 pass me by, 
each one smiling, nodding 'hello,' 
for this lovely day brings with it
a heavenly Spirit
through sighs of a gentle breeze, 
the chirping of sweet birds, 
Solace 
in the heart of each passer-by,
in my heart, too,
and I am grateful for it. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To listen to My reading of this poem on Pod-omatic. Click HERE )

Autumnal Still: Life

Photo taken on my side deck

Autumnal Still: Life

The pine cones, ripped away from their branches
by a chilly northwest wind, 
the wax candle, ready to be lit, 
and the sugar pumpkin, tempting small animals 
with its sweet nutrition
all rest in silent beauty
as the north wind 
continues to release its fury 
upon their stoic forms. 
Do they each have a purpose?
They seem quite confident
in their positions placed;
so they sit, unknowing
of the possibilities, ready to burst
from the hardened structures that protect 
their gentle, Divine essence within
 the Autumnal still: life.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon

After the heat of summer,

the sweltering, suffocating heat, 

a welcoming breeze wafts over her skin

as she inhales the cool, crisp breath of autumn. 

  And there is the moon, 

  the Harvest moon, 

the Super moon

 in all its glory. 

Her eyes behold 

the luminescence

reflected from the sun

as she wistfully wonders,

"Is anyone else gazing at this brilliant sight 

with hopeful eyes and heartfelt smile?" 

Soothing wishes warm the night 

a comforting, timeless Salve. 

  

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Memory Sustained

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, Ireland. Thanks to a few kind gentlemen at Dunphey's Pub and their fine directions with a hand-drawn map, I was able to make it to the afternoon panel presentations. Having learned my lesson, the following day, I took the bus and presented my own paper on time. 

(I captured this church in the sunlight near Dun Laoghaire, Ireland.)

Memory Sustained 

A blinding moves her

to close the blind,

now shielded

from the brilliance

Outside-

The hour of dusk

palpitates

with a creative verve

releasing the gold

Within-

Shards of light

simply cannot blind,

for Memory sustains 

the weakest eye.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this vers, please click HERE.

To Flâneur

A group of trees with fallen leaves of various Autumnal hues

To Flâneur

Today, I longed to flâneur

through the fallen leaves, 

wandering, 

wondering 

about the way each leaf sprouted

from the great tree branches

just months ago,

small, green buds, 

excited

to live their lives along

the trees' limbs, 

providing 

shade on a hot summer day, 

food for the ravenous caterpillars,

waving in soft breezes

that brought peace of mind

to this worried soul.

Now, these same leaves

contain the vivid colors of gold, russet and red,

some, newly fallen, 

gently kiss the top of my head,

while others crunch 

beneath my feet. 

That's what it means to flâneur

among fallen leaves, 

embracing 

the glory of Autumn. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Wild Roses

 

Wild Roses, full bloom in my garden

From my operetta, Luminescence: 

How can this Rose grow steadily on the vine
and not see the goodness of her Diviner’s gift?

The holy offerings of kindness, 

joy and cerebral inspiration

have led to this moment of jubilant glory.

I erupt with vitality, basking in this moment

of perfect harmony with the one who bestows 

wisdom deep in my spirit.

Humbled by the magnitude of this influence,

I breathe in the goodness.

Evensong radiates compassion on my heart.

© Jeanne Iris Lakatos

Singing the "Blues"

Every year, when my Siberian irises bloom, thoughts of my Dad return to me. Below is a poem about the irises that he brought to me many years ago. He commented, "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 immediate family has brown eyes. 

Blue Irises

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, in late May, they appear

bearing memories of his smiles 

more vividly than the previous year

keeping his beautiful memory alive.

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."  

Rest in Peace, Dad. 

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

The poem below describes the first thing I experience in the morning. One of my favorite times of a 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. 

Just Before Dawn (The Blue)
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

To hear me read these poems, please click HERE.

Hope

My focus here is an individual, trying to catch a break, the proverbial 'brass ring on the carousel of life', feeling the dizziness and fatigue of the ride (or running in circles...multiple meanings there, too), parched for answers and passionate with hope.

http://k41.pbase.com/g4/78/672378/2/61284496.Carousel.jpg

flickr.com/photos/ 78252871@N00/437700770/

Hope

Tears amid the cheers

reaching for the brass, 

spinning,

thirsting for the flow

only to turn away parched,

tongue swelling in dry air 

hot 

with the fever of hope. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.

Upon listening to "Fantasia on a theme by Thomas Tallis" by Ralph Vaughn-Williams

 

I took this photo of the moon in a cloudy sky, framed by the shadows of maple trees. 

The clouds seemed to form a landscape of their own. 

Click HERE to listen to the lovely, musical piece, "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis," performed in the Gloucester Cathedral, where Ralph Vaughn-Williams first performed it in 1910. 

I wrote the verse below upon listening to the above piece,

 composed by Ralph Vaughan-Williams.

Fantasia

Yearning for serenity,

an unsettled mind

drifts gracefully, 

flowing in paralysis,

a paradox offering

of a spiritual triad:

sweet malady

sweeter melody

sweetest memory.

A core surge 

caresses

in Divine rhythm.

Echoes...

from arched bones,

guarding this heart

in solemn surrender 

to stillness,

fill the repose  

with sweet assurance.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(To hear my reading of this poem, click HERE.)

Mercy Otis Warren, Muse of the American Revolution, 1776

Painting of Mercy Otis Warren

Mercy Otis Warren, given the title by some historians of Muse of the American Revolution, is often neglected in the U.S. historical memory. However, her motivation for contributing numerous literary works on the subject of independence demonstrates virtues found in the common individual while pointing out the discrepancies in a non-representational government. In her 1773 play, The Adulateur, Warren describes the issue of individual rights through the speech of her main character, Brutus:

 

The change how drear! The sullen ghost of bondage

Stalks full in view—already with her pinions,

She shades the affrighted land—the insulting soldiers

Tread down our choicest rights; while hoodwinked justice

Drops her scales, and totters from her basis.

Thus torn with nameless wounds, my bleeding country

Demands a tear – that tear I’ll freely give her. [1]

Using the rebellious poetic format of blank verse, Warren creates an image of the capture of justice, illustrating the conception that human beings might be inherently good, but their thirst for power could cause a diminishing of spiritual truth, thus leading to contrived allegiances to governments and other forms of false leadership. 

 

We thank such brave intelligent writers as Mercy Otis Warren for their insights regarding historical perspectives of justice. 

---

[1] Mercy Otis Warren, The Adulateur, Act I, Scene I, Boston: New Printing Office, 1773.

Finding the Way

                 

The lovely pathway that I walked in Castleknock, Ireland 

from my hotel to the bus stop to catch the bus to Dublin.

Finding the Way

As we walk along life's path, 

eventually, we acknowledge

 that creative ground which supports our steps. 

Longing to find the way, 

we clear the path of debris, 

 as we accommodate His Divine footsteps

 that gently lead us forward.

 Fortitude emerges with the recognition

 that we have the power to

 adjust, adapt, attempt, achieve, affect.  

We move toward the goal. 

We make a difference.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, just click HERE.

Bubbles

http://www.software-dungeon.co.uk/images/594_amazing-bubbles-3d-screensaver-640-1.jpg

         

         Level bubble from Duck-Duck-Go images

Bubbles

A bubble floats across warm seas,

or saunters back and forth 

in the boundaries of a level,

in sync with those other bubbles

recently settled.

Through their assembly,

each translucent sphere 

contributes structured eccentricity, 

globular bodies of air 

traveling through a liquid,

transforming chaos 

into serene resolve.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos