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

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. 

Ballerina

This was a prompt, based on a photo by Keith Carter, which you see below. An example of ekphrasis, you will see my poetic interpretation of Carter's work. 

Ballerina

She had dreams

of becoming a ballerina

but God had other plans

even though she maintained

beauty

discipline

kinesthetic poetry 

on stage.

Up in smoke they went...

forming an obscurity

from which her Truth emerged,

clarified, revitalized:

beauty

discipline

kinesthetic poetry 

in stages.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

When in France...

                                         The view from a hotel room in Reims, France, taken some years ago.

A few years ago, I presented a paper at the annual Association of Franco-Irish Studies conference in Reims, France. Ever since I spoke that first French word in my ninth grade French class, I've longed to go to that country. Finally, decades later, my dreams came true but not without the unfortunate realization that there were no washcloths at my hotel. So.....

When in France

In a French hotel in la cité de Reims,

an American searches for a washcloth. 

Alas, she finds none in this room,

so she must make do. 

This is France after all.

Sparkling white tub beckons her.

“Okay, Okay!”

She turns the water handle to HOT

and gently pours shampoo into the steady stream,

splashing the rising water to create more bubbles.

Then, smiling, she steps into the steaming water,

now filled with mounds of fluffy, fragrant bubbles,

closes her eyes and whispers to the 13-year-old girl

sitting in a French class, south of Detroit, decades ago.

“Oui, Jeanne ... tu seras en France un jour.”

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me read this verse, please click HERE.

Ash Wednesday

 

"All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again." 
(Ecclesiastes 3:20)

Odes to Pancakes

Photo from 'Duck Duck Go' images

Below is a duet of poetry focusing on the pancake theme in the rondeau form and then a parody of e.e. cummings' poem, "O Sweet Spontaneous."

Ode to Pancake Temptation

There, on my fine bone china plate

Five pancakes can't be a mistake

and neighboring maple trees in a row

provide home grown syrup to amply flow,

as fresh, sweet butter on top does skate.

To eat this meal at such a rate

won’t help in my quest of losing weight

yet hunger’s there; it won’t let go

there, on my fine bone.

This morning sure has sealed my fate

through personal, philosophical debate

but now, determined to my pinky toe,

it's wisdom’s garden I must hoe,

and make these feet accelerate 

there, on my fine bone.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

O Sweet Pancake Temptation

(a parody of e.e. cummings' "O Sweet Spontaneous")

O golden pancakes

drip

               ping

with sweet syrup

extracted

from maple’s vein

and butter 

squeezed

from bovine's 

p

u

r

i

t

y.

Does humanity

know the 

sacrifice

from earth’s offerings

for gluttony’s

bliss?

My delight 

pours forth

dripping

                       sweet 

with

appreciation 

and a little

blueberry pancake guilt.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Midnight Blaze

For this exercise, I chose two titles from a list and created a brief, yet potent poem. The poem titles below are from the Table of Contents of the Norton Anthology of Poetry, fourth edition. I simply closed my eyes, turned to two different pages, and pointed.

Your Words my friend (Canto 21 from Astrophil and Stella) by Sir Philip Sidney

Frost at Midnight by Samuel Coleridge

Love is a Cosmic Force 

painting by Alex Grey

 Midnight Blaze

Your words, my friend

burn through 

the reverie

until frost at midnight

mystically transforms

our truth

into a unique blaze,

melding two dreams

into one

phenomenal aim.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

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.)

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.

"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 

The Shy One

The poem below deals with a childhood hurdle that eventually led me to grow in confidence: the family tag of 'the shy one.' 

a photo of pensive me, 2009

The Shy One

“Jeanne is the shy one,”

explained Mom 

when she introduced 

my siblings and me

to someone new

we happened to meet.

My tag was sewn,

identified and neat.

But I really wasn’t terribly shy

as indicated by Mother.

I simply loved to scrutinize

and exercise prudence

in dealing with others.

A curse back then.

But now I understand;

my pensive ‘flaws’

were precious gifts

of a Higher command.

Indeed, this shy one

has ardently grown,

for my interactions

delicately honed,

pensive and discreet,

have led me to complete

some pretty marvelous feats.

Thank you, Lord. 

Thanks, Mom and Dad. RIP

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Hope

My focus here is an individual, trying to catch 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.

Bluebird Dream

A few 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.)

Arachnid's Aim

 Once, I observed a lovely spider, busily spinning her web, and I proceeded to write the poem below. 

A spider's web suspended from my deck

Arachnid's Aim

One by One by One by One by One by One by One by One,

she extends her reach into the world, 

Glad that she yet retains eight strong, healthy appendages. 

Her sisters' are damaged, maimed, broken, or lost, 

but hers are vibrant, able to take her

to any destination she beholds as sacred. 

Now, she extends her reach into the world.

Carefully, gracefully, she moves along this space,

arranging each extension in its proper place, 

allowing a Hopeful Touch to capture the attention

of one who will see her radiance

and share her iridescence with lasting, hopeful bliss.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

You can hear me recite this verse by clicking the link 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.)

My Hands, a poem

 "And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it." (Psalm 90:17)

Below is a poem with the theme of my use of hands, 

which some may think is archaic in this current era of technology:

Harp and me, one afternoon

My Hands

Turning 

weathered pages of a centuries old book,

my fingers touch a piece of history,

for this page was once turned by the fingertips

of a lady sitting by candlelight on a blue velvet chair,

her linen dress, flowing around covered ankles.

Strumming 

the strings of a vibrating harp, melodic echoes, soothe

the mind of my precious dog who lives to protect me

love me, comfort me. It's the least I can do for her.

Kneading 

dough that clings to each finger until I apply 

one more dash of flour to create 

the soft ball that will miraculously rise

to form into the sweet, aromatic sustenance of life: 

bread, feeding others with joy.

Threading 

a needle with just the right length and color 

of waxed cotton,

slowly I turn remnant pieces of cloth

into a quilted memory to comfort 

through the warmth of artistry and pragmatism.

Digging 

into rich, brown soil, I plant a seed

water, nurture, protect until one day it grows

into a savory food, the source of a satisfied smile.

Holding 

an extended hand, I feel the presence

of tender strength, our fingertips, touching,

Loving 

 brushing the tear from a dear one's eye

fond memory of the gentleness.
Praying
palm against palm, I sing a song of praise.
Humbly, I give thanks to Him,
Knowing 

His Love is undying, strengthening, 

guiding each step to fulfillment of 

His Purpose for me:

Living 

from heart to hand.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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