Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan): 19th Century Revolutionary

Sydney Owenson sheds light on the status of the common man and woman in mid-nineteenth century Ireland and incorporates semiotic structures within her works to communicate with her readers the various discrepancies in legislation, particularly the Act of Union 1801, decades after its enactment. Although inequity in governmental legislation exists internationally, by 1825, the imbalance within the legislative structures is unacceptable to intelligent women associated with the British or the Irish aristocracy along with the increasing numbers of female writers and readers.

For example, in the preface of her essay entitled, Absenteeism, she highlights the need for both the English and the Irish to be mindful of their patriotic responsibilities:

Notwithstanding the intense interest which is felt throughout all England concerning Ireland and Irish affairs, notwithstanding the frequent debates in parliament, and more frequent pamphlets and volumes published on points of Irish politics and economy, the prevailing ignorance on these subjects still operates powerfully in maintaining prejudices the most unfounded and the most fatal, and in retarding those measures of wisdom and of justice without which Ireland can never be happy; or the British Empire secure. [1]

In this statement, Owenson demonstrates commonality between the authority, England, and the respective community of Ireland, as she begins with the phrase, ‘notwithstanding the intense interest which is felt…’ Thus, she engages in the use of negative phraseology linked with passive voice to unite the divergent intentions of England and Ireland.

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[1] Sydney Owenson (Lady Morgan), Absenteeism, (London: Henry Colburn, 1825) pp. ix and x. For future reference within this study, the work will be cited as Abs.

Flow from Within

I took this photo of the beautiful St. Stephen's Green in Dublin, Ireland.

Whilst deciding to post this 'flow' poem, little did I know that some of my own life experiences would correspond with the poem's theme, written years ago. This phenomenon is a fine illustration of our emotional revolutions. Even though our lives may go through certain trials and tribulations, through the blessings of Divine Love, I've realized, as this poem states, that we have the power within to "release the blissful flow," and I'm determined to do just that.

Flow from Within

Spewing angst 

from the odium,

I ache 

for benevolence

and tolerance 

to stream

 through this tarnished conduit,

praying for the chance to feel

agony evolve 

into opportunity,

releasing 

the blissful 

flow.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

From my operetta, Luminescence, Advice from Anne Bradstreet (Represented as the Passion Flower)

Passion Flower from Google Images

In my operetta, Luminescence, a re-write of the 13th century French narrative poem, Roman de la Rose, the spirit of the poet, Anne Bradstreet, as represented by the passionflower, gives the following advice to Rose. I wrote this with Bradstreet's poetic style in mind:

My name was Anne Bradstreet,

and I have a story of devotion to tell. 

My life was dedicated to the sacrifice 

of one who gave His life, that I might have mine. 

I saw the need for all people, men and women, 

to be mindful of the importance of their individual spirits. 

My passion for the love of my life 

is ever-growing even as I speak from the spirit. 

The seeds one plants in life 

are carried forth to benefit future generations, 

bringing into view the truth of love and devotion 

in a physical manifestation of Divine Ordinance. 

One needs to remember always 

that humility of thought begins 

with the acceptance of the challenge 

within one’s heart. 

Each individual must fulfill that desire 

in order to fulfill the Will of the Almighty. 

Attention to this desire will bring 

happiness and contentment 

as a central focus of one’s life, 

and there will be calm 

in the heart 

of any troubled soul. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Anne Bradstreet

Note: 

Anne Bradstreet was an English-American poet who was born in Northampton, England in 1612 and died in North Andover, Massachusetts in 1672. 

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

In Honor of Women and Music Day: BLISS is my word

Once, one of my professors asked our class to choose a word from Spenser's The Faerie Queene that particularly intrigued us. I chose the word, bliss. Below is a poem that explains my perspective of this word, for I thankfully pray for blessings received each day.

"Praise the Lord with the harp, make music to Him on the ten-string lyre. 

Sing to Him a new song, play skillfully and shout for joy." (Psalm 33: 2-3)

Bliss

In the Oxford English Dictionary

 resides the little word,

bliss

So many entries for this little word:

bless, blessed and even bleche!

Heavenly gifts 

juxtaposed 

with human expression.

We have the responsibility

to emulate higher levels of demeanor

to elevate awareness,

for each of us has been blessed

with gifts that enhance the living

presence surrounding us

moving humanity forward

in peaceful bliss.

My bliss originates 

in the glorious way 

we speak to one another.

I scrutinize others,

make mental notes 

of their paralanguage:
spiritual linguistics

where the core of truth 

generates the coexistence 

of benevolence and deceit: dissonance!

Sometimes, this confuses me…Bleche!

so I retreat 

to Prayer, the voice within, the Glor*

where music of eternal natural peace 

and soothing sound waves of passion

form consonant harmonies,

my personal bliss.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos    

*Glor: the Irish Gaeilge word for voice, sound

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 .

In God's Time

Photo taken in Danbury, Connecticut

In God's Time

Taking my time, 
moving through a daily routine, 
I've come to that moment 
when I become anxious 
for answers to questions unresolved. 

Then, a thought enters my mind, 

moves through me, and reaches my soul. 

It becomes a prayer, guiding me 

to these feelings of love, peace, joy

that encompass me. 

No longer am I filled with doubt, 

for purpose supplants ache, and now, 

I feel Divine Love open my heart with His aim 

on a path, carefully tread 

in God's Time.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

You can listen to me recite this verse in my 'froggy' January voice by clicking HERE.

Gray Day

Today has been a cold, early Spring day, with rain, some snow mixed in, falling occasionally throughout the day. It looks like we'll be having a chilly Spring this year, but the plants, lakes, ponds, and waterfowl do need the rain, so it is welcome indeed. After finishing some daily tasks, I jotted down this verse. 

Gray Day

Awakening to a cold, gray day, 
a foggy, dreary one, 

I contemplate the daily tasks ahead.
Raindrops can't even decide if they want to
fall from the gray sky...or not. 
The lakes, ponds, and streams
have thirsty banks, 
and the Spring waterfowl 
need a place to swim, nest, live. 
So rain, come along now! 
Cold and distant as you are, 

you are greatly needed, 
and now, I welcome you.

I'll put on the tea kettle, 

make a warm supper, 

and when you're finished,

I'll take photos of the well-filled lake

with the sun reflecting its lovely glow

upon the deep waters. 

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE. 

A Long Sentence, Silence is.

Below is a poem inspired by a number of events involving my family and friends in which the long wait in a hospital sometimes has felt like a sentence. Waiting for word from medical staff on the outcome of a loved one leads to the mixed feelings of worry, loneliness and hope. I wrote this as one very long sentence with the subject Silence and the verb, is because in these moments, we gain strength in the silence. 

 

Coole Park, Ireland

A Long Sentence 

While moist eyes wait

for word of your condition,

inquiring of God 

if I will experience your vibrance again,

though the response is "I don't know,"

though I smile to hide my tears,
though my heart yearns to beat

with the rhythm of your joy,

waiting

for the word that brings hope

for the song of your smiles 

for your breath of “yes”

within is the silence 

of a long sentence

and outside:

the wind,

the rain,

a lone lea,

me,

then the sun.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Inception of a Storm

 

 Inception of a Storm

A silver disc

floats high

in the azure palette.

When suddenly,

stretching its darkening appendix,

a rolling, feathery mass

covers the spherical gaze, 

and soon,

Blessed droplets

fill the soil

with Rich Nutrients

of the Diviner's Supper. 

Ah! What a Feast!

So loud ~ so silent ~

So swift ~ So enduring

So absolutely essential

to reach the Heavenly gold.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.

From my Operetta, Luminescence: Rhododendron (Dark Thoughts of Anne Sexton)

There exists a balance of positive and negative in life, and in my operetta, Luminescence, I address this through the spirit voice of Anne Sexton and her associated flower, Rhododendron.

               

                                          Photo from the site: Summerhillgardencentre.co.uk

Rhododendron: Dark Thoughts

(from my operetta, Luminescence)

From the corner of the garden,

a fierce wind buffets 

branches of the Rhododendron.

Now enters the looming danger 

of love’s despair.

Begonia, Narcissus,

and Southernwood

all bode a feeling of lost love

in the midst of this glorious

locus amoenus.

Anne whispers: 

Rhododendron is my flower’s name,

I bring dark thoughts

into this world of fragrance.

I make the lives of my seed

and the surrounding seeds

suffer as I do.

Humanity has attached meaning 

to our nature, proclaiming

that we ignore

the pleas of the world

within our hearts, 

so we suffer the association

with human frailties:

vanity, melancholy, heartbreak. 

But here in this garden, I now see: 

The beauty in our lives

does indeed surround us,

even in our darkest moments,

even in those isolated

hours of despair.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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

Anaphora Poetry: For...Giveness

Below, is a poem written in the Anaphora poetic format, the repetition of a word or phrase at the beginning of multiple lines, often in succession. I took the photo in Dublin at an international street vendor competition. Observing the interactions of the children with this 'angel' or 'fairy' was delightful.

For... Giveness

Given 

from the heart,

given with humility,

given freely,

this gift of joy

is a given 

that another will 

give,
passing the gift
forward.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE. 

Out of the Fog

I took this photo in Dublin, Ireland...after being lost in Dun Laoghaire for hours.

I thought it was amazing that a small white cloud seemed to surround the light on the lamppost.

Head 

out of the fog,

and soon, 

distortion dissipates. 

Recognition of a flawed distinction 

leads to a Renaissance.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

Ekphrasis: My poem, "Haven" and the Church of St. Stephen the Martyr

Below is a photo of the Church of St. Stephen the Martyr in Opotiki, New Zealand. This picture brought to mind the introduction to a collection of short stories that I will complete... one day. The poem accompanying this photo is a conversion of a portion of my prose introduction to poetic form.

Church of St Stephen the Martyr, Opotiki, ca 1910-1930

"I see heaven open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God."

~ St. Stephen’s words at his theophany

Haven

They beckon 

the weary-hearted and calloused,

“Come and sit with me.”

Rows of empty pews

moor at a small altar,

each one anchored with a kneeler. 

Her candle lit,
she takes her usual seat

in the second row,

hoists the kneeler, 

then quietly moves it

to the wood floor,

genuflects in the Holy Presence, 

and blesses herself.

With eyes lowered,

she steers her troubled vessel

on an ethereal air,

through prayerful sighs

to the Haven of hope,

His almighty promise.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

(My reading of this poem is on Pod-omatic at the bottom of this page.)

Fiddlehead Feast

Here is a poem that I revised a bit on fiddlehead ferns, another group of plants that are harbingers of Spring. I included a recipe for Fiddlehead Quiche below the poem. Bon appetit!

photo from the front garden at my home

Fiddlehead Feast

Did you happen upon the fiddlehead fern

growing in the woodland mulch,

amidst the other springing buds

like skunk cabbage, crocus and such,

unfurling its primitive merit

with vitality richly designed?

Relentlessly, I search for the fiddlehead fern;

its presence seen, not much,

but then it boldly appears to me,

and I honorably prepare it to touch

my awaiting, salivating palate

that accepts its flavor divine!

What blissful company with which to dine:

this fiddlehead fern ~ a collation so fine!

 © Jeanne I. Lakatos  

To hear me recite this verse, please click HERE.  

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YANKEE FIDDLEHEAD PIE (OR QUICHE)

Recipe by L.L. Bean Book of New England Cookery:

Serving Size : 8  

  4 Eggs

  1 c  Milk

  1 c  Fiddleheads, cooked, chopped

  2 Tbs Leeks -- chopped, cooked

  1 Tbs  Parsley, chopped -- or 2

  1 c  Cheddar cheese, mildly shredded

  Salt to taste

  1 Pie crust, partially baked, 9  or 10"

  8 Whole cooked fiddleheads

Beat the eggs with the milk until blended.  Fold in the chopped fiddleheads, leeks, and parsley, and half of the grated cheese. Season with salt to taste. Turn into the partially baked shell and sprinkle on the remaining cheese. Decorate the edge with whole fiddleheads.  Bake in a preheated 350 º oven for 40 minutes, or until set.  Let rest 10 minutes before serving.

Sydney Owenson's 'The Wild Irish Girl' and Revolutionary Thought

Sydney Owenson’s national tales and narrative poetry echo those of the American colonists in regard to humanity’s birth right of freedom, particularly in the way her British characters interact with Irish characters. Owenson sees the Irish used as scapegoats for England’s perceived imperial failure and, through her writing, takes a stand against the British. While she leads her fellow country men and women to awareness of individual and national pride, she also sheds light upon the conditions of the nineteenth century female, that of subjugation to male dominance. 

Particularly in The Wild Irish Girl, Owenson reveals eighteenth century societal dictates present within the Irish culture. Her inclusion of Irish speech involves the ‘wild’ Irish instructing the British aristocracy on truths evident to the Irish but virtually unknown by the intruding British. For example, the main female character’s name is Glorvina, the word glor in Irish, meaning voice. In one of her initial conversations with the character, Horatio, she explains the significance of Irish music: 

This susceptibility to the influence of my country’s music, discovered itself in a period of existence, when no associating sentiment of the heart could have called it into being; for I have often wept in convulsive emotion at an air before the sad story it accompanied was understood: but now- now- that feeling is matured, and understanding awakened. Oh! You cannot judge-cannot feel- for you have no national music; and your country is the happiest under heaven! [1]

Audaciously, Owenson configures historical and linguistic elements of Ireland within this foundational national tale and juxtaposes these elements with those of Great Britain through her two main characters, illustrating a cultural fantasy of an Anglo-Irish coalition. 

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[1] Sydney Owenson, The Wild Irish Girl, Boston: Joseph Greenleaf, 1808, p. 92.

Phonology

I took this photo of Sydney Owenson's plaque on Kildare Street in Dublin a few years ago.

On the topic of phonology or phonetics, the study of the way humans combine sounds to create linguistic patterns, I give you a brief excerpt from my book: Innovations in Rhetoric in the Writing of Sydney Swenson (Lady Morgan, 1781-1859) and below that, a poem I wrote entitled, Cognizance. Enjoy! 

Steven Pinker discusses the impact of phonology and semantics as individuals experience sensory connections in their formation of new concepts:    

The phonemes and syllables in a word contact their counterparts in memory piecemeal, more and more of them finding a match as the milliseconds tick by. As soon as all the pieces match some entry, the irregular form linked to the entry is fetched and shunted to the vocal tract. While the lookup is in progress, the inhibitory signal sent to the rule box gets stronger and stronger, and when all goes well, the rule is braked to a halt. [1]

At this point, the individual synapses in the brain connect the familiar sound with a specific memory. 

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[1] Steven Pinker, Words and Rules: The Ingredients of Language, (New York: Harper, 2011), p. 130.

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Cognizance (Alliterative Antics)

Jung's is collective

containing collaborative

but chaotic compositions

carefully calculated

to create clear cut

caricatures of cranial

cacophonies in crazy

and occasionally corny

creatures who care

about causes and effects.

But mine is coincidental, 

caught between 

casual and coiffure

occasionally quaint,

consistent and tranquil

cautious,  concerned

a creatively concocted 

course of action, 

convoking acquaintances

to collaborate and affect.

© Jeanne I. Lakatos

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