This is a poem written in 2000. In those days I was immersed in the first of two love relations I entered after the ending of my twenty year marriage. This time was a complex weave of fantasy and reality and Maire (as I called her) was my muse. I write about this often in this blog, the blog being to a great extent an homage to that relationship and what happened to me because it occurred. It was both the most amazing and rewarding two years of my life and arguably the most painful severance as well. I let go and moved beyond this genuinely clandestine affair with my muse when it was time to move.
She left me as I knew she would in the beginning. I have that prediction in black print. Most of the foundational skill I have as a poet was tempered in the fire of this love. This poem was written first to this woman in a moment of anticipation of what was to happen next in our affair. I was not wrong in my expectation, not in the coming next few days.
I was gifted in my life with a much better, more viable and vibrant love relationship following my loss of this clandestine woman and our fantasy. I received the renaissance of my music which returned to me full force with my connection to this new woman, and we were connected fully in public view. This relationship was not clandestine in any way. I gained her family too, an amazing family. I am quite likely deeply connected with this woman for the rest of my life, while my muse has been out of my life for years now.
What this poem is is a psalm, of course, and is said entirely to Divinity. If you do not have Divinity in back of your love for one another, what do you have?
What I Have To Say
Father Sun, Grandmother Sky, Mother Earth, hear my call. I am here within You.
This is what I have to say.
I will stand here at the stillness. I will witness what I see. I am open to Your Ways. Give me the tools, give me leave That I can bend and trim the Tree Of Life and keep the Deep of Days.
Then I will turn with a gift of love For the Goddess of the moon and stars And I will truly touch Her heart.
This is all I have to say.
First Posted, part of my fourth post, November 10, 2008
Some years ago my poetry took on a mythic flavor and I became a character in my own poems, a mage, "the man of the Northern Wall". This apellation is not completely fictional. My middle name is Noordwal, a Dutch term for north wall, though in current Dutch it mainly means north bank as in riverbank. I was told that an ancestor, a Portugese Jew escaping the Inquisition, settled in a small Dutch town and took this name from where he settled, near the north wall of the town. I have thought for a long time that -wal meant wall, think my mother told me that. A linguist might say that my usage is no longer common, is an older usage, but then the Inquisition happened in Portugal a few centuries ago, right around the time the Moors lost control of the Iberian Peninsula and the Jews lost the modest protection given them by Islam. Now I write as this mage, my poetry persona.