Sunday, July 17, 2022

Fern Hill - Dylan Thomas

 




Fern Hill

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
     The night above the dingle starry,
       Time let me hail and climb
     Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honored among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
       Trail with daisies and barley
     Down the rivers of the windfall light.

And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
     In the sun that is young once only,
       Time let me play and be
     Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
       And the sabbath rang slowly
     In the pebbles of the holy streams.

All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay-
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
     And playing, lovely and watery
       And fire green as grass.
     And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
     Flying with the ricks, and the horses
       Flashing into the dark.

And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
     Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
       The sky gathered again
     And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
     Out of the whinnying green stable
       On to the fields of praise.

And honored among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
     In the sun born over and over,
       I ran my heedless ways,
     My wishes raced through the house-high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
     Before the children green and golden
       Follow him out of grace,

Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
     In the moon that is always rising,
       Nor that riding to sleep
     I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
       Time held me green and dying
     Though I sang in my chains like the sea.

~ Dylan Thomas ~ 

BIO:  Dylan Marlais Thomas was born on October 27, 1914 in Swansea, South Wales. His father, an  English literature professor, recited Shakespeare to the young boy, instilling in him a lifelong love of poetry. At the age of 16, Thomas quit school and became a junior reporter for the South Wales Daily Post. In 1932, Thomas quit working to become a full-time poet, winning the Poet's Corner book prize in 1934. His first book, 18 Poems, was released to rave reviews. Thomas loved the poetry of Hopkins, Yeats, Poe, and D.H. Lawrence. Attracted to the ballads of the Romantic tradition, he wrote in lyrical rhythms that evoked deep emotions. He died of complications related to alcoholism on November 9, 1953 in New York City.


Thursday, June 23, 2022

Available Now - "Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women" Anthology

 


#1 Amazon Bestseller!

Get your copy today!

Editor/Curator: Gabriela Marie Milton

Publisher: Experiments in Fiction/Ingrid Wilson

Artwork: Nick Reeves

My poem, "Boudica's Soliloquy," is included in the anthology.


Thank you sincerely!

Dawn Pisturino



Thursday, June 16, 2022

Official Anthology Launch Date: June 18, 2022

 


Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women anthology officially launches on Amazon and Kindle on Saturday, June 18, 2022.

Here's the official Amazon description:

Award-winning authors, Pushcart nominees, emerging poets, voices of women and men, come to the fore in this stunning, powerful, and unique anthology. Their poems testify to the challenges that women face in our society, and to their power to overcome them. A memorable collection of over 200 poems by more than 100 authors, this anthology is a must-have for anyone. We all can benefit from the poetry of survival, and of healing. We all can benefit from the experiences so beautifully evoked in this book. We can all come together to emerge triumphant from pain.”

Editor and Curator: Gabriela Marie Milton

Publisher: Experiments in Fiction/Ingrid Wilson

Artwork: Nick Reeves

Get YOUR copy soon!

Dawn Pisturino



Friday, June 10, 2022

"Wounds I Healed" Anthology Acceptance

 



I am pleased and proud to announce that my poem, "Boudica's Soliloquy," has been accepted for publication in the upcoming anthology, Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women. It will be released this month.

Dawn Pisturino

June 10, 2022

Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.

Tuesday, May 31, 2022

Joyful Krishna: The Ten Incarnations

 



from Jayadeva's Gitagovinda:

Joyful Krishna

"Clouds thicken the sky.

Tamala trees darken the forest.

The night frightens him.

Radha, you take him home!"

They leave at Nanda's order,

Passing trees in thickets on the way,

Until secret passions of Radha and Madhava

Triumph on the Jumna riverbank.


Jayadeva, wandering king of bards

Who sing at Padmavati's lotus feet,

Was obsessed in his heart

By rhythms of the goddess of speech,

And he made this lyrical poem

From tales of the passionate play

When Krishna loved Sri.


Umapatidhara is prodigal with speech,

Sarana is renowned for his subtle flowing sounds,

But only Jayadeva divines the pure design of words.

Dhoyi is famed as king of poets for his musical ear,

But no one rivals master Govardhana

For poems of erotic mood and sacred truth.


If remembering Hari enriches your heart,

If his arts of seduction arouse you,

Listen to Jayadeva's speech

In these sweet soft lyrical songs.

In seas that rage as the aeon of chaos collapses,

You keep the holy Veda like a ship straight on course.

     You take form as the Fish, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


Where the world rests on your vast back,

Thick scars show the weight of bearing earth.

     You take form as the Tortoise, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


The earth clings to the tip of your tusk

Like a speck of dust caught on the crescent moon.

     You take form as the Boar, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


Nails on your soft lotus hand are wondrous claws

Tearing the gold-robed body of black bee Hiranyakasipu.

     You take form as the Man-lion, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


Wondrous dwarf, when you cheat demon Bali with wide steps,

Water falls from your lotus toenails to purify creatures.

     You take form as the dwarf, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


You wash evil from the world in a flood of warrior's blood,

And the pain of existence is eased.

     You take form as the axman Priest, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


Invited by gods who guard the directions in battle,

You hurl Ravana's ten demon heads to the skies.

     You take form as the prince Rama, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


The robe on your bright body is colored with rain clouds,

And Jumna waters roiling in fear of your plow's attack.

     You take form as the plowman Balarama, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


Moved by deep compassion, you condemn the Vedic way

That ordains animal slaughter in rites of sacrifice.

     You take form as the enlightened Buddha, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


You raise your sword like a fiery meteor

Slashing barbarian hordes to death.

     You take form as the avenger Kalki, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


Listen to the perfect invocation of poet Jayadeva, 

Joyously evoking the essence of existence!

     You take the tenfold cosmic form, Krishna.

     Triumph, Hari, Lord of the World!


For upholding the Vedas,

For supporting the earth,

For raising the world,

For tearing the demon asunder,

For cheating Bali,

For destroying the warrior class,

For conquering Ravana,

For wielding the plow,

For spreading compassion,

For routing the barbarians,

Homage to you, Krishna,

In your ten incarnate forms!

~ Translated by Barbara Stoler Miller ~




Monday, May 9, 2022

Trees by Joyce Kilmer

 

                                                (Photo by Brian Green)


Trees

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

~ Joyce Kilmer ~

BIO: Alfred Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918) died at the tender age of 32, but his poem, Trees, is one of the most treasured in America. It was originally published in 1914 in his poetry collection, Trees and Other Poems, by George H. Doran Company. Kilmer fought in World War I and received the War Cross from the French government for bravery. He died from a sniper bullet on July 30, 1918. An old growth forest in North Carolina is named for him.

Plant trees! Support the National Arbor Day Foundation.

Friday, April 22, 2022

Spring Poems

 


                                    (Photo by Reimar/Shutterstock)


Spring Poems

by Dawn Pisturino

~

April Showers

I looked into the heavens

And saw the face of God.

He was a kindly gentleman

And not too very loud.

He wore a watch upon his vest

Which gave the time of day.

He looked at it: "The time has come,"

Was all he had to say.

And soon a gentle rainfall

Came from the April sky.

It kissed my wondering up-turned face

And poked me in the eye.

But then a very curious thing

Did happen at my feet.

A tiny flower sprouted up,

All blooming and complete.

It opened up its tiny leaves,

Embracing fast the rain,

And if I ever doubted God -

I never did again.

~November 25, 1985~

Spring

Spring! The vigor of new life soars in my veins!

I am free and alive and wonderful,

Free as the silly sparrow twittering in the tree-top,

Too gaily alive.

Alive as the new-sprung fountain of youth in the riverbed,

Which knows not that it is bound by grassy banks,

But runs down the waterway in a mad race for the finish.

And, wonderful as the tiny petals of a flower,

First opening up to the Father Sun

Like a virgin bride in the marriage bed.

Sun gives new life to the blood,

And blood gives new life to the body,

And the body gives new life to the soul,

Ad infinitum, ad infinitum, ad infinitum.

But every Spring plays its part as a new beginning,

And we never tire of the encore.

~1987~

Robin Red-Breast

When Robin Red-breast comes to town,

All the children dance around,

Clapping hands and stamping feet,

Happy with their little treat!

~February 2, 1987~

Dawn Pisturino

Copyright 1985-1987 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.