Autumn Virtual Art Gallery

going home by Aonghas MacNeacail from The Faber Book of Twentieth Century Scottish Poetry 

see the geese

journeying and

the swallows

long since the cuckoo went

see the red leaves

rising on

the wing of a gust

rising and travelling

the salmon is a great way out

on his journey

the sun reclining

moon rising

            in their familiar changing parabolas

summer journeying

autumn on his back

            a great spreading behind

back and forward on the wharf

            an exile back and forward

back and forward

            back and forward

I woke up this morning a bit chilly from sleeping with my window open last night.  The clamorous thunder storms that rolled through yesterday afternoon and evening have brought a foretaste of autumn. And as it's been a while since I posted a virtual art gallery, I decided a few autumn images by famous artists would be just the thing to accompany this poem by Aonghas MacNeacail and his invitation to see the signs that tell of the changing of the seasons.  For me the first signs were the early apples at my favorite farm market (Zestars are a new favorite) and the already-reddening-leaves on the dogwood trees in the yard.  What signs are you noticing of summer journeying with autumn on his back?  

An Autumn Stroll - Renoir

By the Stream, Autumn - Gaugin

The Church of Old Lyme, Connecticut - Hassam

Autumn Asters 

Birkenwald - Klimt

The Stars Now Rearrange Themselves

THE STARS NOW REARRANGE THEMSELVES . . .

by Dana Gioia from Daily Horoscope (Graywolf Press)

The stars now rearrange themselves above you

but to no effect. Tonight,

only for tonight, their powers lapse,

and you must look toward earth. There will be

no comets now, no pointing star

to lead where you know you must go.

Look for smaller signs instead, the fine

disturbances of ordered things when suddenly

the rhythms of your expectation break

and in a moment's pause another world

reveals itself behind the ordinary.

And one small detail out of place will be

enough to let you know: a missing ring,

a breath, a footfall or a sudden breeze,

a crack of light beneath a darkened door.


It's been a bit hard to look to earth lately when the skies have been so full of wonder-- Venus shining brightly in a cloudless night sky, the succulent full moon of earlier this week, news of solar flares and the anticipation of what that phenomenon may bring. 

I appreciate big, bold, loud, clear signs-- guiding stars, parting clouds, light streaming from heaven, the neon advertisements of the universe that flash, "Pay attention."  But for every flashy sign, there are countless whispers, gentle nudges, cracks of light peeking through that I tend to over look. 

I love Dana Gioia's  line about the rhythm of our expectations breaking and another world being visible in that moment.  Loud signs may clamor for our attention, but the whispers that cause us to pause for a moment may also provide us a glimpse of the extraordinary.

What is whispering to you today? 

David Whyte Wednesday - The Journey

THE JOURNEY
by David Whyte from The House of Belonging (Many Rivers Press)

Above the mountains

 the geese turn into

   the light again

painting their

  black silhouettes

    on an open sky.

Sometimes everything

  has to be

    enscribed across

      the heavens

so you can find

  the one line

    already written

      inside you.

Sometimes it takes

  a great sky

    to find that

first, bright

  and indescribable

    wedge of freedom

      in your own heart.

Sometimes with

  the bones of the black

    sticks left when the fire

      has gone out

someone has written

  something new

    in the ashes

      of your life.

You are not leaving

you are arriving.

My apologies to any early bird readers for the late posting this morning.  Although I was awakened at 6ish by the honking of geese flying over the house (and thus another geese poem for this morning), it's one of those rainy mornings in the DC area where only the need for a cup of tea drives me from the comfort of my bed.  In fact, I think an upcoming poem will celebrate staying in bed, so a bit of a teaser there . . .

But for today, an oft quoted David Whyte poem.  Yesterday thoughts of geese lingered throughout the day and I found myself wondering about the role of geese in some of these poems-- are they prophets or sacraments?  Anglican divine Richard Hooker defines sacrament as an "outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace."  While this is a theological definition my brain comprehends and I can get behind, when I read David Whyte's words, I understand it in my bones and know it to be true. 


What outward and visible signs of inward and spiritual grace are true for you? 

What is the line written inside you?