ARC Arts - the Art of Poetry
This edition of the ARC Arts focuses on poetry, with Jacob Scheier (winner 2008 Canadian Governor General’s Award for English language poetry for More to Keep Us Warm), Robert Priest (multitalented Toronto poet, playwright, musician and author), Living Institute students and faculty, and HEP workshop participants.
Jacob Scheier
How to Wrestle an Angel
1. Wrestle him all night, till the breaking of dawn.
Fight dirty if necessary. Bite and pull his wings,
do not let him go until he blesses you.
2. Stand perfectly still.
Let his wings slap against your flesh all night.
Do not move or make a sound. Try to blink as little as possible,
even when a feather smacks hard into your balls,
even then do not scream.
Do not ask to be blessed.
Receive him in silence,
even if it kills you.
3. Make sarcastic, derogatory remarks about angels,
each time he hits you.
Then say to him how much Angels in America pales
to Doctor Faustus.
Tell him "Even if you were God himself,
I would not let you bless me"
and mean it.
4. Invite him into your home,
serve him wine and cheesecake
or beer and pork rinds, whatever is handy.
Play chess or Monopoly, Truth or Dare.
After a few glasses, talk of former lovers and parents.
After a few more, compliment his voice,
express admiration for his wing span,
then caress his spirit.
Let him fall asleep in your arms
and while he dreams
write evil on his forehead.
(Toronto, ECW Press, 2007)
Instructions for the Afterlife
You were you last night,
but you were not you, she says sleepily
and then morning simply continues
with its mailboxes and beehives.
But you will know, soon enough, this was practice
for when you are dead, but not dead.
For when you become
a zoetrope image of a man
standing perfectly still. In this dream
which is now your life, she will ask
what is it like this being no longer?
And you will say nothing.
You will ask even less,
because this is the opposite
of your intention. Because, how can I
tell you the person you loved is me,
but not me. How can I explain
peace is fluidity, and joy, the absence
of needing to know, if you are,
finally, happy.
Robert Priest
Face/Faith Meme Splice
To look at your faith in the mirror
Wanting to hide your faith
The faith behind your faith
A faith to die for
Just another petty faith
The new faith of child poverty
It must be faithed
To fall flat on your faith
Faith it
A bald faith liar!
So in your faith
Get out of my faith
You can't faith the truth
Utterly two-faithed
Faith to faith meetings
The faith that launched a thousand ships
The faithless masses
Just keep a smile
On your faith
A very unattractive
Faith
It's written all over
Your faith
I love you
For your faith
I dream of your faith
I can't get your faith
Out of my mind
I want to kiss your faith
I want to hold my faith
To yours
And see the tenderness
In your faith
To look into the very faith
Of god
Money/Mommy Meme Splice
Just give me mommy
I work hard for my mommy
You need mommy to get by in this world
You have to save your mommy
Let your mommy grow
But don't let mommy take over your life
Don't get too attached to mommy
Mommy can weigh you down
Use your mommy wisely
Keep your mommy in a safe place
Mommy is just a tool
Mommy is a symbolic system
We are in a mommy obsessed culture
Mommy hounds
Slaves to mommy
We spend our whole lives scrabbling for mommy mommy mommy
Filthy mommy, blood mommy
Hypnotized by the power of mommy
We are all in the pocket of big mommy
Good mommy bad mommy
What is this insane lust for mommy
Mommy is being driven down devalued
We have not been very smart about our mommy
When interest rates are low mommy is cheap
Mommy destroys human relationships
Just throw mommy at it
Mommy changes everything
I have no mommy-sense
I'm bad with mommy
Mommy burns a hole in my pocket
I have to go begging for mommy in the streets
I hate mommy
I reject mommy
Mommy is the root of all evil
But it is so hard to live without mommy
I'm trying to hold on to my mommy
But everybody wants my mommy
What happened to our mommy?
We took huge risks with our mommy
And we lost
We are completely broke
We totally wasted our mommy
The Wandering Poem
Poetry wanders the world of lost continents, cordless babies, mystical roses and divine-human erotic union with no regard for transcendent morality or social convention, preferring to imagine reality as it dreams to us. Poems by Thomas R. Verny, Caroline Mardon, Jim McNamara, Lisa Cowen.
Caroline Mardon
Caroline Mardon, BA (Hon, Eng), is Director of the Living Institute, President of the Canadian Humanistic and Transpersonal Association, and a psychotherapist in archetypal, somatic and existential experiential traditions, with training in Western mysticism, yoga, Vajrayana Buddhism, the shamanic tradition, and Grotowski theatre.
Who am I?
Who am I?
Desire and desire and desire.
A fasting bitch designed to lure demons.
Who is this skeleton in a flesh suit
awaiting my own demise?
I breathe the dream given off by bitten fruit
and scratch slowly down a whispering furrow.
I walk under a yellow sun
And around me fields grow and die
and I will grow and die.
I hear the single pure note
sung by a chorus of white angels of ice.
I breathe in the coloured speech of gardens
and when I touch someone I love them.
Every morning I cover myself
with a veil made of my own flesh
because the sun tries to throw a net over me
made of voices and thin strands of wire
to trap me into the day.
I am large within the darkness of the veil.
Within this immense darkness I pray:
Let there be no chalk on my tongue
let my mouth be a flock of birds
so that I will not have to touch the ground.
Who am I is this:
I am the knowledge
that the touch between our mouths
contains the mystery of the rose.
Thomas Verny
Thomas R. Verny, MD, (www.trvernymd.com) is a psychiatrist, writer, lecturer and academic, co-founder of the Pre and Perinatal Psychology tradition in the early 80’s. Verny is the author of seven books and over 44 scientific papers, a published poet, and the co-recipient of the 2009 Living Institute Cultural Innovator Award.
Cordless
I.
Do you remember
when your blood was her blood,
when your feelings were her feelings,
when your thoughts were her thoughts,
when you were one?
Then with one cut
your world changed:
abandoned and separated,
freed and liberated,
programmed like a moth
to forever thirst for the light,
yearning and searching
for what was lost,
escaping the shackles and chains
that imprison and constrain.
The tightrope walker
balances gingerly
in thin air
poised
between heaven and earth
his long pole wing-like,
almost flying.
Icarus, the ancient astronaut
sick of his cruel world
on waxed wings flew
towards the sun--
so warm, so bright,
so inviting, so easily
mistaken for love.
It was not the first time
nor the last time
that a man
was flamed by love.
II.
The
discord
of
the
cut
cord
dooms
us
to
desire
what
we
cannot
attain.
III.
Though we can orbit the earth
and fly to the moon,
no rocket or supersonic plane
can still this pain
of lost love.
Come on Down - Cosmogonic Seduction Poems
I had asked the 2008-09 first year class in the Living Institute to write a seduction poem, calling the fiery, masculine Logos space consciousness down into earthy embodiment, as if they themselves were an Earth goddess. We had been studying divine-human union mysticism in the apophatic tradition in the 20th century, and Henri Corbin’s account of divine-human erotic yearning in the Sophianic Beloved theme in the Sufi theosophical tradition. JM
Jim McNamara
To the God of Love
Come on down, the flesh is fine.
Yes,come hither.
No, not there,way over here.
This way. That’s it.
Yes.
Here. Now. Amongst these lilies.
OK?
Now,
remember this as you forget yourself
and follow the setting sun
into the land of moon shadows
"Do not look down
at your footprints
in the sands of time.
They lead you to me.
I, whom you must remember to forget.
I, who am nothing to you.
Remember me?
Remember me?
Remember me?
As I remember you,
in the mud of eternity.
May we bespoken of,
amongst our kind,
once,
only once,
though, having been spoken of only once,
we,
being ourselves alone,
subject to no One,
may we
ever be recauled.
Crowned,
again and again and again,
as we
are carried across
into ourselves, together,
at last, forever,
my love,
and ever"
Amen and blessed be.
Lisa Cowen
Within this Fathom Long Body
Come on down, the flesh is fine.
Sit at my table and drink my wine.
I will say,
“Within this fathom long body,
Subject though it is to death and decay,
I will show you the arising and
passing away of the Universe.”
Now that I’ve called you,
I know you must come.
I don’t want to wait in vain
for your love.
Come on down, muscle and bone,
We’ll build a house and tear it down.
I’ll lie in your arms and laugh,
“I have found you oh builder,
You will build no more.”
Come on down to the wedding trial.
This blood runs deep and I am entirely
Coloured by its humanity.
Beloved, get here at once and tell me,
“I know you.
You are this too.
There is no veil to lift.”
Recombinant Poetry
These audio poems are from a 1998 HEP workshop entitled Vajra Cabaret. Drawing on the esoteric theme in surrealism, Lewis Caroll's Alice in Wonderland, Dzogchen Buddhism and a rock'n'roll tape mix, participants were asked to write a poem with the restriction of using certain given lines from the readings and music along with their own chosen lines - much in the same way we use other people's DNA to make our own unique bodily creation. The poems are by Rowan McNamara, Jim McNamara, Tina Lopes, Dunstan Morey.
| Attachment | Size |
|---|---|
 01-Rowan.mp3 | 4.9 MB |
| 02-Jim.mp3 | 2.96 MB |
| 03-Tina.mp3 | 3.19 MB |
| 04-Dunstan.mp3 | 3.41 MB |
Rowan McNamara - Audio
Jim McNamara - Audio
Tina Lopes - Audio
Dunstan Morey - Audio
The Poetic Moment
Written in a Living Institute class, The Reality of the Imaginal, Feb 4th, 2009, looking at the work of Marcilio Ficino, James Hillman and C.G. Jung on imagination. Poems by Lisa Cowen, Nadine Saxton, Megan Palmer.
Lisa Cowen - Poetic Moment
I am a holder of contradictions.
When I was opal I could hear them,
Singing holy, holy, holy!
And my tongue sang alalalah!
"yogi yogi yogi, gala gala gala"
"holi holi holi, alla alla alla"
Here in the yoke,
In the green I am deaf and dumb.
Sitting on the lake of fire,
I don’t know what to do.
I remember saying,
I will destroy you,
But not yet.
I don’t know who or where I am,
A yogi,
A yoke,
One who is yoked,
I remember learning that.
Megan Palmer - Poetic Moment
my angels of the street are bleeding.
broken flight, they limp toward me,
trails of blood-red dust at their feet.
looking into my eyes, they mistake me for one of their own.
"help me", "heal me", "mend my wings".
but my strength is not in repair, nor do I have
the means of their escape.
my roots are in the ground,
deepening, darkening
and I will look at my angels' demons.
for the help must lie in the holding, the weathering...
when they forsake wings for roots of their own.
Nadine Saxton - Poetic Moment
Who is my own true nature?
Who is my own true nature?
Anywhen
Inner streams red and green
Sitting cross legged out of time
Anywhen
Deep inside the primal earth
Far outside the endless skies
Everywhen
Evermore
Everthen
Everthere
Coming from me
Coming to me
Streaming in, streaming out
Gold and green
Anywhen
Everywhen
Still
Calm
Now is everywhen
Evermore
This is my own true nature