Misty Evening Potpourri

Misty Potomac

Misty Potomac

*Freeway Blogger emails me that he is about to post his thousandth sign. He rocks.

Freeway Blogger

Freeway Blogger

*We’ve had a few misty days here in Columbia’s District — slippery fog and the kind of rain that my mother used to call “spritzing.” This evening, as the earlier-and-earlier dark was closing in, I drove past the Potomac’s Three Sisters, shrouded in shifting mist rising up from the river. If we’re willing to pay attention to our landbase, it will communicate with us. And mine was clearly suggesting that I go home, slip into soft, warm clothes, and allow myself to be comforted and held by the dark.

This time of year always makes me think of the Yeats poem, The Stolen Child. There are two lovely musical versions of it. Close your eyes and listen to both of them. Which do you like best?

*Play your favorite again and spend a few minutes with these perfect (but perhaps NSFW) images.

*Do you know Caroly Kizer‘s poems? You should.

Fearful Women

Arms and the girl I sing – O rare
arms that are braceleted and white and bare

arms that were lovely Helen’s, in whose name
Greek slaughtered Trojan. Helen was to blame.

Scape-nanny call her; wars for turf
and profit don’t sound glamorous enough.

Mythologize your women! None escape.
Europe was named from an act of bestial rape:

Eponymous girl on bull-back, he intent
on scattering sperm across a continent.

Old Zeus refused to take the rap.
It’s not his name in big print on the map.

But let’s go back to the beginning
when sinners didn’t know that they were sinning.

He, one rib short: she lived to rue it
when Adam said to God, “She made me do it.”

Eve learned that learning was a dangerous thing
for her: no end of trouble would it bring.

An educated woman is a danger.
Lock up your mate! Keep a submissive stranger

like Darby’s Joan, content with church and Kinder,
not like that sainted Joan, burnt to a cinder.

Whether we wield a scepter or a mop
It’s clear you fear that we may get on top.

And if we do -I say it without animus-
It’s not from you we learned to be magnaminous.

Picture found here.

6 responses to “Misty Evening Potpourri

  1. I love this poem! Thank you for introducing me to her – a Sagittarian like myself!

  2. I just love you. I am embarrassed to say this over and over to someone I do not know and will surely never meet still I come to your site over and over and slowly I am changing into someone much more at home.

    This past summer and fall I thought of you as I walk around my own land base and this year brought home left over fruits and made cobblers and pies and wrote about my wonderful time outside and then the cooking with the fruit fallen to ground and ignored. I remembered to thank the trees from which the fruit had come to ground. I have come upon a tree in this land that is so huge and so quiet. I haven’t typed it but assume that it is redwood although I know that redwoods do not usually grow alone since they are such a socialist group and hold each other up.
    Thank you for your constancy and faithfulness to us many of whom you will no doubt ever meet.

  3. Great poem!!!

    Isn’t it sad, or infuriating, I oscillate between the two, when landmarks are named for indigenous women who died. In the Blue Mountains, N.S.W Australia, (where I grew up) there’s a magnificent sandstone formation also called ‘The Three Sisters’. Also named for three aboriginal women who died/were killed. I’m sure that there are ‘Three’ Brothers, or Uncles, or Fathers monuments scattered here and there, but you never hear about ’em much do you?

  4. Clymela,

    Thank you! I love my readers, too, despite never having “met” them in the manifest world. Your kind words are what keeps me blogging even when I come home late and think that I have nothing left to say. Would love to meet your tree, sometime.

    Widdershins, Jon, and Delphyne, Glad you enjoyed them. Sharing good poems is such a joy for me.

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