Slanted Words in Slanted Light

Posted on October 31, 2022 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

^{Autumn Light Through the Trees}

Slanted Words in Slanted Light

“Tell all the truth but tell it slant —”
—Emily Dickinson

“There’s a certain Slant of light, . . .

When it comes, the Landscape listens –
Shadows – hold their breath –“
—Emily Dickinson,

Slanted words in slanted light,
this is what autumn brings–
ghosts and trees whisper,
elongated shadows seem alive.

This is what autumn brings–
red and yellow dazzle,
elongated shadows seem alive,
eagles with high-pitched whistles fly—

above red and yellow dazzle,
berry-warm against cool grey and blue
eagles with high-pitched whistles fly,
wine glows as canted rays shine through

berry-warm against cool grey and blue
circles woven of color and time
wine glows as canted rays shine through
stories told and understood–

circles woven of color and time
now amid the age-old lies,
stories told and understood
for those who wait, a battle cry

now amid the age-old lies
truth is bent and rearranged
for those who wait, a battle cry,
but nature marches to a different beat

^{The Wild Turkey Gang}

truth is bent and rearranged
elongated shadows seem alive
but nature marches to a different beat–
slanted words in slanted light.

A pantoum for today. I used some of Jane’s random words, as well as playing off Emily Dickinson. October has been a mostly beautiful month this year—some grey days and rain, but beautiful color, even as the days are growing shorter. And that eagle!

We took care of some things this weekend, such as flu shots and new COVID booster and haircuts. No ill effects from the vaccines, except I was a little tired Friday night and Saturday. We also voted in NJ’s early voting. I’m dismayed and angered that so many still support the GOP, which has become the Tr—p Party of Christo-fascists, and people egging them on, and also some who somehow still believe their lives will improve–despite decades of proof that trickle-down economic policies only make the rich richer. The GOP wants to eliminate Social Security and Medicare—how will that help most people, and what will happen to the people who depend on them? The attack on Nancy Pelosi’s husband, which was meant to be her assassination, and the rise in antisemitic rhetoric indicates what this party stands for–in case the dismissal of women’s rights and attacks on LGBTQ+ weren’t enough, and oh yes, the attempts to destroy democracy weren’t enough! We cannot agree to disagree on these things.

Horror viewing this week because nothing is as scary as the real world. The Midnight Club on Netflix this week, which we enjoyed. It’s based on a YA novel. There are a few “gotcha jumps,” but it’s not super-scary. But it’s both sad (set in a hospice for teens with cancer) and hopeful with some fun 1990’s references, too. The Innocents (1961), the beautifully photographed movie based on The Turn of the Screw with Deborah Kerr as the governess. A classic ghost story. No blood and gore, just spookiness. I had forgotten the ending though, which is creepy on another level, too.

We went to William Heritage Winery to enjoy the beautiful afternoon yesterday.

October, Bright and Yearning

Posted on October 10, 2022 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

October Bright and Yearning

1.
The wind thrusts open the curtains of rain
now the understudy enters, so nervous
he chokes when it’s time to speak,
Then the sun steps in with fierce-rayed concentration
the star, he commands attention.

2.
Ruthless questions—
reflect, refute if you can, why we treasure armies
and the damage that they do—
ghosts wander over blood-soaked ground,
mothers remember.

3.
Knotty letters swim to the surface
we catch them with hooks,
straighten them with poetic authority
toss back the redundant,
bind the true.

4.
Thoughtful threads converge,
sparkling stars,
moons, and planets
statements and questions,
circle like satellites in infinity.

5.
Now we gather, spicy, salty, sweet—
daughters, granddaughters, offspring
the past topples into now
without a break—almost accidental–
we let the birds fly free.

This and That:

This may not be a true cadralor, but then something similar from Jane’s words from Oracle II. Our older child is visiting. Their visit coincided with a Zoom memorial Saturday evening for my mom’s cousin who died recently. Then my two children spent some time together.

There is a definite feel and look of autumn now. This past week, as people are actively seeking to destroy my country and democracies everywhere, and death seems all around, the birds have been putting on shows. I know this is a migratory period, so perhaps that’s the reason, but after days of rain, the sun finally came out, and the sky was a deep, perfect blue. Vultures danced in the sky, while mockingbirds, cardinals, sparrows, and other birds sang from trees, poles, and bushes.

The park by the river where I often walk is the site of an American Revolutionary War battle. It was fought in October 1777, and in a couple of weeks, they’ll have the annual reenactment event there.

Last night, my husband and I watched Catherine, Called Birdy. I can’t get away from birds! 🙂
It’s a delightful movie, and just what I needed to see. Even the closing credits are fun.
(In contrast, I would not recommend the Norwegian horror film, The Innocents. Hidden within it, is a film of forging bonds between children and siblings. I like that part, and the young actors are all excellent. BUT, the movie is very disturbing—and includes scenes of animal cruelty, as well as cruelty against humans.) And we’re still watching The Extraordinary Attorney Woo on Netflix. It’s so good.

Hold These Truths

Posted on July 4, 2022 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Hold These Truths

^{Early Morning Light on the Delaware River}

“Legacy, what is a legacy?
It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see”
From Lin-Manuel Miranda, “The World Was Wide Enough,” Hamilton

Hold these truths,
make a declaration
to secure light and rights—
for all

recall the whispers of freedom,
the shots—and the deaths–
repression, hope, freedom
cycle over and again—we’re here
on the precipice, the earth beneath crumbling. . .

listen to the crows,
ancient wisdom carried from shadowed time
to glowing dawns of robin song

^{Early Morning Light, Shadow, River, and Birds}

Now as berries ripen under a blue sky,
hold fast the simple joys, sunshine and love,
cake and cats,

drink some wine–
the storms will come—rain, snow, wind–
but so will spring, each one full of if,
a flower of possibility waiting to bloom.

Today is the Fourth of July, Independence Day, the day the Declaration of Independence was published. (It was actually signed on 2 July.) In this document, the thirteen colonies declared independence from Great Britain. Through the Revolution and post war period, America was a confederation of states. Our United States came with the Constitution, written in 1787. This is the document that set up our branches of government and lays out our rights and freedoms—some in the original document and Bill of Rights (the first ten amendments), and its subsequent amendments. A minority of reactionaries are trying to destroy our democracy, aided by a rogue and reactionary Supreme Court. The Fourth of July feels very different this year—like drinking a toast on the Titanic after it’s hit the iceberg. We need to rescue ourselves—every vote in November matters.

In need of escapism this week, we finished The Umbrella Academy and Stranger Things ( a title that sounds like a warning of what’s to come.). We also picked blueberries.

Brilliant and Broken

Posted on June 6, 2022 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Brilliant and Broken

Do the stars remember their songs
before they vanish into black?
Perhaps, not voiceless, they are infusions
pulsing light
through a dark heart,

^{Early Morning Sun over the Delaware River}

a broken heart—again–
scabs picked from patched veins
the once aberrant and taboo ooze–
but we detach, too tired
to clear clouded eyes.

Instead, we strew hope and prayers
like seeds cast into a field
without thought or preparation,
waiting for flowers to bloom,
and turn their heads to the sun.

I think of stone soup—each adding. . .something,
some celery perhaps?
Would it satisfy? Hinder the hate?
Like Mother Trees, could we connect, share
and nourish?

^{Fresh Summer Produce–Cooking, Trying to Heal}

But there’s another storm,
the caliginous sky, a rolling dark sea encroaches,
a fast and furious tide, a flash,
and gone—a recess for
the scent of petrichor and honeysuckle to play,

throwing a blanket over me, filling my senses, and
I hold the moment close,
perfect seconds pass—loved ones, sunshine,
wine, and cats, the pre-dawn choir–
Was that gunshot? A shiver down my spine.

^{Egrets/Heron –a bit of early morning magic chanced upon}

Yet I celebrate the brilliant blush,
the wild blue, the bird-voiced morning,
and if I embrace the ghosts
the laugh that travels
through an unopened window—
reflections on the glass, I know
the future does not skirt the past.

A beautiful window on Pine Street, Philadelphia. Reflections, Past, Present, Future.

I generated a random word list yesterday, and I used some of the words in my musings today. I also used a couple stanzas that I cut from my Oracle poem on Saturday.

We had our second booster shots on Tuesday. Tuesday night I couldn’t sleep, and all-day Wednesday I felt tired, but not sleepy—just heavy and off. It suddenly lifted Wednesday night. We had severe weather alerts on Thursday, but we managed to get in a little bit over an hour at the first Vino and Vibes of the summer at William Heritage Winery. Saturday and Sunday were simply gorgeous, perfect days, as far as the weather. There was another mass shooting. This time in Philadelphia, on South Street, an area full of people enjoying a beautiful Saturday night. I know the area. But on Sunday, we went into the city to see a play at the Wilma Theater, Fairview. It’s a play that’s difficult to describe. It begins like a sitcom and turns into something else. As the director, James Ijames writes, it is “ a sitcom that trips on a wrinkle in the rug and tumbles into the uncanny, the sublime, and the truth. .. Jackie’s play asks us all to imagine together what it means to choose a different path. To practice empathy.”

We walked through Philadelphia’s Pride Celebration, and at Tria, we got great seats for a drum show.

^{Pride Celebration, Philadelphia–from our table at Tria Cafe. Love is Love Is Love.🌈}

Just before 4 AM today I heard something—it sounded like gunshots. I didn’t imagine it because the sound woke my cat, too. (Not my husband.) People set off fire crackers, but at that time?

Merril’s TV Club: We watched the new season of Undone. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed the first season. Time travel, mental illness—it’s totally unique. We started the new season of the Danish series Borgen, an excellent political drama. This is a return to the series after many years. The first woman prime minister is now the foreign secretary, and the plot concerns the discovery of huge amounts of oil in Greenland. Greenland is still under Danish control, so there is a conflict over climate and environmental concerns and the autonomy and prosperity of the people in Greenland.

Heroes and Lies

Posted on January 24, 2022 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Without moving, we travel far
time and space collapse
as we traipse—everywhere—
from chair and couch

and as the virus rages,
we turn the pages,
hungering for new plots and changes,
a denouement, and all comes clear
order restored, till the world veers

again, and we can only go forward
into what remains to be seen.
other plagues brought serfdom down
and gathered nations in a league—

attempts made, bells rung,
but mostly heroes go unsung
and lies coming tripping off a tongue
gaining currency as far-flung they’re spread
bad news and dread

sell more stories, but check the optics
and we’ll see. Perhaps your story holds a key,
turn the lock, and make our ratings soar
till wiped away by war.

But the lies circle round, and some believe
the tales the sad sacks or the haters weave–
they choose to believe–
but we? We grieve
we grieve we grieve

(well, those of us who see it.)

^{Sunrise over the water. West Deptford, NJ}

^{Wind whipped. Early morning on the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield.}

Yet, every dawn is a new beginning
and hope wings to the clouds,
the moon will shine when I am gone,
and waves like a teasing lover
will still kiss the shore,
to dart away,
as far-flung ancient light
dances across the sky, always, and forevermore.

We still haven’t gone anywhere because of Omicron. Though we bought a few theater series, and there’s a play soon. . .so perhaps, since everyone is required to show proof of vaccination and to remain masked.

And in other news, an authoritarian minority is taking over our government. 2+2=5

We did have a much-needed, lovely family Zoom on Friday night.

We streamed, A Hero, Asghar Farhadi’s new film. I’ve liked his previous movies, A Separation and A Salesman, so I was eager to see this one, which is available on Amazon Prime now. Like his other movies, situations are not black and white, and no one is totally good or bad. Rahim is in prison for debt, and while on a two-day leave, he tries to make arrangements with his creditor so he can make a payment and be released, but one lie leads to another, and nothing goes as expected. . . It did give us a lot to talk about, and it also gave us glimpses of Iranian life and culture (and prison system). Another excellent film.

We’re watching the final season of the wonderful show The Expanse, also on Amazon Prime. It’s a very complex show—sort of a grittier, less idealistic version of Star Trek, except it’s about human empires and colonization in space, not aliens. Imagine Rome or the British Empire with rebelling colonies, but in space it’s Earth, Mars, and “the Belters,” as well as various other factions and pirates. It’s not a cartoonish sci-fi show. Characters and situations are not black and white here either. As Capt. Holden says of his world-weary crew, we’ve all done things we regret. (Yet we still root for them and their ship, the Rocinante.)

I’m hosting Quadrille Monday at dVerse, so I’ll be back later today! Cold weather comfort food below. Enjoy!

Time Keeping

Posted on August 30, 2021 by merrildsmith

^{Wildflowers and Driftwood, the Delaware River at West Deptford, NJ. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021}

Monday Morning Musings:

Across the morning sky, all the birds are leaving
How can they know that it’s time to go?
–Sandy Denny, “Who Knows Where the Time Goes”
Time is being and being
time, it is all one thing,
the shining, the seeing,
the dark abounding.
–from “Hymn to Time” by Ursula Le Guin

Summer sings on robin trill,
soars on broad-flapped egret’s wing
across the river’s wide expanse,
explodes on thunderclap,
and floats on driftwood
under a laden, leaded sky.

The clocks tick tock, go and stop,
but time ripples, bends, and plops,
to circle through stars and seasons.

Where’s the early promise gone, and why?
The river doesn’t answer, merely flows
with time

in rabbit hops and turkey trots, in smooth deer grace
or hawk’s lazy circling trace across the clouded sky–

the slow descent of morning moon, her song
a sigh, carried high by crow, who never shy,
announces to the world that summer is almost done–
but not quite

Crow and Morning Moon ©️Merril D. Smith 2021

^{Crow in a Sycamore Tree, ©️Merril D. Smith 2021}

whispers the butterfly. I flutter and create a storm,
it circles round, and flowers born—

^{Hope and Determination. Wildflower among the rocks. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021}

so, life goes on through seasons fast or plodding,
you remember both tears and laughter—
the sorrow of loss, the joy of what comes after—
memories flavored by love and friendship—savored–
reflections from the past.

Stream of Reflections ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

This and That:
We’ve had a particularly muggy summer—high dewpoints and humidity (as I write, the dewpoint is 73 and the humidity is 93%). Our air conditioner has been running nearly continuously for the past month. We have another chance of thunderstorms this afternoon. However, we are not facing a hurricane. My thoughts are with friends in New Orleans.

On Tuesday, we went to Valley Green Inn by the Wissahickon Creek. It was my mom’s birthday, and we used to take her mom there for her birthday, until she couldn’t manage it. It was a very hot day, but quite pleasant eating on the porch shaded by the woods. Then we took a walk on Forbidden Drive. On our drive to Valley Green we listened to an interview on the radio with a man who held the marvelous job title of Curator of Timekeeping. He’s written a history of clocks.

Yesterday, we went to a wine festival (Wine Down the Summer at Riverwinds). We’ve attended it in previous years, though it was not held last summer because of the pandemic. We did not do any tastings, as we were not certain about weather or crowds and didn’t want to purchase expensive tickets we wouldn’t use, but we bought wine, brought food, and so, we spent the afternoon with dear friends eating (a lot), sipping wine, talking, and listening to the band. It was a lovely afternoon.

Some of my friends might enjoy Jennifer Ryan’s The Kitchen Front, a novel about a cooking competition sponsored by a BBC radio program during WWII. Like her other books, which I also enjoyed, it’s a sort of cozy historical novel. I really liked it—feel-good, but not sappy.

“A charming tale that will satiate a lot of different tastes: historical fiction lovers, cooking competition fans, anyone who revels in girl-power lit. . . . . This story had me so hooked, I literally couldn’t put it down to cook.”—NPR

Most of you know we watch and enjoy some pretty quirky shows and movies with subtitles, if you do, too, you might enjoy Post Mortem, a new Norwegian dramedy on Netflix. It was fun–only 6 episodes, but hopefully a second season is in the works.

And the new Netflix show The Chair with Sandra Oh is also lot of fun—we watched it in two nights.
You can tell I have eclectic tastes: we’re still watching Dexter, and I’m also re-watching Downton Abbey on Netflix (Mary and Matthew engaged again, swoon).

Dreams on Blackbirds’ Wings

Posted on August 16, 2021 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

“And when we die we say, we’ll
Catch some blackbirds wing
Then we will fly away to Heaven come
Some sweet blue bonnet spring”
–from Nanci Griffith, “Gulf Coast Highway”

^{Sunrise, the Delaware River and Driftwood}

Once, we saw dragons that breathed fire—
now they only crawl or fly,
yet we see our fate in the constellations still—
and I know their ghost light sings

echoing, even as earth erupts in wars,
and shakes from its very core,
wanting less or wanting more,
I watch the clouds and flying things–

^{Gull with Philadelphia Skyline ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021}

the aching beauty of the morning sky
as if it knows it cannot last
but it recalls the seasons past
and dreams that flew on blackbirds’ wings.

^{Heron, Egret, and Geese— Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield}

And in the night, I see the moon,
know her light, hear her tune
as she recalls the seasons past
and dreams that flew on blackbirds’ wings.

One day sun and one day shadow,
the spinning world moves through the clouds
babies born amidst the shrouds—
and yet, still the robin sings

for love, for family, or for warning
as summer turns to fall,
and we recall the seasons past
and dreams that flew on blackbirds’ wings—
and all the songs the world still sings.

Singer-songwriter Nanci Griffith died this past week. She was known for her songs, her lovely, clear voice, and apparently her generosity to other musicians. I’ve been seeing tributes from all over. This has been a sad week for the world—Covid, fires, earthquakes, war.

We’ve been very fortunate. Despite the days of heat and stormy weather, we managed to get out twice to local wineries, where we could sit outside and enjoy wine, food, and music.

I’ll be back later because I’m hosting dVerse today. Today is Prosery Monday—where I provide a line from a poem, and anyone who wants to, can write a short prose piece from it.

We Sing Their Songs in Flight

Posted on August 9, 2021 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

Open a window to another universe–
there is always an after
and before

the bang and birth of stars,
the flutter-shift of vibrating strings
across dimensions, the light on stellar wings—

he sings, she laughs
the fever-dreams of future-past-
perfect brings

remembrance, she, and we see-saw
imperfectly and fractured–all
colored by mood and life-swings

in revolutions, the Earth spins,
love, laughter, tears, and fears—it begins
and ends

the stars sing, and we catch their light,
swallow to hold it within, and in our dreams,
or in some after, we sing their songs in flight.

^{Ospreys Flying over the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield}

Today my father would be 102. We’re going to have Chinese food and ice cream for dinner tonight–both of which he loved. My mom’s birthday is later this month, and she would have turned 99. My parents divorced (twice), but in my mom’s final years she believed my dad lived in the same building, and in her final months, she talked about him a lot, always with smiles and giggles. I think she was in love again. Of course, they were my stars.

The first set of photos were taken long before I was born. My brother is about twelve years my senior.

My mom’s first cousin, who was like her sister, turned 95 yesterday. There was a small party for her. My sister, husband, and I stayed masked in the house, but took our masks off outside. We got her a blanket that had a word cloud of English and Yiddish words we chose.

Mural on Underpass on Schuylkill Expressway–taken from the car while my husband was driving. This is for Resa. 😏

Also from the car, but better photos–the Philadelphia Museum of Art, Schuylkill River. ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

We ate homemade pizza and streamed a play this week: The Most Spectacularly Lamentable Trial of Miz Martha Washington by James Ijames performed as part of the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival, which looks like a beautiful place to see a play. In the play, Martha Washington is dying, and the enslaved people around her are waiting, as they will be freed when she dies. In her fever dreams she imagines them in various guises, as lawyers, Founding Fathers and Mothers, and King George and Queen Charlotte. The play is funny, sad, witty, and unique. Here’s the NY Times review.

Circling: Different and the Same

Posted on August 2, 2021 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

^{Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021}

Songs of ancient glowing flow
from stars to river,
the moon hums sweet and slow–

the language of clouds and light
and shadow-shapes, the drape
of flowered branches, the white-winged flight

^{Egret. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield}

of egret, and the honking geese–
all these feathered things—the sight
of nature, calm, at peace.

We dream as the moon sings
wake to talk in bright sunbeams
of family, books, and everything

mostly trivial, perhaps profound–
in hindsight are we any wiser,
than those underground?

Trees in the graveyard at Old Pine Street Church, Philadelphia

We venerate them, heroes and saints—
but none are perfect
and whitewashed history paints

such a lovely story.
Forget the horror, remember
only glory

But reflections from the past—see?
The world circles. We’ve been here before—
Look at the glass, remember that tree.

Reflections in the Windows of the Merchants’ Exchange, Philadelphia

“My” willow at Dock Street, Philadelphia

So much different and yet the same–
our lives, the city—still,
we’re glad we came.

Tria, Washington West, Philadelphia
Pennsylvania Beer and Cheese, Italian Wine

This was a strange week—stormy weather and tornado watch on Thursday. Then the weather was beautiful. For anyone who is keeping track, I finished the history chapter I was writing (Sex in Eighteenth-century Philadelphia) and sent it off to the editors on Saturday. That afternoon, my husband and I walked around Old City Philadelphia for the first time since the pandemic. I bought some spices at the new Penzey’s store, and we went to Tria for wine and cheese, which became dinner. I kept saying walking around the city was strange–different and the same.

Merril’s Movie Club: We watched three movies this week. Cousins (Netflix) a story of three Maori women who are cousins. It’s a story of family being separated and found again. We both liked it, and of course, New Zealand is beautiful. There are similarities to the treatment of indigenous people in the US and Canada. We also watched A Call to Spy, based on the true story of women who were spies in WWII. We both liked this one, too. It’s a story that most people do not know about. My favorite movie of the three was The Fare (2018, free with Amazon Prime), a pretty much unknown low-budget indie film. It looks and has the feel of an old Twilight Zone episode. Harris, the cab driver picks up Penny. There’s an instant connection (these two actors definitely have chemistry), and then she disappears. We discover they’re repeating this loop over and over. But this is not Groundhog Day. To say more would spoil it, but it’s a unique take, and we both really liked it. Derrick will be pleased to know we ordered a ton of Indian food last night, and we’ll be eating leftovers tonight.

Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings

Tag Archives: Birds

Slanted Words in Slanted Light

Monday Morning Musings:

October, Bright and Yearning

More Connections Invite More Questions

Hold These Truths

Monday Morning Musings:

Brilliant and Broken

Monday Morning Musings:

Heroes and Lies

Monday Morning Musings:

Time Keeping

Monday Morning Musings:

Dreams on Blackbirds’ Wings

Monday Morning Musings:

We Sing Their Songs in Flight

Monday Morning Musings:

Circling: Different and the Same

Monday Morning Musings: