Crown Island by Catherine Graham

I am surrounded by Crown Island,
a weave of rock and sand; the waves
lap against me, sizzling white strings.

I am surrounded by Crown Island,
a weave of rock and sand; the waves
lap against me, sizzling white strings.

Come said the Muse,
Sing me a song no poet yet has chanted,
Sing me the universal.

In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.

By every life a share or more or less,
None born but it is born, conceal’d or unconceal’d the seed is waiting.

Lo! keen-eyed towering science,
As from tall peaks the modern overlooking,
Successive absolute fiats issuing.

Yet again, lo! the soul, above all science,
For it has history gather’d like husks around the globe,
For it the entire star-myriads roll through the sky.

In spiral routes by long detours,
(As a much-tacking ship upon the sea,)
For it the partial to the permanent flowing,
For it the real to the ideal tends.

For it the mystic evolution,
Not the right only justified, what we call evil also justified.

Forth from their masks, no matter what,
From the huge festering trunk, from craft and guile and tears,
Health to emerge and joy, joy universal.

Out of the bulk, the morbid and the shallow,
Out of the bad majority, the varied countless frauds of men and states,
Electric, antiseptic yet, cleaving, suffusing all,
Only the good is universal.

Over the mountain-growths disease and sorrow,
An uncaught bird is ever hovering, hovering,
High in the purer, happier air.

From imperfection’s murkiest cloud,
Darts always forth one ray of perfect light,
One flash of heaven’s glory.

To fashion’s, custom’s discord,
To the mad Babel-din, the deafening orgies,
Soothing each lull a strain is heard, just heard,
From some far shore the final chorus sounding.

O the blest eyes, the happy hearts,
That see, that know the guiding thread so fine,
Along the mighty labyrinth.

Song of the Universal
Walt Whitman, from Book XVII: Birds of Passage, Leaves of Grass, Project Gutenberg

Imagining Walt Whitman (1819 – 1892) addressing this issue,
I considered his thoughts pertaining to all matters,
expressed in his poetry.

Archival, public domain photographs of Toronto Island found on Wikimedia Commons.
Images include:
Painting by Arthur Cox (1840 – 1917) Toronto from the Island, 1875 (Public Domain), Toronto Public Library
*
A 1907 postcard of a Toronto Ferry Company ferry crossing the bay from the city of Toronto to the Toronto Islands, (Public Domain) Halton Hill Public Library
*
Hanlan’s Point Hotel and Regatta, 1907, (Public Domain) photo: William James, City of Toronto Archives
*
Milkman, Toronto Islands, 1944, Public Domain
*
Photo of Main Street (below), Centre Island, Toronto, 1944, Souvenir Folder of Toronto Islands, Photogelatine Engraving, Ottawa, Ontario (Public Domain)

The majority of Toronto residents living on Toronto Island were evacuated in the 1950s to make room for parkland.
*
The source for the pterodactyl jet was a generic, uncredited image.
*


You walk home from the dance
Thinking of the girl you met
Wearing an orange dress

You wonder
If she would love you
If you tied yourself
With rope
To the wing
Of a small plane
Photographing
A tree

Cars drive slowly crunching snow
You think of human pyramids

You see the tree on the horizon
& plan a filmic strategy

She spoke with an accent
Pronouncing the titles
Of paintings
By her favourite artist
Influenced by somebody

Following breakfast
A
Wooden spoon dripping honey
You foray out into the world:
Emergency investigation
At the library
Downtown.

Summoning the gods
of the Dewey Decimal System.

Last night the street was quiet with softly falling snow, not too cold, and it took me back to something that may or may not have happened.
I remembered being young & swirling ribbons of sticky, amber honey & trips to the library.
And walking home late at night considering both the terrible and the hopeful & being puzzled by the odd flash of invisible magic charging the air.
The NASA space photo used under Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic License.
The goldfish found online, no photographer credited.
The street scene I snapped with my phone.




Cubist spires
Assembled in the clouds
The new Soviet man
Aligning his spine


Tumbling quickly
Into descent
A boneyard deliriousness

Bring me a glass of water


I fought during the siege
It’s true!
I was young
Stumbling
Into the rubble
Running for ammunition
My bones ached
We had no bread


Your heels resound
One foot is heavy
Are you with child

Your son glancing
Over his shoulder
Acutely
Internalizing
Shostakovich

I myself
Investigated
During the allegretto

Do you have a glass of water


Reciting
Accusations
Admitting
Actions
Quarrying impossibly
Stony stone
I was broken

It was late when I stepped off the train
Children bouncing candy-coloured balloons

Fathers and mothers soft as dough

The new Soviet man
a file
Inside crusted bread

Cubism condensed
To a slate grey
Now you pass this way again


What is that look you are wearing?





Lovers

Swept up by a spark

A kiss after dark


Beneath a bridge

Shadows
Whispering
Soon


The future cascading

Tarkovsky studies music and Arabic


Soon

He will create
Ivan’s Childhood

Winning top prize at the Venice Film Festival

“Tarkovsky…
captures life as a reflection,
life as a dream.”
– Ingmar Bergman

On the bridges of Sochi

Beneath starlight

Hand in hand

Lovers
Cascading

A scene from Tarkovsky’s film Stalker:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dNiVFCWMrqI


Curving a slow corner

You pass through
your own
history

Your mirror image

Picking up speed

Speaking in code


Spirit animals
beneath the northern lights
drag what has fallen

Absorbed
and flung
simultaneously

A spherical puzzle
delivered you

Does the wind agree


***
I was reflecting on personal things with this post. Changes, new directions, letting the past go, that sort of thing. There was no poem to begin with simply ideas & words I’ve been thinking about.
***
My attraction to twinning these two images was in discovering similar design motifs. A centre circular repetition. The lines on the sides of the meter resembling folded wings. The art deco, industrial perfect for a prison design of the meter contrasted with the wild bird hemmed in by a border & religious orthodoxy.
Although I suspect the early illuminators of manuscripts had druidic sensibilities and conveyed within their images the beauty of pagan relationships with the earth I can’t find anything similar to say about the parking meter. Although it does have a certain Dracula’s Castle type charm.
The parking meter imposed order upon free space. We might even say ‘wild’ spaces occurring in a common setting if we want to draw an analogy with pagan spirituality being ‘tamed.’
***
The first parking meter in the United States was installed in 1935
(during the Great Depression & dust storms)
in Oklahoma City.
***
The Book of Dimma is an 8th century Irish illuminated manuscript now
housed in Trinity College, Dublin
featuring the symbol of an eagle
representing
John the Evangelist.
***

The
black and white
television
flickers
reconfiguring
now
*
Flowers blooming
with
signs & symbols
reconfigure
a
flickering
*
My father
on the sofa
refolding
the creased and worn
shaking his head

Step forward
sideways & back
in
physical education class
repeating the Fox Trot
with L
again Jingle Bell Rock
she quivers and laughs
flat feet she offers
we were rocking
no reason
to watch the clock
*
C
my friend
fingers aglow
his urgent hand
Introducing The Beatles
I was torn
in steam the flowers were worn
*
C & L
exhaling
into the frosted black air
cloaking almost touching
one another
oceans of diamonds
rolling overhead
*
I couldn’t make out every word
the album cradled like an
illuminated manuscript
under his arm
*
My gloved finger
drawing in white snow
uncovering the dark metal
of a late model sedan
*
I Want to Hold Your Hand

A dinner party ceremony for
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
*
Cellophane flowers
dissolving
in crystal glasses
*
Comets curving
free fall
a sign
*
B, D & R asleep already
I walk beneath
into
awakening sparrow song
tiny electric sitars flitter
through branches green & brown
*
Translucent animals bounding leap
*
The solstice pulsing in waves
a pushing tide
subsides
*
I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in
to stop my mind from wandering

Aluminum & ink folio
jukebox affixed to the counter
Strawberry Fields Forever
*
T dressed in black
opening a black umbrella
hitchhiking after dark
*
Living is easy with eyes closed…

What a trip to travel
through space & time emotionally and imagistically
enhanced
by these Liverpool musician/storyteller
icons of the cultural landscape
***
Introducing The Beatles
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IFWXBn2d1d8
***
Jingle Bell Rock (Bobby Helms)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=itcMLwMEeMQ
***
Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kYRSgbDw7xA
***
Strawberry Fields Forever
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nehRB1FTeTo
***
I Want to Hold Your Hand
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipADNlW7yBM
***
Photo credit: CBS photo archives – Comet: Visoki Decani Monastery, Metohia, Yugoslavia, 1330 (approx)
I do not own the copyright to these works have simply reconfigured for non commercial purposes of commentary
***