BY JAN HAAG

ART & POETRY - ACCUMULATIONS

POETRY + ESSAYS + MUSIC + TRAVEL + FICTION + TEXTILE ART

INTRODUCTION + HAAG'S BIO


The Desolation Poems

Poetic Forms Used in English


#167 GREEK PENTAMETER

5-25-98


Twist with a leisurely turn, stand with a sparrow fine foot,
root your way down past a rock, shove your head higher than sky,
know you are star and the sun. Quarks are constituent parts,
probable larks in the dark, finer but needed by God's

plot to remember the skill, pattern neutrino's descent,
spark cool mosssed imagery's fire. Angels are needed and fine
things are suceeded by doom. Frail and low creatures will last
only as long as mirage. Drought in the desert will pass.

Know you have erred with your hope, know you deserted the way.
Changeable God will unfurl. Hide from the sun and the moon,
keep your pale head from the clouds, dig through the dirt of your past,
stumble with sparrow-y foot, turn with a leisurely twist.




#168 HEROIC SESTET III

5-26-98


To sounds of fragile, breaking ice resound
the deep currents that flow beneath the sea,
drumbeats from the heart of liquid earth floating free.
Where else can be found, a sound more deep, profound
than cool tears from the clouds, cold, ice-blue, pure blood
from rivers, their crystalized love melting in flood.




#169 SICILIAN SESTET III

5-27-98


The theater is a place for showing
sweet life as it was meant to be before
dear death doth take us to the grave wailing
because of having to endure the lore
we applauded in the theater ring:
tragedies, so called heros, and the bore.







#170 COMMON OCTAVE

5-28-98


The rain has gone, the sun has come.
Full, heavy, grow the leaves.
The flowers fall, their scent dispersed
from brooding great dark trees.
Beware when walking lightly from
the sun into the seas.
Go slowly, carefully, immersed
in song and gentle ease.







#171 ENGLYN PROEST GADWYNOG

5-29-98


Art is tearing down bridges,
and then erecting hedges
upon the ancient ridges
while maintaining your pledges.

Watch as the new bird fledges;
restrain laments and dirges.
Some will fall among sedges,
and rise again with urges,

soaring in noble surges
among the higher pitches
'til perfection emerges
gracing elegant niches.




#172 ENGLYN UNODL CRWCA

5-29-98


I planned summer on the tells.
I was dissuaded for bells
along the rivers and dells, English green,
vivid, seen across fells

and along the rivers, spells
created by the constant knells
from crumbling nunnery ells -- like a keen
for a queen, constant yells,

colored by the Book of Kells
imagery of ancient hells --
so different from desert wells, where men preen
and clean water soothes, quells.








#173 ENGLYN PROEST DALGRON

5-29-98


On the green river bank coil
for a moment to be spoiled
by sun through tree branches foiled
by gossamer winds of voile

which have neither spun nor toiled
among the currents moiling
with muddy waters roiling
which still survive pure, unsoiled



#174 RHUPUNT III

5-29-98


Marriage bringing
to old joining
such strange coupling,
rare complexions

in Christian man --
who cannot ban
those who would span
all those sections

his Diphysitic,
proselytic,
mentor-critic
of perfections

preached to fine
women devine,
men at their crime
for reflections --

it was hoped soon
there'd be a boon
mystery, rune,
reproductions.

Proselenic,
such hygenic,
empidemic
new directions

were unclassed and
often pre-planned,
veiled tries to hand
on selections.


Glossary:
Diphysitic -- belief in the doctrine of the two distinct natures of Christ, divine and human
Proselenic -- existing before the moon




#175 ENGLYN UNODL UNION

5-29-98


For deep desert wells and the great fronds of palms,
for calms, I watched on lawns
across still, idyllic ponds
longing to release from bonds

my heart to fly to Khans, fatal Islam's
grided balms of patterned wands
arching over vivid dawns
in imagined light, view fawns

prick their ears, test their mild yawns without qualms,
gather alms from the Hans
in ancient stone which now dons
English books purveyed by cons.



#176 TAWDDGYRCH CADWYNOG

5-31-98


Bliss in my heart
by the river
the brown beaver
eyed the green lawn

Bliss was a dart
I still quiver
the leaves shiver
the bird greets dawn

Bliss was a fawn
caught by the wind
as fish are finned
in the water

Bliss is now gone
humans have sinned
their hearts are pinned
to great slaughter



#177 ENGLYN PENFYR

5-31-98


I sat by the River Avon with Cleve --
the cold sheaves beyond the lawn
bright green, cold gold in deep pawn

to the sun, holiday people shouting
scouting, laughing and stippled
by the shade of the steeple.

I sat still then and I dream now strangely,
like lace yet bobbined to seem
only a thread in a beam.



#178 ENGLYN LLEDDFBROEST

6-1-98


From lands where Boetius
strode, to the lands of Selwyn
we applaud the high conceit
of all the great, wild aesthetes.

From the goose led by a boy
to imprisonment by Roy
history marches along coy
treating the world like a toy.

In considering how few
end up with any slight clew
it would be nice to eschew
the old critical review.

Fall back silent on the how
and pray with passion for now,
citing the cud of a cow,
clasp hands, one and all, to bow.



#179 HEROIC OCTAVE in Sicilian & Italian Quatrains

6-2-98


Up rises the sun, to its vocational
duty. Did it have a choice in beauty's test?
It's glory shines for the recessional
just before night when the earth darkens for rest --
shining red, gold, incandescent in the west
Still, they say its time is conditional,
and from its view we are peripheral,
our view of its beauty, a temporary jest.



#180 SYNTHETIC PARALLELISM in CLASSICAL PENTAMETER

6-3-98


Black is the bird which stays high, black in the sun as it sets.
Gold it will drop from its wings, gold you can catch from the light.

Day falls to dark and regrets. Flight is eternal delight
past the moon's silver respite. Egrets arise in the dawn.

Egrets in passionate white, pawning the sun with their wings
light on the marsh where fish sing, spawning mosquitoes in rings.



#181 ANTITHETICAL PARALLELISM

6-4-98


I am happy, yet my heart remembers the pain.
I sing for joy, yet my heart cries in sorrow.
I climb the unsullied top of the towering hill,
yet my feet slog through the deep mud of despair.
When will the time of hurt and of weeping be past?
When will the tears of happiness last to water
the land and the forests, the flowers, the hills forever?



#182 CLIMACTIC PARALLELISM

6-5-98


Spring -- that begins with little buds
wintering over, pushes up the crocuses,
persuades the snowdrops to bloom and die,
suns the daffodils into flower, the tulips --
O Spring -- in the cascades of the cherry's
pink and white, in the plum's plume,
in apple's blush, white and scarlet --

Spring O Spring -- that blows the rhododendron's trumpets,
the azalea's horn -- when do you announce
your Summer retirement? With the accumulation
of the darkening leaves, the chlorophyll
canopies overhead, dark as winter, black as a storm
beneath the shade that blots the sun? Silent.
Seattle Summer.




#183a HEROICS, Heroic Stanzas, Heroic Quatrain

6-6-98


I study the muqarnas, and Fatehpur Sikri,
the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia
named, as my mother was named, for wisdom. I
contemplate Hajj to the Kaaba, the qibla walls,
dance with the Sufi, take my turn at whirling,
walk across the desert footsteps
made by the silk traders, and their camels --
tin tin na / dhin na / dhin na.

Deep in the heart of my desolation -- while
I dwell in the rectangular earth dining
on dates, drying out figs, sweetening my coffee
with the morning music of the Qu'ran,
with the muezzin's call from the minaret --
I find the grid, the structure of the pattern,
the geometry in the light, whether of rugs
or squinches, pendentives or arches supporting

the Dome of the Rock. Knocking my head like a Jew
against the mihrab, beheading goats
with the Hindu Nepalese, chanting ten thousand strong
with Tibetan Buddhists in the Himalayas
(the mountains were moved), embracing Shiva
on the charnel ground, Kali with her skulls, Christ,
bloody on the cross, I study. Muqarnas
decorate and support, the design in the rug's pattern

encodes the wisdom of the guru
the ayatolla, the sage. It's key unlocks
the gate of heaven. As the tumblers fall,
the shuttle flies across my loom, my needle
stitches. Shakti awakes. I begin
my pilgrimage to Mecca in the darkness
of my heart where the sun, now setting, turns all wisdom
to black figures against the blazing light.

They walk on shafts of gold out from the garden
into the heaven of illumination.
The brain is electricity,
the heart, a galaxy beyond galaxies.




#183b A RETURN FROM HEROICS TO ITS NATURAL STATE

6-7-98


I study the muqarnas, and Fatehpur Sikri,
the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia
named, as my mother was named, for wisdom. I contemplate
the Hajj to the Kaaba, the qibla walls, dance
with the Sufi, take my turn at whirling, walk
across the desert in the footsteps made by the silk
traders, and their camels -- tin tin na / dhin na / dhin na.

Deep in the heart of my desolation, while I dwell in
the rectangular earth dining on dates, drying out figs,
sweetening my coffee with the morning music of the Qu'ran,
the muezzin calling from the minarets, I find the grid,
the structure of the pattern, the geometry in the light,
whether of rugs or squinches, pendentives or arches
supporting the dome of heaven.

Knocking my head like a Jew against themihrab, beheading
goats with the Nepalese Hindus, chanting ten-thousand-strong
in the Himalayas with the Buddhists (surely the mountains, so moved,
expelled the Tibetans), embracing Shiva on the charnel ground, Kali
with her skulls or Christ, bloody on the cross, I study. The muqarnas
decorate and support, the design in the rug's pattern
encodes the wisdom of the ayatolla, the guru, the sage,

It is a key to unlock the gate of heaven. As the tumblers fall,
the shuttle flies across my loom, my needle stitches, Shakti awakes.
I begin my pilgramage to Mecca in the profound darkness of my heart
where the sun, now setting, turns all wisdom to black figures,
against the blazing light, walking on shafts of gold out from
the garden into the heaven of illumination. The brain is electricity.
The heart is galaxies beyond galaxies beyond galaxies.




#184 HUDIBRASTICS

6-7-98


I work on the rhymes for my times.
Working hard, I don't hear the chimes.

Until my tired stomach rumbles
and asks for the merest crumbles

to sustain the lively, wired brain
with sugar and spice fired sane

to work the metrical problems,
bow deeply to time and solve them.

I ride the crest of creations
obscure, unhonored by nations,

but with license to talk to God,
I, indeed, nod to her applaud.




#185 MONDO

6-8-98


Is this all there is?

Honeysuckle azalea
smells like the honeysuckle.

Is this all there is?



#186 VILLANCICO

6-9-98

"Say this: "I lived and died. Now I am love and live,
and living can forget and loving can forgive."
Eugene O'Neil


To voice the past I once sighed,
swayed to the silent music.
"Why?" I again, again cried.
In my heart I hear your voice
say this: "I lived and died.
Now I am love and live..."

Softly you voiced your regret,
softly I could have replied.
I have wondered why we met.
I hear you, who never lied:
"...and living can forget.
and loving can forgive."

I would that I could relive,
understand you and forgive,
I would that I could once give,
copiously like a sieve.
and say: "I lived and died.
Now I am love and live,
and living can forget
and loving can forgive."



#187 MOTE

6-10-98 





                                                  The earth is an angel
with singed wings and an open heart.
 
                                                  The earth is an angel
with shattered wings and a broken heart




#188 GHAZAL

6-11-98


Ah the dream, yes, the dream where I lay dying --
in the bed in the hall with white pillars shadowing

the insistent music like thunder's echoing roll,
assailing scent of the sea's frothed waves roaring,

dispelling the incense -- you sit drumming silence.
The time for speaking and the time for singing

is past. O Devayani, hear the silence.
Know it is love, know it is God's whispering.



#189 HEROIC SONNET

6-12-98


She said Tom had disappeared in the dream --
the Grandmother, my sister. She said he
was simply not to be found, not his blue eyes
nor his lotus lips, slim hips -- nor did she deem
it possible that he would not, if free,
return in timely haste, his small blond size
to sit at his grand piano, strum tunes
of loneliness, despair -- of wild grey loons

upon the lake, upon the sound, the calm
soothing, silken, savory, round, pure notes
performed delicately with ivory hands
upon the keys. Where was he? Tommy! Tom
was not to be found. Crying, she looked in boats
she gazed across the sea, toward foreign lands.
In her agony, she did not once guess
that blond Tom's small mischievous smile might suggest

he would not, like his great aunt, linger to grow
impatient with reality, but simply go.



#190 TRIAD

6-13-98


The rise of the sun
The set of the moon
And rain

Quotidian life
Diurnal sweet death
Returns

The blaze of the sun
The silver pale moon
Ann's bliss



#191 SEPTENARY

6-14-98


O sweet, Devayani, think not of love today. Winter has come,
the naked boughs have given up their colors of scarlet and green.
Refreshment lies at the end of the tongue, and the stratified hum
of memory. Things that have been, and gloriously gone, are seen
only through glass, only through the gem of solitude's gentle
grace, where the bones go slow, the tips of the fingers settle
for sight's old role, and the days fall like spring's last fragrant petal.




#192 QUINTAIN

6-15-98


The royal family of Bavaria
preserves the hearts of its lineage in jars.
Exquisitely capped in high, niched church rings.
The Incas kept the skins of their great kings,
straw stuffed for festivals, swaying from bars.




#193 PRIMER COUPLET

6-16-98


Up in the morning
Smile without warning

Bright as the sun
Until day is done

Shine like the moon
Not unlike the loon

Deep in the night
Do not take fright

The nightingale rails
And the dream boat sails



#194 SAPPHIC LINE

6-17-98


Jonquil came to me in a dream of fragrance
like the spring: fresh, young as the rain that falls free
from the sunshine sky. With her bobbing head held

high to catch the wind in its pure unscented
dash across the land, choosing her life so wet, wild,
yellow, prototype for the sun. Ah how brief

stays the sun in orbit among the lasting
stars, the black night, empty, eternal space, not
fully born, and not yet allowed to darken.

Hued like Jonquil's hair, does it gain with age or
death? When will we know and/or cease to long for
answers filamented as fine as frayed threads.



#195 TRIAD II, TERCET II, or THIRTEENER + THREE

6-17-98




TRIAD II



Freeway Park
Fountain Thundering
Blue-Black Pigeon
In the Sand
Wings at Point
Tail at Rest
Head Down
Asleep
Forever



TERCET II



Freeway Park
Fountain thundering
Blue-black pigeon

In the sand
Wings at point
Tail at rest

Head down
Asleep
Forever



THIRTEENER + THREE



In Freeway Park, fountain thundering, blue-black pigeon
in the sand, wings at point, tail at rest, head down asleep,
forever.



#196 ENCLOSED TERCET/TRIPLET

6-18-98


Did the pigeon die upon her nest? I
could not touch her, would not move her from her
rest -- black back feathers ruffled white by a fly.



#197 BARZELLETTA

6-19-98


Friends do come and friends do go
Solitude's hoe makes one hum.

Strum on your guitar of blue
Its hue dies the deeper core.

With chores self-imposed, do earn,
learn and lean upon your health.

Spend its wealth against your woe
Flash its show, forfend loves stealth.

With one life to live, rejoice,
single, joyfully, in bliss.



#198 CAROL TEXTE

6-19-98


Before the sun comes up at dawn
tuck the warmth around your fond

body's gentle resting dream
capture the joy of the nightime stream,
sew it strong, minutely as a seam.
Put it all in pawn

before the sun comes up at dawn.
Tuck the warmth around your fond

wild dreams of love and laughter.
Realize there is much to come after
rising to the morning's matter,
before we can abscond.

Before the sun comes up at dawn
tuck the warmth around your fond

remembrances of night's dark revels
before the sun's strong light dishevels
night's happiness with ancient devils
ruthlessly encouraged to spawn.

Before the sun comes up at dawn
tuck the warmth around our bond.



#199 NASHERS

6-20-98


Medical man is busy in the business of creating diseases.
What was overwork, upchucking, boredom, greed, and sneezes,

became dangerous Latinate malaises: hypertension, bulimia,
CFS, AIDS, stress: multitudinous doctor-induced anxietia --

all symptoms essential to sustain the doctor's yacht
especially if you don't mind your good sense being bought

or health insurance to build high-rises,
and pay for medically induced big prizes.

So, rather than relax, rest more, take a walk, eat less,
patient man agrees he's a difficult-to-cure, complex mess,

gobbling pills and submitting to incisions
quite incapable of making sane decisions,

certainly never resting with his wealth, always needing more,
while practicing acephalo-acardiensis upon the poor at the door.



#200





Copyright © 2002 Jan Haag
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Jan Haag may be reached via e-mail: jhaag@janhaag.com or jhaag@u.washington.edu





ALPHABETICAL INDEX BY FORM

of

POETRY FORMS USED IN ENGLISH



BY JAN HAAG

ART & POETRY - ACCUMULATIONS

POETRY + MUSIC + ESSAYS + TRAVEL + FICTION + TEXTILE ART

INTRODUCTION + HAAG'S BIO



21st CENTURY ART, C.E. - B.C., A Context