I started writing this poem many years ago. Images were pouring through me into my journal as I struggled to name my longings. These images, in turn, guided me to a clearer recognition of the difference between embodied, sensual presence and the abstract, analytical orientation of my earlier life. This was process work more than poetry, as I reflected on the origins of my own frozen places, that I could feel more clearly as I continued to thaw. This work was also an opportunity for me to reflect on some of the recurrent images in my dreams, where I wandered, cold and alone, through the basement of the hospital where I trained as a medical doctor , caught in the irony of a disembodied medical system that sought to fix people while ignoring the physical, emotional and spiritual needs of those who were supposed to be healing others. As I brought the torrent of words into poetic form, I also heard the echo of some lines from a poem by Adrienne Rich, Transcendental Etude:
But there come times—perhaps this is one of them—
when we have to take ourselves more seriously or die;
when we have to pull back from the incantations,
rhythms we’ve moved to thoughtlessly,
and disenthrall ourselves, bestow
ourselves to silence, or a severer listening, cleansed
of oratory, formulas, choruses, laments, static
crowding the wires.
The writing of this poem has been an attempt of mine to bestow myself to a severer listening… cleansed of oratory, formula or lament. It is one attempt, and the attempts continue. For a long time I struggled with the question of whether to put this poem into the world. I held the question, When does our process work become art? At some point I recognized the perfectionist critic behind this question, and a different question came: Will this writing be of use to others? And I believe the answer to this question is Yes: this might be of use to others who are walking a similar path. I hope that readers will recognize a portion of their own experience in this poem, and take heart and sustenance.
Anthem at Spring Solstice
I can’t live in a house
of glib abstraction
eat platitudes or blind faith
can’t rest my head
on a host of illusions
or ramble thru gardens
of ancient bloom
butI am hungry for enchantment
hungry for song to bring life to words
life to bones
parched, brittle and sharp
What is it I long for?
seduction desire tropical heat
light-hearted ease and lazy repose
warm sand and ocean-scented breeze
cricket choruses after dark
and balsam wood
starry nebulae in desert sky
campfire-lit faces, whistling and guitars
soft pressure of an arm, and a hand that doesn’t tire
of holding mine
I’ve lived on the border of the country of trauma
breath and dream in thrall
to alien logic
woman-child
lost within hospital corridors
lost to her body in a body-repair shop
never enough heat
to overcome the old pattern, the frozen deadlock
fear of speaking and the need to speak to be of value…
But I want prayer
not complaint
stillness, not hush
Sacred music echoes through the cathedral
the space throbbing long after chords released
and choir’s taken flight
Ache of aloneness overcome by beauty
I want to be a prayer
for the small crisp and new
a soft wordless prayer
for the broken heart seated alone
hoping no one will notice-
a prayer that wraps her in blue silk
and rocks her for hours
a prayer for this moment
as if there is no
other moment
a waterfall, a cascade, a song
my hair is wild, life flows through my fingers
Keren Vishny is a psychotherapist as well as a practitioner and teacher of Natural Dreamwork. She has worked closely with Jungian Analyst Marion Woodman and completed the BodySoulRhythms ® Leadership Training Program offered by the Marion Woodman Foundation. She works with clients individually and in groups, and has offered numerous classes and workshops through the CG Jung Center and the Marion Woodman Foundation. To learn more visit her website, www.kerenvishny.com
