Shortly after beginning this blog last summer, I posted an entry titled Hey Teach! wherein I wrote about three teachers who left a glowing impression on me and made a lasting impact in my life, despite my short-lived classroom lifespan! One of those teachers is probably with the angels now, one I have remained in touch with off and on through the years and the third was my English teacher in the 9th grade (which, my friend, seems like a thousand light years ago), who I hadn’t seen or heard from for a very long time. She had befriended me back then after I threw a little tantrum outburst in her classroom. Her kindness opened my heart and mind and, once I cooled my jets, we hit it off famously. We remained in touch through hand-written letters for awhile after both leaving the area, but within a few years lost contact and drifted apart. This was almost 35 years ago.
I am proud and delighted to tell you that since posting that entry we found one another again, and this very special person resurfacing in my life has truly enriched my world. Her name is Gae Rusk, she is an awesomely talented poet and writer and you can check out her website here. She has lead a very full, well-traveled life and her many global adventures shines through in her writings.
Recently this lady did an incredible thing. She sent me a letter that I had written to her 35 years ago when I lived in Santa Rosa, California and she in Kathmandu, Nepal. In it was enclosed a few poems I had written and also sent to her then. I had completely forgotten about these pieces of writings, the letter as well as the poems, and to be brought back to that phase in my life, reflective of my thoughts, attitudes and dreams back then when, although feeling so old in spirit, I was actually so very young and the horizon was exploding with all sorts of new colors…well, it just floored me to receive my own words written from that chapter of ancient history in my world. At that time I was living with my first (and only) true love, a man much older than me who I lost long ago and then recently found and reunited with again after decades of an involuntary psychic connection. Only to lose him again just 6 months ago to the angel of death. And I spoke of him in one of the poems I had written and mailed to her and which she just now returned to me; words long absent from my memory and realm of reckoning. To receive these very personal and sacred articles at this point in the curve of my years has rendered me indescribably sentimental. These are reflective times for many; extremely intense times of recognition and review, and many are experiencing a sort of soul’s inventory. This is certainly the case with me and even moreso because of the middle-age cellular insanity (which makes turbulent adolescence look like candyland), and the emotional elixirs that fill my heart and consume my every molecule these days just simply defy words.
So instead of attempting to fill in this little piece of the magical puzzle with expressions that could only come close to touching the amazing way I am feeling tonight, I would like to share two of those long-lost poems here; the two that I had completely forgotten. Most of my poetry is living, breathing entities that I constantly edit and change, and as tempted as I am to do that with these, I’m going to leave them both as is, word for word, as a sort of a tribute to that girl I used to be, and to that once-young soul in us all. They were written in 1977, when I was seventeen years old:
Ancient Poem #1
“You shall someday marry a son of Satan”, she was told as a child.
“It’s alright dear, don’t be frightened, we’ve only flipped with anger and a cooperation so frustrating to achieve. We’ve only sunk a little further into the single-minded, seemingly selfish intangible tasks. We’ll just get our ‘brain chemistry’ balance straight, so our many hates will not have to be expressed to you…And we’ll be back to our senses on time for the normal social play, and perhaps some popcorn or a hot todi….
Dare you yearn the glory outburst of a rare love arrival on my little premise, on my rented turf. For I am the function of every god and belief in meeting. I possess the eyes of the goat (never-the-less my goat fear), and my bones are of chickens. I can see if you are a witch, or of the enlightened. None is fooling to me. I am the height of evil, though it’s displayed in its opposing of generosity and innocence. Dare you yearn the glory outburst of a rare love arrival on my little premise. In return, you shall experience the powerful paradox I am able to create; you will burst with despair of the same rare hateful departure, in my presence…”
Ancient Poem #2
I don’t mind the strong
and sometimes loud
voice of “women’s lib”,
for I’m a budding woman
and I realize there’s pain
but I also realize pain is human,
Human is in division
Female and male
men can hurt too…
How about a round for the fairness
of humans, just people….
Here’s one for the ladies who seem to think
anyone without a vagina
owes them two hundred years of pity:
The main motivation and encouragement
of my drawn out identity discovery
is a man
my closest lover and friend–
The one and only
who helped me to identify
with my admiration and pleasure
to touch female body,
simply with his own belief
in the beauty of women