A Joyful Circle – the Final Lineage Poem

A Joyful Circle – the Final Lineage Poem. And so we come full circle in this series of Lineage Poems. Like medieval astronomers who took the earth to be the center of all things, so does our ego create the illusion that this individual life is the central point of reference in the infinite sweep of time and generations. Past, future, and at the fulcrum, this single life. And I suppose it couldn’t be any other way, however flawed this cosmology of self.

As I write this, I’ve been down for two weeks struggling to recover from pneumonia. It’s honestly been a frightening time. In an earlier post, I mentioned that my only brother died a short time ago, of lung disease as it happens (https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2022/03/19/sunrise-and-sunset-the-wheel-of-life/.) So losing the ability to breathe triggered both fearful memories and simple animal fear. Just today, it finally feels like my breathing is softening, and the air is beginning to flow.

And also just today, our next grandchild has begun the long, messy, painful, risky and extraordinary process of pushing into this world.

A joyful circle. I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it

And I pray that I will have many, many, more to experience

Little boy, I weep with joy at the prospect of meeting you!

All love,

Jeff

Grandson, Son, Husband, Father, Father-in-law, Grandfather, Ancestor

backcountry touring in Canada February 2020

Two closing poems to bring this home, the first from several years ago

old man

in the wild untended fields of my heart
sits an old man. the day is late but warm 
and the low-angled light spreads like butter 
over the tall grass. his beard is white

gone beyond gray, and his hair, long and thin 
shifts with the wind. he wears a multicolored vest 
stitched with threads of silver
and his boney white feet 
sit bare upon the land

his hands, held still on his long legs, bear the scars 
of a lifetime of choices -- he sits beyond judgment 
beyond expectation -- he’s been waiting 
for a very, very long time 

he breathes as I breathe

his blue eyes are clouded now 
from having witnessed a life 
while in the distance the witches’ voices 

rise in round to the beating sound of his heart
he has always known this song
 has always known all 
of the songs 

we are each of us sorcerers 
all singers of one single 

deathless song

with Sara atop Kilimanjaro, October 2020

And a final word written very recently

only that

they say it’s our habits, habitual tendencies
that are reincarnated, like a wind
blowing through a window left open

in a newly constructed house. and this
makes sense to me – I haven’t suffered enough trauma
in this one life to be as confused as I seem to be

so I must have swept these old wounds
into the womb with me, an intangible blanket
of familiar mistakes to keep this newborn warm 

 now, as I stare down this narrowing hall
I pray to whatever powers there be
to allow me to direct more precisely
the next go-round

when the last breezes blow
and this basket of bones finally fails
may only one thing pass into the next life--

may I carry forward only 
the tender warmth of my fingers 

as they touch the cheeks
of those I have loved most in this world

that

and only that



May these words be of benefit to all sentient beings
grandpa Jeff with his best girl Sawyer

To explore more poetry with buddhist themes, click here:https://www.shambhala.com/buddhist-poetry-a-reader-guide/

Sunrise and Sunset – the Wheel of Life

Sunrise and Sunset – the Wheel of Life. The 9th Lineage Poem. So we near the end of this cycle of Lineage Poems. We began with the roots of ancestors gone long before I was born, but embedded in my every cell; visited and said goodbye to both my father and my mother; welcomed the addition of a new line through marriage; and celebrated the advent of a new generation in the birth of my beloved granddaughter. Now, we turn to the inherent cyclical nature embedded in the fabric of the generations.

Last year I buried my only brother Joseph, and shortly thereafter learned that our son and daughter in law are expecting a second child any day now, a boy this time.

A death and a birth, a brother and a grandson

brother Joe with my father, circa 1942
chance

I haven’t met him yet
just been told he’s in transit
waiting, biding his time

in the warm, purple
amniotic dark. our oldest son 
told us that his son is expected 

in the spring. I clearly remember 
the morning my wife’s water broke 
rushing to the hospital, becoming 

a father for the first time 
I called my older brother 
eager to share the news

but he was unimpressed

just last month I spoke
at his funeral, his ashes in a box
at the front of the room

and there it is, one leaving
just as another is beginning
and in between, such drama

and beauty, love and pain
and none of it endures - none of us
endures

I wonder if I’ll still be here
when the son of my son
snaps open his eyes

and screams 
at the shock of squeezing
into this hard cold world

I hope so, though I know 
 in truth there’s no way  
to protect him

nonetheless
I’d dearly love the chance

to die trying
my father, 1915

For more poems about brothers, click here: https://www.momjunction.com/articles/brother-poems_00697143/

And if you’d like to revisit the first in this cycle of Lineage Poems, click here:https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2022/01/09/a-joyful-noise-root-music-of-the-heartland/

A Joyous Day – Gift of a New Life (8th Lineage Poem)

A Joyous Day – Gift of a New Life (8th Lineage Poem) Nearly three years ago, this lineage began a new phase with the birth of our granddaughter Sawyer. Honestly, I never expected to care much about grandchildren.

I was wrong!

Born on the cusp of covid, she’s always had a bit of “stranger danger” and, of course, this extended to me – kind of still does. Yet we have our own profoundly goofy relationship founded on funny faces, silly noises and mutual surveillance.

She is brilliant, exceptionally verbal and, of course, beautiful. Her blue eyes are stunning, and her crooked grin is simply beguiling.

(I feel very strongly that it’s not my job to post pictures of her on the internet, but below are two that I feel do preserve her privacy.)

I’ve born witness now to the birth and growth of two sons and a granddaughter, and I still have no idea where these exceptional creatures come from, how their intelligence takes root and blooms.

This is the great mystery and the gift of lineage.

I am forever in love

Sawyer in Sara’s hand, a few hours old

mumuration

her small voice rising 
in the dark above the crib
a morning murmuration beginning
spinning, rising, a flock 
of freshly hatched words 
translucent and damp

where did she come from? 
this spontaneous consciousness 
this ascending double helix 
of intelligence - pulsing, spiraling 
wave upon brilliant wave 
of innate wisdom, elaborating
her sweet song, a spark 

radiating across the endless space
of possibility, coming now
to crack open the darkness like a star 
like the first soft light

of this brand new day

Equally astounding is how quickly a child engages, learns to stand, to walk and to step into a tomorrow of her own.

Sawyer and mom Taylor above Ouray Colorado
hers


after a lifetime 
of insisting on my own importance

here I stand, in the shadows 
watching her

watching her

the clouds roll in
and evening pools in the valley

she takes one step forward
and then another, venturing 

to the very edge of the world 
this world that is now hers 

and hers alone


Here’s a link to more poems about the special creatures that are grandchildren:https://allpoetry.com/poems/about/grandchildren

And here’s a link to the seventh of the Lineage Poems – https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2022/03/08/shadow-people-when-the-lineage-merges-and-generations-fade/

And a final closing note- young Sawyer’s little brother is due to arrive any day now.

Can’t wait to meet him.

Welcomed by the Land – A Father Returns Home

The third in a series of Lineage Poems: Welcomed by the Land- A Father Returns Home. My father left Hancock County Ohio after the war and barely looked back. But when he died in 1986, there was a plot waiting for him there. A farmers’ cemetery tucked among the cornfields, rows of family names eroding into nothing up a small hill. Later, my mother would join him there, but this poem is about his journey home. And the Redwing Blackbirds in the fields, and the ribbon of asphalt leading there. About an Oldsmobile, and the memories of a boy, now a no longer young man.

Click here for the first poem in the Lineage Series: https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2022/01/09/a-joyful-noise-root-music-of-the-heartland/

Click here for the second poem in the Lineage Series: https://oldbonesnewsnow.com/2022/01/16/on-the-way-to-heaven-2nd-lineage-poem-over-ohio/

photo credit – the Audubon Society https://www.audubon.org/

A Father Returns Home:

redwing blackbirds

redwing blackbirds 
flash like fire in the sun, the Olds 
sailing and sailing over waves of blacktop

clicking past fenceposts, the boy 
peering from the back seat trying to count 
but it’s too fast to keep up 

such a small hole for a man that size 
tough to fit eternity into a space like that 
maybe space like time is collapsed by death

they say at the margin space and time 
are the same thing. tell me, if you could choose 
would you disappear in order to last forever? 

maybe it’s better to spread yourself out 
catch the wind and let it swirl you as ashes
straight to heaven. or maybe get an Olds

hold the jar out the window 
and go sailing over waves of blacktop
pop the cork and stream out the long dusty cloud 

that’s now filling your mirrors as you drive 
catching now on the wind, filling the sky 
until the sun itself goes black 

until the redwing blackbirds 

disappear



© 2022 jafink/oldbonesnewsnow.com

Back to the Earth

New Photo Collection on jfinkimages.com – Yosemite 2017

morning smoke in Cook's Meadow

Just posted a new collection on jfinkimages.com – Yosemite 2017. These are images from a week in Yosemite in a workshop at the Ansel Adams Gallery taught by Alan Ross, a terrific photographer and former full time assistant to Ansel Adams.

It was quite smoky that week with a large fire in the park and drift from Santa Rosa. See the accompanying blog post for details.

Run the slideshow with your sound turned on – each time I post a Collection I build a virtual gallery for it.  Each photo can be viewed in isolation, or you can take a “gallery stroll” with the music. Step in, look around, enjoy…

Here’s the link to the photos  –  Yosemite 2017, jfinkimages.com

and to the blog post – jfinkimages blog

Peace,

Jeff

New Photo Collection – Ancient Lands – Italy 2016/ www.jfinkimages.com

I just posted a new Collection on http://www.jfinkimages.com, Ancient Lands- Italy 2016. These are images from a recent trip in Rome and Southern Italy, specifically Puglia. My hope on the “Images” site is to invite you spend more than a second per image– click the link and you’ll go to the slideshow.

Begin the slideshow, take the images to full screen, and turn on the sound.

The Collection takes less than five minutes to view, and the soundtrack is from Italian Jazz trumpeter Paulo Fresu. Please enjoy…

http://www.jfinkimages.com/p318766476/h1B40DF1D/slideshow#h1b40df1d

forum-2

From Inside the Fog Bank

hiroshima-5

 

After my rant in the post “Why do you do that?” (Why do you do that?), it’s time to relaunch Jfinkimages.com.

I was talking with a painter friend of mine this morning about art and communication. On some level, we’re each in the fog bank of our own lives, and while we think we can clearly see each other, well, it’s often more opaque than that.

So here’s to sending up a small signal flare from inside this fog bank, from my fog to yours.

In thinking about making and sharing images, I’ve decided that my photo site will carry one or two collections of images at a time, no more.  My intention is that each collection will offer something of beauty in its own right.  Further, my hope is that one might enter the collection and linger for a few precious minutes. A bit of an anti-instagram perhaps. This won’t be for everyone. Come in and browse.

The first collection is entitled “Human Places.” Click the “slideshow” button in the upper right corner, then take it to full screen. Turn your sound on. I hope you enjoy the experience of this first collection.  From my fog bank to yours…

 

here’s the link:    Human Places

 

May it be of benefit,

 

Jeff

 

 

 

Rock, River, Sand – Feeling the Grand Canyon….

In a second reflection on “where poems come from,” sometimes you find yourself in a place so intense that you must write about it. Problematically, when it’s a place as iconic as the bottom of the Grand Canyon, well, it’s almost impossible to do so in anything close to a fresh way. But you have to try…

This poem and the accompanying image came from a photo trip down the colorado in April of 2014 lead by a terrific Utah photographer, Willie Holdman.

Here’s a link to a gallery of the southwest from Willie’s photo site…

Willie Holdman Photography

And here’s a link to my complete gallery of Grand Canyon Images from that trip…

JFink Images Grand Canyon Gallery

Peace,

Jeff

nankoweap granaries, colorado river

Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, April 2014, at sunset just below the Nankoweap Granaries

 

rock river sand

 

and light, dancing

the eye of the raven, his ragged

 

wing, vishnu’s

impassive face, creator

 

and destroyer.

time made solid, layered

 

rim to river to rim. the ghosts

of the grandfathers

 

watching from the high walls

as we pass, encased

 

in our tiny stories.

the canyon

 

doesn’t care, the river continues

carving — deeper, deeper

 

into the dark heart of the world

 

 

©jafink/oldbones.newsnow.com