Sestina

Here we are at the turning of the seasons, yet again. And at the same time my own life is in a transition into something new. As Carman and I have been talking about how the blog will continue into this new season I am recalling one more poetry exercise that seems to have a bearing here. It's a thought that has occurred to many a poet over the centuries; I do not claim originality here.

This eternal question shows up in this poem of mine "Is life a circle too, or just a line...?"

I wrote this sestina in the spring, but no matter. I think it fits today. I share it with you as I'm considering this new transition in my life. Perhaps it will give you something to think about for yourself.

Seasons, A Sestina

Standing still I hear the sound of running water
Is winter done? I listen and I wonder
at the changing of all matter
This space I’m occupying, is it really mine
or will it melt and run away for good
Will it come again, like every season

“To everything there is a Season”
quotes the preacher, and the water
illustration can be good
and yet as I perceive the world with wonder
I cannot help but question what is mine
How best ensure my little life can matter

The snow, the mud, drab grass, uncovered matter
mark this, as yet, unflowered season
Too soon to walk out into that garden of mine
All that grows there now is under water
and yet I know it’s there, all tucked in wonder
waiting for the warming sun and good

warm wind and drying days, for good
signals that it’s time again to matter
Geese arrive in squadron formed in wonder
instincts intact, smaller birds too read the season
Fat robin waits on hedge, finds water
worms and grubs to mine

Swirling signs that seasons change around me. Mine
a life amid the birds, the plants, the melting snow, all good
I try to read the message of the seasons
Where in my lengthening days will I find water
How do robins teach me what can matter
What must melt away, what remain with wonder

Is life a circle too, or just a line, I wonder
As seasons change this puzzle still is mine
It seems so clear that each returning season
washes out the old, returns the good
springs up anew the precious things that matter
like life responding to that fresh spring water

Where is that refreshing water to renew my life I wonder
How shall I ensure all my days matter, that new energy is mine
Be certain every good comes round again in each transforming season


Posted by Marion