Mappemonde / Map of the World

The Dog of Art

That dog with daisies for eyes
who flashes forth
flame of his very self at every bark
is the Dog of Art.
Worked in wool, his blind eyes
look inward to caverns and jewels
which they see perfectly,
and his voice
measures forth the treasure
in music sharp and loud,
sharp and bright,
bright flaming barks,
and growling smoky soft, the Dog
of Art turns to the world
the quietness of his eyes.

Denise Levertov (1923-1997)

It may have been 1992 that a friend invited me to go to Seattle to the University of Washington to hear Denise Levertov read her poetry. While listening to her read, I drew what I could see in front of me. While going through all my belongings this past week, I found the drawing you see at top of this post. Not sure why I wrote "mappemond."

Here is Denise Levertov as a young woman:

and in her last years:

"...into the day's brilliance."

This human being, each night nevertheless
summoning--with a breath blown at a flame,
or hand’s touch
on the lamp-switch--darkness,
silently utters,
impelled as if by a need to cup the palms
and drink from a river,
the words, ‘Thanks.
Thanks for this day, a day of my life.’
And wonders.

...

And drifts to sleep, downstream
on murmuring currents of doubt and praise,
the wall shadowy, that tomorrow
will cast its own familiar, clear-cut shadow
into the day's brilliance.

(from "Human Being," by Denise Levertov)

(Photo with boulder with long morning shadow taken this morning as the sun first appeared over the hill to the east of Boulevard Park on Bellingham Bay)

A Poem Message from Ocean Springs, Mississippi

The Fountain

Don't say, don't say there is no water
to solace the dryness at our hearts.
I have seen
the fountain springing out of the rock wall
and you drinking there. And I too
before your eyes
found footholds and climbed
to drink the cool water.
The woman of that place, shading her eyes,
frowned as she watched-but not because
she grudged the water,
only because she was waiting
to see we drank our fill and were
refreshed.
Don't say, don't say there is no water.
That fountain is there among its scalloped
green and gray stones,
it is still there and always there
with its quiet song and strange power
to spring in us,
up and out through the rock.

~ Denise Levertov ~


Denise Levertov's poem was printed in River Rock Yoga's newsletter

LATE SEPTEMBER / EARLY OCTOBER

Listen.

Settling.

Thanks so much to Nancy from Iowa for the bulbs that produced these brilliant early fall blooms. Crocosmia?