Shivpreet Singh
Shivpreet Singh
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First Emily Dickinson's poem, then some commentary ...

I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare

To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop--docile and omnipotent--
At its own stable door. 

Commentary on I like to see it lap the miles


This is a representative poem about a train, now well known as the "iron horse". The train is so powerful, it laps around the valleys and mountains, and looks "down upon" those surrounding shacks by the roads as it whizzes past. It complains loudly all the time when in motion. Still it is in control ... it is as punctual as the stars roaming the skies and stops at its designated station. The train is omnipotent, but docile when stopped. 


The rhyming is not perfect in this poem like in some other Emily Dickinson poems, and phrases don't necessarily end at the end of each line of the poem. She focuses on one image -- comparison of a horse and a train -- and really describes it throughout the poem. This is how meditation is done through a poem. 

Vocab:

prodigious: enormous;
supercilious: condescending, arrogant, proud;
Boanerges: a name Christ gave to the disciples James and John, meaning "sons of thunder"; also, a loud preacher or orator;
docile: obedient, submissive;
omnipotent: all powerful.
shanties: roughly built, often ramshackle cabins; shacks.

Note her use of sounds:

Alliteration:
"like," "lap," "lick"
"supercilious," "shanties," "sides"
"horrid, hooting"
"star," "stop," and "stable"
"docile" and "door"
Other repeated sounds:
"stop," "prodigious," "supercilious," and "pile"

More info on Boanerges
n
1. (Christian Religious Writings / Bible) New Testament a nickname applied by Jesus to James and John in Mark 3:17
2. a fiery preacher, esp one with a powerful voice
[from Hebrew benē reghesh sons of thunder]

Bo·a·ner·ges   [boh-uh-nur-jeez] Show IPA
noun
1.a surname given by Jesus to James and John. Mark 3:17.
2.(used with a singular verb) a vociferous preacher or orator.


Mark 3:17
And James, the son of Zebedee, and John, the brother of James, and he gave them the name Boanerges, which is Sons of Thunder.

Luke 9:54
When the disciples James and John saw this, they asked, "Lord, do you want us to call fire down from heaven to destroy them?"

The Ironclad Beetle 


This reminds me of what I was recently reading about: Ironclad Beetle.  This is a representative poem about a train, now well known as the "iron horse".  Scientists are saying how we can learn from the natural adaptations of this beetle and make better airplanes.

From CBS News: 

Meet the diabolical ironclad beetle, which can survive being run over by a car


Scientists are unraveling the mystery of a bug with one of the coolest names in the animal kingdom: the diabolical ironclad beetle. 

Phloeodes diabolicus has one of the toughest natural exoskeletons scientists have ever seen. According to research published Wednesday in the journal Nature, the insect's armor is so durable, few predators have successfully made a meal out of it — and it can even survive getting run over by a car.

This is a bug that scientists famously need to drill a hole into before they can stick a pin through it. 

"The ironclad is a terrestrial beetle, so it's not lightweight and fast but built more like a little tank," lead author David Kisailus, a UCI professor of materials science and engineering, said in a news release. "That's its adaptation: It can't fly away, so it just stays put and lets its specially designed armor take the abuse until the predator gives up."

In compression tests, researchers found the beetle can withstand a force of about 39,000 times its body weight — the equivalent of a 200-pound man enduring the weight of 7.8 million pounds. 

So, how does the seemingly indestructible bug manage to survive against all odds? 

Scientists have found that the shell of the bug, which is native to desert habitats in the Southwestern U.S., has evolved to protect it. Specifically, its elytra — the blades that open and close on the wings of aerial beetles — have fused together to act as a solid shield for the beetle, which can't fly. 

Analysis of the elytra revealed that it's made of layers of chitin, a fibrous material, and a protein matrix. Its exoskeleton contains about 10% more protein by weight than that of a lighter, flying beetle.

Under compression, the jigsaw puzzle-like structure of the elytra doesn't snap as expected, but rather, fractures slowly.

"When you break a puzzle piece, you expect it to separate at the neck, the thinnest part," Kisailus said. "But we don't see that sort of catastrophic split with this species of beetle. Instead, it delaminates, providing for a more graceful failure of the structure."

Scientists believe that understanding just what makes the iron beetle so tough will have practical applications for humans, too. Kisailus said that new, extra-strong materials based on the bug's characteristics will drastically improve the durability of aircraft, automobiles and more.

Kisailus and his team mimicked the structure of the bug's exoskeleton using carbon fiber-reinforced plastics. The result was both stronger and tougher than current aerospace designs. 

"This study really bridges the fields of biology, physics, mechanics and materials science toward engineering applications, which you don't typically see in research," Kisailus said. "Luckily, this program, which is sponsored by the Air Force, really enables us to form these multidisciplinary teams that helped connect the dots to lead to this significant discovery."



While we are vacationing in Palm Desert, we are listening to Cicadae on trees. Cicadae generally come out for 2-3 weeks in the summer (after 2-3 years of hibernation), shed their exoskeleton and shrill incessantly to attract females, before dying. Their sound is very loud here and it soulds like a buzzing that comes from electring wiring gone bad.

So I learned a lot about Cicada today (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cicada). The section on symbolism will interest poets. Especially this section about Aesop's fables:

The cicada has represented insouciance (i.e. nonchalance or indifference) since classical antiquity. Jean de La Fontaine began his collection of fables Les fables de La Fontaine with the story La Cigale et la Fourmi (The Cicada and the Ant) based on one of Aesop's fables: in it the cicada spends the summer singing while the ant stores away food, and finds herself without food when the weather turns bitter.[25]

So I am listening to La Cigarra (The Cicada), a Mexican folk song about how a Cicada dies singing. The lyrics in Spanish are below, followed by an English translation. Its a "huapango" was written by Ray Pérez y Soto.



La Cigarra Lyrics
written by Ray Pérez y Soto

Ya no me cantes cigarra
Que acabe tu sonsonete
Que tu canto aquí en el alma
Como un puñal se me mete
Sabiendo que cuando cantas
Pregonado vas tu muerte.

Marinero marinero
Dime si es verdad que sabas
Porque distinguir no puedo
Si en el fondo de los mares
Hay otro color más negro
Que el color de mis pesares.

Ay-la-la-laaa ...

Hay otro color más negro
Que el color de mis pesares.

Un palomito al volar
Que llevaba el pecho herido
Ya casi para llorar
Me dijo muy afligido.
Ya me canso de buscar
Un amor correspondido.

Bajo la sombra de un árbol
Y al compás de mi guitarra
Canto alegre este huapango
Porque la vida se acaba
Y quiero morir cantando
Como muere la cigarra.

Ay-la-eee ...

Y quiero morir cantando
Como muere la cigarra.



English Translation
The Cicada

Don't sing to me anymore, cicada
Let your singsong end
For your song, here in the soul
Stabs me like a dagger
Knowing that when you sing
You are proclaiming that you are
going to your death

Sailor, sailor
Tell me if it is true that you know
Because I cannot distinguish
If in the depth of the seas
There is another color blacker
Than the color of my sorrows.

Ay-la-eee ...

Ay-la-la-laaa ...

Ay-la-la-laaa ...

There is another color blacker
Than the color of my sorrows.

A little dove upon flying
Bearing a wounded breast
Was about to cry
And told me very afflicted
I'm tired of searching for
A mutual love.

Under the shade of a tree
And to the beat of my guitar
I sing this "huapango" happily
Because my life is ending
And I want to die singing
Like the cicada dies.

Ay-la-eee ...

Ay-la-la-laaa ...

Ay-la-la-laaa ...

And I want to die singing
Like the cicada dies.

I had a great time watching Mary Poppins with the kids today. Shilpy, my wife loves old classics and encourages kids to watch them. This was my first time watching it and I really enjoyed it. Its one of those movies you wished never ended; the joyous feeling is such that you want to savor it again and again. One of my favorites from the movie was the song, "A spoonful of sugar." Indeed, all we need in our lives is a spoonful of sugar, and it makes everything sweet.

The power of optimism is powerful; when you add optimism to plain bread, it becomes a cake. I remember those syrups of medicine growing up in Delhi that were quite tough to ingest; and so I understand how a spoonful of sugar can let the medicine go down. Our purpose is to sing like the Robin -- he has to work hard to build his nest; but he never stops to sing. Shiv, learn from the Robin; singing is the spoonful of sugar in life.

A spoonful of sugar

by Robert B. Sherman and Richard M. Sherman.

In ev'ry job that must be done
There is an element of fun
you find the fun and snap!
The job's a game

Nad ev'ry task you undertake
Becomes a piece of cake
A lark! Aspree!
It's very clear to me

That a...
Spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
The medicine go down-wown
The medicine go down
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
In a most delightful way

A robin feathering his nest
Has very little time to rest
While gathering his
Bits of twine and twig

Though quite intent in his pursuit
He has a merry tune to toot
He knows a song
Will move the job along

For a...
Spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
The medicine go down-wown
The medicine go down
Just a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down
In a most delightful way

More on the song:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Spoonful_of_Sugar

Reminds me of: 
Meetha Meetha (Sweet Sweet) - Guru Arjan Dev

I read this poem by Emily Dickinson first time in August 2011. I’m reading it again on Halloween day, October 2020. It happens a full moon day, and a blue moon because this is the second full moon of the month (this happens once in around 2.7 years).  First the poem, and then my notes.

The Moon is distant from the Sea –
And yet, with Amber Hands –
She leads Him – docile as a Boy –
Along appointed Sands – 

He never misses a Degree –
Obedient to Her eye –
He comes just so far – toward the Town –
Just so far – goes away –

Oh, Signor, Thine, the Amber Hand –
And mine – the distant Sea –
Obedient to the least command
Thine eye impose on me –


A partially eclipsed super blue blood moon sets behind the Golden Gate Bridge on Jan. 31, 2018, in San Francisco. The "super blue blood moon" is a rare "lunar trifecta" event and was the first such lunar event seen in North America since 1866.

Justin Sullivan/Getty Images




I hadn’t noticed that there was a gender change on Moon by Emily Dickinson in the poem. Perhaps I didn't notice it because it made sense to me. But today when I read an analysis on the Prowling Bee I can see where the confusion lies. In the third sentence Emily calls the moon “she” and then in the last stanza she calls him “signor.”  I don't think this was a mistake by her; it was intentional. Just like the moon controls the sea with her amber hands, providence has the ultimate control over the poet's life and keeps an eye on her.  

Notes from 2011:
How true it is that we don't have control. There are invisible, amber hands that guide us along appointed sands. We are obedient in our singing. This reminds of Guru Nanak's poem in Japji, "Aakhan Jor" where Jor means power or control: 

Aakhan jor chupai nah jor.
There is no power in speaking; there is no power in silence.
 
Jor na mangan dayn na jor.
Power is not gained through begging; there is no power in giving.
 
Jor na jeevan maran nah jor.
Power is not gained through living; there is no power in death.
 
Jor na raaj maal man sor.
Power is not gained by ruling over others with one’s wealth and occult mental powers.
 
Jor na surtee gi-aan veechaar.
Power is not gained through understanding, spiritual wisdom, and meditation.
 
Jor na jugtee chhutai sansaar.
Power is not gained by finding a way to escape from the world.
 
Jis hath jor kar vaykhai so-ay.
It is He who watches over all who has the Power.14
 
Nanak utam neech na koay
O Nanak, no one is high nor low.

The Lovely Rhyming and Perfection of Imperfection 

Emily Dickinson's poem "The Moon is Distant from the Sea" was published after her death in 1890 in The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson, as part of a series of love-themed poems. The poem uses an extended metaphor to explore the relationship between a man and a woman, comparing it to the relationship between the moon and the sea. What I find beautiful is that the alternating meter creates a gentle and rhythmic lull, reflecting the moon's consistent pull on the sea.

The rhyme scheme of the poem reflects the story of the lovers, with imperfect and inconsistent rhymes throughout. The first and second stanzas represent the relationship between the woman (the Moon) and the man (the Sea). The Moon leads the Sea "docile as a boy" along the appointed sands with "amber hands." The second stanza suggests that the Sea is obedient to the Moon's eye and "never misses a Degree." The third stanza reverses the roles, with the man becoming the "amber-handed" Moon and the woman becoming the "distant" and "obedient" Sea. Despite the role reversal, their harmonious relationship remains intact.

Today I got a surprise from my niece in Connecticut ... she is just finishing high school and has done her first demo album with some of her friends. Our TV's and minds have in the past week been focused on these teenagers rioting in London, and here is my niece, who has done something quite different this summer. She sings in the way life should be sung. So I am filled with pride and inspiration as I listen to this. Thanks Raveena, for affirming that, the purpose of life is to sing!



The lyrics are very interesting. You can download the songs and read the lyrics on her bandcamp site:

http://raveenadawnaurora.bandcamp.com/

And like her on facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/raveenaauroramusic

"The first fact of the world is that it repeats itself" - Robert Hass

Repitition is natural. So when you repeat, you find you are home. Thats what makes meditation so powerful. The act of repeating the idea of oneness in your consciousness is called Simran in Gurbani. As I was reading this message from Robert Hass, I was reminded of Guru Arjan's "Sukhmani" or Pearl of bliss.

Here is a poem inspired by that:

That very one

I meditate on that very ONE,
That very ONE, That very ONE,
Source of Light, yes, that very ONE
That very ONE, That very ONE,

With the radiance of that very ONE,
darkness of all doubts undone
and by singing of that very ONE,
whose song is sung by everyone.

Scriptures spin that very ONE
who initially had the scriptures spun.
A single Iota of that very ONE,
adds weight to glory by a million tonne.

I meditate, not hesitate,
I meditate on that very ONE,
not hesitate, from that the very ONE,
in asking for a wish, A simple one

"Disabled I am, You know as much;
And a million miles I have to run.
Lend me your angels as my crutch,
So like them I pine for Your one touch."

For that one touch, that very ONE,
grant my wish, I pray as much.
So I may reach out to that very ONE
He'll give me limbs, I know as much.




More on this:
http://shivpoetry.blogspot.com/2010/10/meditation-on-one.html



KOBAYASHI ISSA Poetry
TRANSLATED BY ROBERT HASS

Even with insects—
some can sing,
some can’t.

All the time I pray to Buddha
I keep on
killing mosquitoes.

Goes out,
comes back—
the love life of a cat.

Mosquito at my ear—
does he think
I’m deaf?

The snow is melting
and the village is flooded
with children.

Under the evening moon
the snail
is stripped to the waist.

Read these today ...
Source: The Essential Haiku: Versions of Basho Buson and Issa (The Ecco Press, 1994)
Reading some poems that are accessible to my simplistic mind:

Aug 6, 2011


The Horse Show
- William Carlos Williams

Constantly near you, I never in my entire
sixty-four years knew you so well as yesterday
or half so well. We talked. you were never
so lucid, so disengaged from all exigencies
of place and time. We talked of ourselves,
intimately, a thing never heard between us.
How long have we waited? almost a hundred years.

You said, Unless there is some spark, some
spirit we keep within ourselves, a life, a
continuing life's impossible-and it is all
we have. There is no other life, only the one.
The world of the spirits that come afterward
is the same as our own, just like you sitting
there they come and talk to me, just the same.

They come to bother us. Why? I said. I don't
know. Perhaps to find out what we are doing.
Jealous, do you think? I don't know. I
don't know why they should want to come back.
I was reading about some men who had been
buried under a mountain, I said to her, and
one of them came back after two months,

digging himself out. It was in Switzerland,
you remember? Of course I remember. The
villagers tho't it was a ghost coming down
to complain. They were frightened. They
do come, she said, what you call
my 'visions.' I talk to them just as I
am talking to you. I see them plainly.

Oh if I could only read! You don't know
what adjustments I have made. All
I can do is to try to live over again
what I knew when your brother and you
were children-but I can't always succeed.
Tell me about the horse show. I have
been waiting all week to hear about it.

Mother darling, I wasn't able to get away.
Oh that's too bad. It was just a show;
they make the horses walk up and down
to judge them by their form. Oh is that
all? I tho't it was something else. Oh
they jump and run too. I wish you had been
there, I was so interested to hear about it.



Having a Coke with You
—Frank O'Hara

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still
as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it
in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully
as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it


We Real Cool
- Gwendolyn Brooks

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.
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SHIVPREET SINGH

Singing oneness!
- Shivpreet Singh

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