Showing posts with label Raga. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Raga. Show all posts

Sunday, March 2, 2025

Seeing You Raga


like you I know of sonnet rules of rhyme
but now I make these sonnets as I please
hoping fragments of them may yet survive
transmission through what goes beyond
that cloud of information beyond that plug 
that has its own heartbeat if it has one
going beyond the confines of our earth
out into space rippling on for light years
into our star system towards unknowns
knowing that others will read what I send
and they have a duty to comprehend
my meaning in case I’ve encrypted sense
in case I’m writing to those that rebel
who turn my nonsense into words that gel

when some readers stiffen with keen intent
it is my duty to enliven life
for I am an un-jammed radio ham
getting a message out that all is well
I can say no more gentlemen don’t tell
I can say much more but under duress
under inquisition and in distress
but that beautiful blue globe seen from space
has refugee migrations south to north
east to west crossing by land and by sea
changing direction where fences are built
adapting as species must to survive 
when threatened by what is unspeakable
driven by fears incomprehensible

twenty-four bars of a raga I play
using all strings of a well tuned sitar
only in my mind my fingers won’t work
for intricate chord changes delicate
phrases restating questions never asked
my fingers less nimble my timing off
discordant thoughts tumbling out of sequence
wailing sitar pounding tabla on stage
where if I could play but only in my mind
because I cannot play sitar I can
pluck a good string and perhaps even improvise 
what I’m needing what I’m pleading
what would be understood were meaning clear
what would propel forward if in first gear

then 
      there and then when
        coexistence twined
our eyes engaging passing on the stairs
when I realized composing these lines
vines might climb together never be one
when we exchanged bright words for brief seconds
enough time to enthrall that morning when
a trout stirred for a naiad in the fronds
your image appealing to prime instinct
when I saw you in Springtime on those stairs
forever rising upwards till time’s end
kept en prise captivated held so still
put your fingers on your temples find it
where in memory we’ll always exist
a portal to paradise entered in bliss

there are two spaces we think we exist in
one not more sacred that world we live in 
one in our brain an entire universe
put your fingers on your temples find it
that world in your brain Greek myths will explain 
should you care to consider a box is a brain
in temples so holy all congregate
in awe of a finely carved wooden chest
never opened full of unnameables
circumscribed by wide band frequencies
in which a universe appears to expand
that box of all your temple’s treasures most 
dear that box as big as a mind’s clear eye
answering all you can pose asking why

Turing’s machine conceived this universe 
everything minus one might exist
non computable never imagined
just reading these words creates a new world
analyzable freshly imagined
choose your own stories and populate it
or reuse attic tales’ modern myth
make new legends where you are heroic
some force compels you to enact a play
absconding a person in a chariot 
wherever Aphrodite beckons
escaping into enchanted gardens 
for gods can mix with mortals we decree
in that world not sacred that world we see



Copyright © Dick Russell
         Richard M Russell
                 2025

Monday, July 6, 2015

                            Coal Train Raga

                                                        for Jay Inslee

                                                                               on his reelection and his recent speech to the UN


           first an oil train
         longer than a mile
           then a coal train
         wider than your smile
           both going north
       both bringing warmth
   I wish you were here baby
       for my coal train blues

                rumbling by
            longer than a mile
               first an oil train
                       then
                  a coal train
               going fast baby
         pounding the rails baby
       both bringing warmth baby
        I wish you were here baby
            for my Coltrane blues

                   lullaby baby
               it’s a lullaby baby
            those trains rumbling by
          bringing some warmth baby
            both bringing warmth baby
              I wish you here baby
                playing your blues



those more pious living in the East
believing water springs for their own good
demanding from us who live out West
some sober sacrifice be made like youth…
that we should sacrifice children to their god
to profit their buffet routing coal trains past
our borders of common sense oil trains too
that sometimes explode traveling too fast…

Wyoming coal baby Dakota oil
a mile of best coal from Wyoming stripped
on its way to China on its way to hell
we sold our coal for a song and a dance
at the stock exchange bell at risk of a knell
they sold our best coal so now we've been flipped

           first an oil train
         longer than a mile
           then a coal train
         wider than your smile
           both going north
       both bringing warmth
   I wish you were here baby
       for my coal train blues

                rumbling by
            longer than a mile
               first an oil train
                       then
                  a coal train 
               going fast baby
         pounding the rails baby
       both bringing warmth baby
        I wish you were here baby
            for my Coltrane blues

                 lullaby baby
             it’s a lullaby baby
          those trains rumbling by
      bringing some warmth baby
        both bringing warmth baby
             I wish you here baby
              playing your blues
  


          copyright © Dick Russell, 2015, 2019

Tuesday, April 8, 2014

 

                             Walking forward reciting back

                                                                          for Philip



in the first warm air of winter
on a path in Washington State
by a river
 historic Hanford Reach
after the Ides of March
still grieving a heart attack
that struck down my brother
early in January

my shoulder aching still
from a fall six months before

it wasn't the Walworth Road
I was walking with my arm strapped
to my shoulder with tape

it wasn’t on my way to see Uncle Joe
most friendly of our uncles
nor taking the path through Myatt's Fields
to play tennis on New Year’s Day
that year we cleared snow off the court
in bomb battered London

it wasn't St. James' church
where we sang for joy
though we were fatherless, iron
in our hearts, a chill alloy
that belled pure notes in spring

it was a path by a river
in Washington State
on All Fool's Day
masquerading as a god
on a bike path by a river
in guise of an old man
or a young strutting stud

I faltered or strode out
favoring the pavement
with a treat in false feet
playing out characters
as I did with the Street
who watched us grow up

in the first warm air
of   what would be summer
I sensed a chill in the shade
remembering passing a Barracks
where your father James Philip
stood to attention
holding my hand as he took off his hat
as soldiers came marching
men came marching
led by Royal Fusilier's flag

that is rare these days
   an officer said
thank you, sir
for showing such respect

‘Yes, the Fusiliers marched home
fewer than they left’ said the Street
‘left The Street bereft’
who knew all people by their tread
knew our father limped
sometimes pedaled a bike instead

on the bike path
I marched shoulders back
like a Fusilier tramping through France
then back to Dunkirk
traversing North Africa’s desert
until one day in a jeep
blown up by a mine
our father lived to come home again
blind in one eye and lame in one foot
only to die of a stroke
one New Year's   
                            eleven years later

now Phil is dead too
of a heart attack
when will I follow if I should follow?
that's why I'm masked as an immortal god

three couples passed me
at regulation intervals

Aphrodite and Hæphestus
pretending to be mortals
were always going to be first to pass
I could see they weren't destined to last

then Erato
more like Aphrodite of all nine Muses
came by on roller blades
with a son of Ares holding her steady
I could see they'd be abandoned in bed
before sun would set

he took her tottering arm and sped
sure footed away as Phil would have
led Maggie back when they were courting

then Euterpe a muse most musical
came by with Hæphestus' son
and I could see it would be she
made him do her bidding

an all seeing old man
a god in disguise
counting three beautiful women pass
knew it was just  another judgment of Paris 

an all seeing old man
once intimate with Aphrodite
chose Erato as his pick of the three
knowing his brother would have agreed
and that was only the first half mile  
along a bike path where walking is free
in the first warm air
of  what would become summer

an all seeing old man I followed a young couple
along the bike path
not fast enough to overtake
like an old Volvo on a hill
not passing a Subaru
I closed in then dropped back
knowing I was not fast enough
but realized then that I was a god
disguised as a feeble old man
walking Fondamenta Zattere
doing his best before his heart gave out
gamely trying to pass them by
who sensing my approaches
         fall backs
indecisions
decided to stand still to
let old Ezra pass

our Phil would have strode by them
he was a new model Audi
a self confident chap
he would have accelerated
and passed on by
without pause

then I swaggered on in my other rôle
as a strutting young stud
a prince with estate
concealing the pain of
a sword thrust to his shoulder
wearing his jacket like a Hussar
draped over one shoulder

there were two black cats
lynxes masquerading as cats
one to the right
one to the left
sacred to Dionysius
several hundred yards apart

they looked at me with knowing eyes
perceiving the god within my disguise
as one minute a dissolute drunk  
or next an earl with a plumed cocked hat
with appropriate hand gestures
murmurs of greeting to people passing
I progressed down the path
in the first warm air of soon to be Spring
when daffodils were waking
trees and shrubs were budding
birds began singing

my brother Phil ran marathons
would bicycle many miles
searched for supernovae
in night time skies
his observatory now stands empty
at the bottom of their garden

he was physically fit
mentally astute
took all by surprise
when his heart suddenly stopped
died on the spot

a thrush was singing in low fluted tones
in the first warm air
of that first warm evening
when through open windows
music might sound
how he loved music
especially Chopin
how he could warm his grand piano
that stands now with cold chords
he’s no longer at home

at his funeral a cousin piped in his coffin
with a Lament on Northumbrian pipes
how sad those pipes sound
what grief they unleashed
as they wailed

seventy years brothers
now time walks forward
one day at a time
reciting his name


                                     copyright © Dick Russell  2014

Sunlight  A Work in Progress 56 Sunlight shows what sound waves signify trickles from a fountain fill a bowl  with water which magnifies tri...