stereo poem Archives - Harvesting my life https://ernestlowe.com/tag/stereo-poem/ Six decades of Ernest Lowe's offerings to the world Thu, 13 Mar 2014 21:54:33 +0000 en-US hourly 1 Sonoma Fog Light https://ernestlowe.com/sonoma-fog-light/ Thu, 13 Mar 2014 21:42:10 +0000 http://ernestlowe.com/?p=631 The last poem I wrote for Grace before she died. I never managed to find a way for you and me to live at the ocean that and a thousand other dreams I never managed to realize. So now I drive up Highway One through foggy landscapes– you always loved them the best– gathering the … Continue reading Sonoma Fog Light →

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]]> 268The last poem I wrote for Grace before she died.

I never managed to find a way
for you and me to live at the ocean
that and a thousand other dreams
I never managed to realize.

So now I drive up Highway One
through foggy landscapes–
you always loved them the best–
gathering the images of lupin in seas of grass
cedars and cypresses, sheep and cows,
barns and tacky vacation homes
all soft in their gray splendor.

I stop and walk along the Sonoma shore
pausing for you at the edge.
The sun breaks through the winter fog
shining the waves breaking up around black rocks
shimmering the water’s backwash
into flashing electric pulses
rushing to me through the milky air.
I know you’d know that vision
like you seeing your own true self in a mirror
like me looking into your clear bright eyes.

January 2014

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]]> Stereo poem for my lady https://ernestlowe.com/stereo-poem-for-my-lady/ Mon, 07 Oct 2013 18:02:54 +0000 http://ernestlowe.com/?p=524 I originially performed this poem on stereotape with two channels of words dancing back and forth. My Lady taught me life.  My Lady taught me love.  My Lady taught me to be  myself.      She feels.       She feels.       She feels.       Deep, deep,              like a bear’s bite,       she feels.  My Lady sings … Continue reading Stereo poem for my lady →

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]]> I originially performed this poem on stereotape
with two channels of words dancing back and forth.

My Lady taught me life. 
My Lady taught me love. 
My Lady taught me to be 
myself.      She feels. 
     She feels. 
     She feels. 
     Deep, deep, 
            like a bear’s bite, 
     she feels.
 My Lady sings old juke box songs 
and drinks white wine in the afternoon. 
When she drinks white wine 
she talks like a bulldozer . . . 
or a bear.  

        In a forest 
        or a prison . . . 
 

             My Lady hangs 
             mirrors in our house, 
             magic mirrors 
             blazing out 
             eternity. 
 

My Lady’s name is Grace. 
She walks along behind the tide, 
throwing stranded starfish 
back into the water. 
She talks with clams 
before she cooks them. 
She’s kind that way. 
I think I’ll stick around 
and light her fires. 
 

                                     Deep, deep, 
                                     like a bear’s bite . . . 

 

              My Lady taught me life. 
              My Lady taught me love. 
              My Lady taught me to be 
              myself. 
 

A bear 
runs through 
her dreams. 

                         Deep, deep, 
                         like a bear’s bite . . . 

      Laughter, 
      my Lady’s laughter, 
      shapes the universe. 

 

 Laughter, 
my Lady’s laughter, 
shapes the universe. 
Love laughter. 
Bear’s laughter.          Magic mirrors, 
         she hangs magic mirrors 
         in our house. 
                      She talks with clams . . . 
 

    Love laughter. 
    Bear’s laughter. 
 

A bear runs 
through her dreams 
eating mother, father, 
sister and brother, 
all except My Lady. 
 

                          Do not 
                          leave me, 
                          says the bear. 

 

Magic mirrors, 
magic mirrors 
do not lie. 

                  Love laughter. 
                  Bear’s laughter. 

                                   My Lady sings 
                                   old juke box songs . . . 

Do not leave me, 
says the bear. 

                My Lady’s Hexagram 
                is K’un, The Receptive. 
                She would flourish 
                in a forest or a prison, 
                in a castle or a desert. 
                She receives life 
                wherever she is. 

Magic mirrors 
blazing out 
eternity. 
 

My Lady’s name is Grace. 

1971

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