Thread: Ellin Anderson - New England Poet of Our People in Vermont

Thank you very much!

Jamie, here you go.


From the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

study noun \ˈstə-dē\
plural stud·ies

Definitions of STUDY

7. A literary or artistic production intended as a preliminary outline, an experimental interpretation, or an exploratory analysis of specific features or characteristics.


WHITE STUDIES



MOONWALKERS


By Ellin Anderson


No less a mirror than the lamp of night
Do you deserve, illuminating race!
Alight, aloft, symmetrical, and white,
All others drowned in darkness by her face.

No shrift do shamans make on such a page
If they are true; no Self do they confess;
All their own vanity, remorse, and rage,
Such contemplation makes not more, but less.

And for your love, I promise you the Moon,
Whose radiant form, like yours, shall ever be
No apparition sought through hidden rune,
But sister to the sun, that all may see

Of long ascended man, a pearl so fine,
God’s grain of sand, made splendid by design.


DIONYSUS

By Ellin Anderson


In many pieces shall we tear the Blond
And shout with giddy voices as we fling
Into the dionysian Beyond,
A puzzle reassembled as a king.

From one, the many motes of flesh set sail,
As milkweed grains break starry from the pod;
From many, one, whose fracture is travail,
Who forms in his own image, like a god.

For him, we raise the fennel stalk on high,
The thyrsus cone, to show where he has been,
The vine, whose shape is brave against the sky,
The lamb’s flesh, and at last, the leopard skin

Of shadow-patterned consciousness that slips
Away, that we may rise and kiss his lips.


GOOD-FRIDAY SPELL

By Ellin Anderson


Look up, beyond the spires of decay
And hearken through the Babel of the mass,
Because a marble beacon lights the way:
Your own reflection, in the looking glass,

And if it leaves you blinded, as the sun
Will wound by shedding light on what is true,
Be but a winepress for the tears that run
And fall, that heal the Earth like April dew.

No less an errant knight than Parsifal,
In garments white and golden, never far,
Learn to behold the only Sangréál
And prize the worthy vessel that you are

Where love must win, for how shall we atone
With rags for skin, with souls of brittle bone?

I would love to thank you Ms. Anderson for you heart felt words. I had never read one of your poems before I saw you on WhiteNewsNow.

It has given me great joy to sit down and read countless poems that you have written. I am so grateful that I stumbled upon your work. It is an honor to have you in our presence.

I hope to read many more of your poems.

All the best to you,

Dave

Originally Posted by FL Patriot

I hope to read many more of your poems.

Dave, thank you for your kind words. You will, indeed, read many more.

Ellin

Map of White Poetry-Appreciating
WhiteNewsNow Sr. Moderators
In America and The White World

I just finished putting together this map of our 80 WhiteNewsNow.com Senior Moderators. It really helps to have a map, even for me, to visualize just how many States and Nations already have WNN Sr. Mods. I am very encouraged by this map, and I hope you are in the same way. The time seems in sight when we will be able to have appreciations of not only national but even regional poetry in White homelands.

Have you got suggestions for Sr. Mods in the 19 States that don't yet have them? They are: Maryland, Kansas, Minnesota, Indiana, Hawaii, Wisconsin, South Dakota, Nebraska, Colorado, New Mexico, Oklahoma, Maine, New Hampshire, Rhode Island, Massachussetts, Connecticutt, Delaware, Oregon, and Mississippi.

And we need more Sr. Mods in White homelands like France, Finland, Russia, Sweden, Argentina, Australia, Italy, Ireland, Belgium and the Netherlands. Please help me with ideas there.


Map of WhiteNewsNow.com Senior Moderators
Graphic by Jamie Kelso - please use freely

I started writing poetry as a way to entertain my family and friends. The following poems may certainly be seen in that context. They have never been published before.


SCHNEEWITTCHEN SUITE


THE MAGIC MIRROR

By Ellin Anderson


Dark void, are you as constant as that pearl
Of evening, who conceals her torrid flesh
In silver, as she conjures Love to hurl
One hollow dart, to core my heart afresh?

And since her archer is a handsome boy,
Who tempts me to him with a golden laugh,
Through crystal -- will the Queen become his toy,
The cruelest of them all, his better half?

I searched for Beauty and the voice of Truth,
But found the glitter of a mirrored ball:
A bauble flashing scenes of joy and youth
More potent than the mirror on the wall,

For Love is both the apple and the glass;
How sweet to see our anguish as we pass.



RED, WHITE, AND BLACK

By Ellin Anderson


His eyes were blue as shadows on the snow,
Snow-white his skin; his hair like ravens' wings,
But still more lovely was the ruby glow
Of blood, fit to beget a race of kings.

What happened then? He died, and took the light.
That darkness made me rotten to the core.
He was the regal father of Snow White --
I cannot bear to see her any more.

The sun sheds fire on mountain, rock, and tree;
Without my lord, I am no longer whole.
A fountain in my arms, his memory --
A tattered flag that still commands the soul

To weave a robe of night around this pain;
I call my ravens, call to him in vain.



WISHING-APPLE

By Ellin Anderson


There is no other victory than this;
There is no other sweet, no other wine;
We share a bite of apple, and a kiss,
My hand upon his neck, his mouth to mine!

He sought her in a cottage, in the wild;
He loved the Snow-Maid, but found me instead.
Why should he waste his magic on a child?
A mighty man, for such a little bed!

Yes, he would rather love than fight, this prince,
With lips upon my lips –- that stop his breath.
So pliant and so easy to convince,
One ecstasy, and then the Sleep of Death,

But first, his eyes search mine -- and find the wall,
Knowing I was the fairest of them all!



SNOW-COLD

By Ellin Anderson


Was such a flawless diamond ever mined?
A porcelain man, thought they -- so fair of face,
No living features could be that refined,
And so, they locked him in a crystal case.

Snow White has fled, to seek her own renown,
And now, the Seven Dwarves must deal with me.
Trembling, they turn the cottage upside down:
Damn it, you Untermenschen, find that key!

His skin is like the snow -- his hair of flax
Catches the candlelight’s elusive gold.
Come over here, you, Gimli -- bring the axe!
Oh, do not let my Prince of Love grow cold,

Or I shall be the one who burns and fades:
A marsh-light, in the company of shades.

What an honor to us is this appearance of four unpublished Snow White poems by Ellin Anderson. How beautiful they are. Thank you.

There was an amazing late Snow/Schnee today, May 1st, here in North Dakota. Several inches of snow white blanketing everywhere when we awoke on May Day. The German, Norwegian, Swedish, and British-descended farmers here will be getting their bounteous crops in late this year. Among them will be the twenty-or-so Hutterites, from Manitoba they said, all in gray and black, we talked to today with our five-year-old daughter, who met her first such racial sisters and brothers as we looked for her first bicycle in the stores.

This Schneewittchen Suite is making me remember a song by Joni Mitchell whose title will come back to me in a few minutes.

While I wait for that memory, and then hope to find a YouTube of Joni Mitchell singing that remembered song, here is a performance of poetry to music that belongs among the poems here:

Schiller's Poetry - An die Freude - To Joy

The poetry of Schiller and the music of Beethoven are woven by Beethoven into the greatest sung poem ever launched into the universe.

Every witnessing of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony with its climactic An die Freude of massed White voices, who "band together to preserve that most priceless possession, our inheritance of European blood*" is one more proof, to all who witness it, that the kind that created this MUST be forever.

This is an amazing performance by the Bavarian Radio Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Marris Jansons, a Latvian conductor born in 1943 in Riga. I should add in the first two YouTubes that cover the beginning of Beethoven's 9th, and I may do that later. But what you see and hear below is astounding. An intense moment occurs at 3:35 of the ninth and last segment in the finale. Conductor Jansons is so on fire at this moment that his nose starts to bleed, as it had earlier at some moments, reminding me of Snow White's drops of red blood in the snow. This performance, with the Pope in the papal audience hall, took place in October of 2007. One of the greatest performances I've ever heard. Forget about the Pope, this is about the great BRSO, the conductor's brilliance, and above all....the greatest musician ever to live, Beethoven...and the greatest piece of music ever composed, his Ninth Symphony.

* Charles A. Lindbergh, Readers Digest November 1939, "Aviation, Geography, and Race" p. 64-66.

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (3/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - II. Molto vivace

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (4/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - II. Molto vivace

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (5/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - III. Adagio molto

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (6/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - III. Adagio molto

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (7/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - IV. Presto - Allegro assai

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (8/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - IV. Presto - Allegro assai

YouTube - L. v. Beethoven - (9/9) Symphony No. 9 in D minor, Op. 125 - IV. Presto - Allegro assai

The title of Joni Mitchell's song came back to me...I Had A King. "I Had A King" is track 1 of Joni's first album, Song To A Seagull.

And I found a YouTube of Joni singing it. She was born an Anderson, Roberta Joan Anderson, November 7, 1943 in Fort Macleod, Alberta. And she was born a poet. Of a Scottish-ancestry mom and a Norwegian-ancestry dad. I've had the luck to hear her in person twice. Both times at UCLA in California, a few minutes from her home. She got her name Mitchell from the short marriage to Chuck Mitchell, the king in I Had A King. The far-seeing Anderson poets write about all of us when they write about themselves.

You hear Joni at first doing an "open" re-tuning of her guitar, something she has always done to make chords easier for her right hand ever since she was somewhat crippled by polio when she was eight years old. Now every guitarist who never had polio imitates her open tuning.

YouTube - Joni Mitchell ~ I Had a King Live

Thanks, as always, for your kind words.

The poems are supposed to be tongue-in-cheek; they were written several years ago for a young friend in Germany who likes "The Lord of the Rings." They need to be performed with that in mind (especially the last one), if you choose to have them read on the radio. Aside from that, they follow Robert Graves' Single Poetic Theme, which is of course quite serious, and a good example of which may be found in John Keats' "La Belle Dame Sans Merci."

I was not aware of the song you mentioned, but am a great fan of Joni Mitchell. In fact I may include a tribute to her in the poem I am currently writing. (She'll be thrilled, I'm sure.)

Ellin

Speaking of poets of our people (and I refer to both the admirer and the admired here), I read that Joni Mitchell's favorite poet is Rudyard Kipling. And this poem, "If", by Rudyard Kipling provides the title and inspiration for one of her recent songs:



IF..... (Rudyard Kipling - 1895)

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

A very nice essay:

http://www.toqonline.com/blog/snow-white/

The basic building blocks of civilization celebrated in Snow White are melting away before our eyes….Snow White lives to make life bright, cheerful and clean for all those around her, no matter what circumstances she may be placed in by others. She is the model of the female role you will see in re-runs of the 1950s family television series like The Donna Reed Show, Ozzie and Harriet, and Father Knows Best. It is the behavior which so infuriated the inner party critics of our culture, most famously Susan Sontag who railed against the suburbs in the early 1960s as “Christian breeding grounds.”


Concerning such “Whitopias,” which produce both mothers and poets.


THE APPLE-EVES


By Ellin Anderson


The Apple-Eves, the Apple-Eves,
As lovely as the summer leaves
In gardens sacred to the Should,
Learned how to blunder into good.

The gardens of the Should were fair
To those with red or flaxen hair;
The summer days alone were kind
To those of independent mind.

When morning fell on orchards green
These daughters of the North were seen
Careening into good, along
The tidal river’s misty prong.

They rode their silver tenspeeds round
The wooded roads, until they found
That velvet lawns alone will hiss
In groves of paradise like this.

They sampled sweet variety:
The Empire, Rome, and Liberty,
The Spartan and the Northern Spy,
A feast to kindle passions by,

While skirting traps along the way:
The subtle nets of macramé
Whose creamy lace and ruby beads
Made patterns like a face that bleeds.

And now, to lend my vivid voice
And expertise, regarding choice:
The traps through which we did not fall
Were never really traps at all.

We stopped by quiet streams to add,
Thus to be addled, or go mad,
And while my fair companion shone,
I failed at simple sums, alone.

There lay across the stream a door
Where recollection’s waters pour,
And then a bridge that swung us wide
To patterns on the other side.

Cerulean her eyes, a chalk,
Bore witness and drew forth a shock
That marks the Mother of the Corn
Who never was mislaid, forlorn,

In tournaments of sums to be,
Choosing her daughters, leaving me
With parts that supersede the whole
As satisfaction for the soul.

How did we get from here to there,
When Shoulds were lurking everywhere?
And if she wheels beneath the sky
A work in progress, what am I?

Tall, brave, and cheerful, four men run
As blond as daisies in the sun,
And leave the orchard, as they should,
In cords of fragrant apple-wood.

My lacy dress without a seam
Remains another’s blossom dream,
But I will swear, till void of breath,
My apple blooms as sweet as death.