A Lament For Dotty

All traces of winter are going now
as the snow clumps fade away
as we too can decline and vanish.
Our Dotty Brown died that way,
smiling, giving up her spirit, free to roam
out, out over the sea she saw every day.
Her soul, content, with her body stays.

Limitless, her horizon unbounded,
there is the sea, the great ledge boulders, and a lawn;
three horizontal bands, a simple view.
The moon, full that evening rose from the sea
at the center of the far edge in perfect symmetry,
as would the winter sun, red in its majesty
crack open the earth’s day /  from its very center.

Water dominated Dotty’s view and her world;
blue placidity, or in grey whitened rage,
it surges in the frame of her ken.
A simple  view, complex, changing, her sea,
the Atlantic,  never stays still.
The Ocean’s voice beats incessantly
all day, all night, quietly moving little stones,
or booming and crashing against the ledge
sometimes bounding up on the lawn.

Here one feels the world’s pulse, the tides, the great cycles,
controlling all life,  governing the earth justly, /  not favoring us,
as the ocean’s warming rise will wash this all away.

At her end Dotty saw fewer and fewer fishing boats
sliding along her long horizon
saw fewer sea birds, seldom heard gulls crying,
saw the dwindling of  life
in her cherished tide pools, and in the sea,
as our era surely ends.



(On Reading Jung’s ‘Memories, dreams and reflections’)

Oh God, oh God, are you not there,
in the light of the day – exist at all?
My poor unconscious quakes,
my courage fails, puts on the brakes.
Where did this, this come from,
with my swaddling clothes?
in the fabric of things given me,
unconsciously, as I became aware?
Jung says it was there before
in the archtypical collective, but Freud disagrees.
It’s all about sex you see,
and Father, and Mother, and me.

Kent Bowker    4/12/2014 (4/16 rev.)