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Keeto: A poem by Charles Bryant Here is my poem 'Keeto'. This is in fact the first section. There is a second section and (More) Here is my poem 'Keeto'. This is in fact the first section. There is a second section and maybe one day there will be more. It is not I who write my poetry but my poetry which writes me and I cannot turn the flow off and on like a tap! This section is written as a series of sonnets - real sonnets, as against the pretend sonnets which some poets write today! Keeto I knew at once it was a miracle - fixed, tender gazing and the upturned palms, the moist red lips my very moving All forming those utterances, songs and psalms and flowing canticles and hymns of ancient beauty which so pierced my soul. Here, where the promised life-blood boils and brims into the seething cup, is found the goal and fountain-head. Here is staked my axis whose vast wheel joins the nearest and most far into a juddering whole where stasis turns to liquid; from which ebb and shower that glittering overarching rainbow's formed whose loss I had for many dry years mourned. I sat upon the steps - my usual place - comforting and charging quavering souls. He came, and graciously kneeled. And in his face I saw the matted jungle and the shoals of teeming fish that swarmed his river-home, and the heron-birds, and the rain-filled skies. He bowed and sought permission. The jet comb that held his hair flashed black. His suppliant thighs were trembling as he took my cold old hands and warmed them in his own. Then I recalled how I too first came here from distant lands to seek great master Chokutul, made bold by shattering vision of the golden bird that spoke with human voice my native word. For many years I had awaited this, this last and great event, this promised plot for seeding, my successor. Pure bright bliss shone round me, drenched both me and him, and shot its shimmering glancings through all the court on every face and fixture. Time stood still in that eternal present which is fraught with all-time. "Master..." he intoned. The thrill ran through me and a strong hand squeezed my heart. My quetzal-feather headdress quivered, shook. "Father, from far away by your great art subtly drawn to this place, I forsook all family and friends to come to you. Please accept me - father, master, do." As if myself were speaking with myself and forty silver years had melted, run from the fire in a bubbled trough, wealth altogether wasted, mixed with earth. "Son, the process is not easy. There is pain in the calling. Can you endure?" "Father," (how he said it! that one word!) "please explain what Keeto must perform. He would rather die at your hands than leave the task undone." I leant and looked into his shining eyes and there, yes there, the golden bird was, one with the calling and the answered prayer. Sighs - sighs of my own and those from his red mouth - were intermingled. Warm winds from the south thus meet the warm wind just above the trees and take and mingle with its fragrant breeze the astringent sea's aroma. Decrees the father-master: "My dear boy, who frees intention from the one who vows and lets it fly unfettered through unfettered sky must be as nothing. Who himself forgets must have another self he can call I." "Let father be my larger self to whom I may return in time of need." His skin was ripe as firstfruit, warm as honeycomb, dark as luscious fruit; honey on the chin when gleaming teeth are plunged into the comb, fruit of the rich earth-mother, of her womb. I took him in, for his sake and for mine. The older-younger love is somewhat rare: the gnarled and aged trunk supports fresh vine; the vine adorns the tree in a green shower of gleaming foliage. Both are renewed - the boredom of youth with wisdom, boredom of age with beauty. Know too that strong-thewed growth and frail decay together fall, loam their common destiny. But all things die - renewal is renewal of old death, death the herald of birth. No flinching! Fly together, die together! Breath in breath the golden ring of combination bent us in shimmering circles of descent. The act of obeisance came easily - I to master Chokutul, Keeto me, all three to the power that set us free and gave us second selves with which to journey into the deep and through the sky; wherewith we sank in gathering ecstacy; rose and floated upon moving cloud to breathe the upper atmosphere, the pure that grows the purer for our homage and our blood; which brought us to the knowledge of our god and joined us with our ancestors, the tribe of the undying and renewed. We should, but for that vision, have been senseless, dead, dust and carrion, better left unbred. I have taken music and pictures from a number of sources. Some of the pictures are from Mel Gibson's 'Apocalypto'. Some are original Maya vase paintings of which there are endless beautiful examples photographed by Justin Kerr and which can be found here: http://chnm.gmu.edu/worldhistorysources/r/287/whm.html (Less)
Keeto: A poem by Charles Bryant Here is my poem 'Keeto'. This is in fact the first section. There is a second section and (More) Here is my poem 'Keeto'. This is in fact the first section. There is a second section and maybe one day there will be more. It is not I who write my poetry but my poetry which writes me and I cannot turn the flow off and on like a tap! This section is written as a series of sonnets - real sonnets, as against the pretend sonnets which some poets write today!
Keeto
I knew at once it was a miracle -
fixed, tender gazing and the upturned palms,
the moist red lips my very moving All
forming those utterances, songs and psalms
and flowing canticles and hymns
of ancient beauty which so pierced my soul.
Here, where the promised life-blood boils and brims
into the seething cup, is found the goal
and fountain-head. Here is staked my axis
whose vast wheel joins the nearest and most far
into a juddering whole where stasis
turns to liquid; from which ebb and shower
that glittering overarching rainbow's formed
whose loss I had for many dry years mourned.
I sat upon the steps - my usual place -
comforting and charging quavering souls.
He came, and graciously kneeled. And in his face
I saw the matted jungle and the shoals
of teeming fish that swarmed his river-home,
and the heron-birds, and the rain-filled skies.
He bowed and sought permission. The jet comb
that held his hair flashed black. His suppliant thighs
were trembling as he took my cold old hands
and warmed them in his own. Then I recalled
how I too first came here from distant lands
to seek great master Chokutul, made bold
by shattering vision of the golden bird
that spoke with human voice my native word.
For many years I had awaited this,
this last and great event, this promised plot
for seeding, my successor. Pure bright bliss
shone round me, drenched both me and him, and shot
its shimmering glancings through all the court
on every face and fixture. Time stood still
in that eternal present which is fraught
with all-time. "Master..." he intoned. The thrill
ran through me and a strong hand squeezed my heart.
My quetzal-feather headdress quivered, shook.
"Father, from far away by your great art
subtly drawn to this place, I forsook
all family and friends to come to you.
Please accept me - father, master, do."
As if myself were speaking with myself
and forty silver years had melted, run
from the fire in a bubbled trough, wealth
altogether wasted, mixed with earth. "Son,
the process is not easy. There is pain
in the calling. Can you endure?" "Father,"
(how he said it! that one word!) "please explain
what Keeto must perform. He would rather
die at your hands than leave the task undone."
I leant and looked into his shining eyes
and there, yes there, the golden bird was, one
with the calling and the answered prayer. Sighs -
sighs of my own and those from his red mouth -
were intermingled. Warm winds from the south
thus meet the warm wind just above the trees
and take and mingle with its fragrant breeze
the astringent sea's aroma. Decrees
the father-master: "My dear boy, who frees
intention from the one who vows and lets
it fly unfettered through unfettered sky
must be as nothing. Who himself forgets
must have another self he can call I."
"Let father be my larger self to whom
I may return in time of need." His skin
was ripe as firstfruit, warm as honeycomb,
dark as luscious fruit; honey on the chin
when gleaming teeth are plunged into the comb,
fruit of the rich earth-mother, of her womb.
I took him in, for his sake and for mine.
The older-younger love is somewhat rare:
the gnarled and aged trunk supports fresh vine;
the vine adorns the tree in a green shower
of gleaming foliage. Both are renewed -
the boredom of youth with wisdom, boredom
of age with beauty. Know too that strong-thewed
growth and frail decay together fall, loam
their common destiny. But all things die -
renewal is renewal of old death,
death the herald of birth. No flinching! Fly
together, die together! Breath in breath
the golden ring of combination bent
us in shimmering circles of descent.
The act of obeisance came easily -
I to master Chokutul, Keeto me,
all three to the power that set us free
and gave us second selves with which to journey
into the deep and through the sky; wherewith
we sank in gathering ecstacy; rose
and floated upon moving cloud to breathe
the upper atmosphere, the pure that grows
the purer for our homage and our blood;
which brought us to the knowledge of our god
and joined us with our ancestors, the tribe
of the undying and renewed. We should,
but for that vision, have been senseless, dead,
dust and carrion, better left unbred.
I have taken music and pictures from a number of sources. Some of the pictures are from Mel Gibson's 'Apocalypto'. Some are original Maya vase paintings of which there are endless beautiful examples photographed by Justin Kerr and which can be found here:
http://chnm.gmu.edu/worldhistorysources/r/287/whm.html (Less)
Bel Canto - Shimmering, Warm & Bright - Sleep i....mp3 
2009-05-21 - extension: mp3 - size: 2 MB
Bel Canto - Shimmering, Warm & Bright - Sleep i....mp3
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1992 - Shimmering Warm and Bright.rar 
2008-05-08 - extension: rar - parts: 2 - size: 78 MB
1992 - Shimmering Warm and Bright.rar
If password needed look here: http://gothicparadises.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html
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