Reaching,Touching

Orcelia BirgeWinn

poems

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Reaching,Touching

Reaching,Touching

Orcelia BirgeWinn

StillWoods Press

Milton, Connecticut

Reaching,TouchingCopyright © 2009 by Orcelia BirgeWinnPrinted in the United States of America

Book Designer:Virginia Anstett

Library of Congress Control: 2009908678ISBN: 978-1-61623-168-2

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To my parents,William Cornelius Birge and Mercy Stock Birge,and my children,WilliamWinslowWinn, Jr., James BirgeWinn,Linda JeanneWinn and Peter NashWinn, and to my belovedgranddaughter, JenniferWinn Ferrara, with love and gratitudefor their encouragement and inspiration, and in memory ofmy husband,WilliamWinslowWinn,who showed me what lifewas really all about.

– Orcelia B.Winn

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Contents

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The Pixies 1Thoughts In April 1Inspiration 3Vanity 3Momentary 4Man as Compared to Nature 4Leaf 5Portrait 5RainyWeather, N.Y. 5In the City 6Cloud (Japanese Style) 6Knell 7Spring at Night 8Poetry – Maker 9Missing in Action 9Before Rain 11Night of Rain 12MidnightVigil 13Exit April 13SundayWalk; p.m. 14Fragment 15Fate 15

Autumn End 16Late AutumnWoods 16Night 17Day’s End 17On Death and Life 18TheWindy Hill 19There Is No Returning 20My Son, My Son 22Snow 23Autumn in October 23Midnight 24Longing 25Bedtime 25The Question 26Day of Rain 26Precarious Peace 27AndYet Myself 28Linda Jeanne 28Love – Poem 29To My Father (on his final illness) 30Grief 31To Maria AugustaTeall Stock 32(my poet grandmother)

Biography 32Her Majesty 34Little Angel 35My Baby Sleeps 36

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Misfit 37Beatitude 37Curriculum 38Pattern 39OneYear 39My Special Flower 40Sonnet to My Sons 40Testament 42Midnight Singing 43Night Dreams 44Shelving Day 44The Benefit of Silence 45OnWriting Poetry 45Midnight Rain 46Rain in the Night 47Patience 47Phantom Night 48Peter Awake 48Lullaby from Outer Space 49Claim to Fame 49Rhythms 50Revelations 51February Moon 51Gemini 8 52October in Fog 53I Am Only I 53Balance 54

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And SoThey Go 55Peter (When he was 11) 55Musings (of anAstronaut) 56Bick 57Marty 59Fancy 60To Rai (Lorraine Alice MarekWinn) 60Moonrise 62Day-Start 62Summer Day 63With March 64Jim 65A Summer Morning 66A Dream I Dreamed 67Restlessness Caught 68OneYear Later 69But … Jim? 70These I Know 71Jennifer’s Birth Day 72I 72JanuaryThaw 73Granddaughter 74My LoveWindy 74Season of Grief 75San Francisco at Night 75Footsteps 76Your Birthday 77

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Lonely Days 78To an Old Dog (Pepper) 78Into Shreds 79Mother’s House 79Reaching 81New Day 81My Day 82Humanity 83The Circle 84Perhaps 84A Granddaughter 85Me 86Evening Moment 87April 87Jennifer’s Gifts 88Children 88Tonight 89Oration 89Summertime 90Jennifer Overnight 91SmallTreasures 91Love 92Life Passing 93OnTop of Mohawk Mountain 94I AmThese 95Jennifer at Nine 96Jennifer’s Home 97

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Where Do the Poems Go? 98Jennifer on the Pond 99The Rainbow 99July 10, 1989 100Enigma 101I Remember 102Haiku 103Morning Moment 103Grandmothers 104Ages of Jennifer 104Forsythia in October 105Around the Square 105To J. BentleyWinn 106Jan 107Once as I Lived 108Even a Cloudy Day 108Insignificance 109Summer – Full 109IWonderWhy 110Unsung Poem 111Small Contentment 111Of the Spirit 112Church Service 113Sabbath 113Happy Day 113Neighbors’ Lights 114Ordinary Day 115

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Today I Am 115Dear Sister 116Third Son 117October Rain 117Definitions 118MorningWind 118A Dingy, Dreary Day 119AVision of Gold 119Aftermath of Terror 120Thunderstorm 120Ruth’s at 2:00 120Mixed-up Seasons 121Old Grief 121Son’s Gift 122Fog 123Good Parents 123Artist 124One 124False Spring 125One Bird at Day’s End 125Summer Rain 126Quiet Morning 127TheWoodsman 127Rose Haven, Litchfield 128

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John, the Man 131Woman 137Man 139Why? 141Stranger 145TheVillage of Milton, Connecticut 148I Remember Jim 151

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I

The PixiesMarch 12, 1933 (?)

They dance and pranceand caper and twistin the light of the glowing moon.

At dawn they stopto rest a bitin a cool and shady place.

At eve they startto dance againand they dance and dance all night.

Thoughts in AprilMarch 10, 1939

TheApril rain came softly, falling stillAnd silvery on the distant woods and hill;And soon it went.Then I stole forth before the world was outAnd found among the sodden leaves a sproutOf green.A scentOf rain-soaked bark I breathed, so damp, so clean

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And saw upon the world the pearly sheenOf tears, as on the cheeks of Baby, spent.

And wrapped around the black roots of the trees,So soft, translucent in the breeze,I saw white fogAs, hovering through the woods it stopped to play(As any child would stop along his way)Around a bog.In pensive silence for a time I stoodAnd gazed with wonder through the depths of woodAnd heard the gruff-voiced comments of a frog.

The woods dripped steadily. I moved my eyesTo where I heard a bluejay’s scornful cries.I knelt to seeAgain the sprout and dug from it the leaves

I wondered whether any man believesNo mysterySurrounds our lives, no miracles exist?And is there yet a man who can resistThe newborn beauty April brought to me?

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InspirationSeptember 25, 1939

Once when I cameOf a sudden on a lakeI stood pondering, in thought.A bird, startledBy my presence, flew.It left the wings I sought;I flew, too.

VanityOctober 4, 1939

When she looked on the pond …So quiet and smooth …And exclaimed at the beauty fairI noticed it wasn’t the pond she sawBut her visage mirrored there.

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MomentaryNovember 17, 1939

Out of the silenceAnd blackness of nightA bit of cloud …A milkweed sprite …Came;Then left …..So life.

Man as Compared to NatureMarch 15, 1940

Man is so complexThe wind blows right through him.Man is so deepThe sea with a wave can drown him.Man is so grandThe pine trees to nothingness dwarf him.Man is so intelligentHe cannot even understand the ways of nature.

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LeafMarch 16, 1940

Leaf … on the pond,Floating aimlessly,Hovering ’round the mossy tree …O leaf,Drift over here to me.

PortraitMay 27, 1940

She leaned against the cool wallAnd smiled …Her hand outstretched …A lazy kind of smile, slowTo come and slow to disappear.

RainyWeather, N.Y.September 25, 1940

Rain and puddlesSplashingWet hands, wet feet,Dripping umbrella

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Which jostles the crowdHurrying on in the rain.Brief respite in stationIn subway and train;Otherwise dampness, umbrellas and rain.

In the CitySeptember 25, 1940

What are your mountains but hillsHouse-investedCloaked in the fog from the factory’s breath.I want my mountains, the mountains of homeVirginal forestsWhere fog is but mist of the early mornAnd where Nature alone holds sway.

Cloud (Japanese Style)January 24, 1941

O cloud … softWhite and floating …Let me lie upon your breastAnd sleep.

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KnellApril 23, 1941

Rain pattered steadily, slowlyAnd brown leaves floated, soaked,On the dripping brook.Chickens half-heartedlyPecked at the groundAnd the dog whined to come in.

Her hand lay, white and motionless,On the windowsillAs she sat gazing over the fields …She sat staring and sightless.Once she turned and stroked the dogAnd seemed about to speakBut turned again to stare and stareBeyond the rainy day.

He sat bowed in the corner,Hard hands clenched white,Just sat and stared;And once he raised his headTo look at her,Conscious, perhaps, of the ash-gray hearthAnd the rain.

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Neither spoke.What could they say?

Tragedy, grief, agonized tearsWhich would not flowLay between them… sharp;And even the rainCould not wash clean their knotted emotionsOr soften their grief.

Rain pattered steadily on.They sat and stared.Death was in their hearts …The death of their laughing child.And the rain pattered steadily on.

Spring at nightJanuary 18, 1942

Through the duskThe lilacs … pale and starry …Catch the moon deep in their handsAnd hold its faceAnd kiss it.

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Poetry – MakerMarch 20, 1942

I grasp the shadow with both my handsAnd throw it out of the world;ThenThere is no longer mistBetween the worldAnd me.

Missing in ActionAugust 28, 1943

He was so youngAnd so gay,So happy, so proud of himself;So eager to be in itAnd at them…Not hiding behind a woman’s skirtsOr a mother’s tears.

He wentBecause his heart was the heart of a fine young man,And because his mother was braveAnd his father was strong.

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He went because he had a job to do …He wanted to do it;And nowHe’s missing in action.

SomewhereOver thereHe may be still living.SomedayHe may return.

He’s missing in action, they said.His plane flew high,And low;His plane … strong as himself,But like him vulnerable.

He may be gone …And if he isThe good God above, who judges each man for himself,Will know he went down as he flew…Young and sure and glad and brave.

My tears are goneFor now;My heart is quiet.I try to think:

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I must be brave, like him;He would not like to think I cried that whole day longWhen they said he was missing in action.

Before RainFebruary 17, 1944

There’s weighted suspenseIn the air …All nature waits the rain.SomewhereThe rain is falling …There is mist along the hills.

Leaves move uneasilyHung by a momentIn the moist full wind;

The gray-clad sky is lostIn its own identity,And over the fieldsIt pushes restlessly …Potent and swollen with rain.

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Down in the woods the brookIs turgid and brown,Following the curve of the landAs it whispers downTo the pool at the meadow’s end.

There’s electric waiting …Taut with imminence …Breathless as summer nightsSilent and sure.

Night of RainFebruary 18, 1944

Rain whispers on the roofAnd through the house.Wind …Full of rain, and warm…Moves in the room.

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MidnightVigilMarch 25, 1944

Through the night, laden with unvoiced sound,I hear the rush of pines and riverIn the westLike a wind, worn-out and pushed for rest,Hanging a moment longer than it shouldTo sigh,And whisper a wordTo the sky.

Exit AprilApril 27, 1944

April is past …Elusive, like a woman,It slips from my graspInto time.

Rain it left hereAnd sober skiesWhich drop a tearOn the meadows.

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Green trees it brought …Red maples delight;Some peace I soughtIt carried with it away.

April is past;Taken its tears and smiles;And now, too fast,Comes summer-time.

SundayWalk; p.m.October 2, 1944

We walked along the country roadThis afternoon, we two,Watching the clouds above us, highAnd the trees and the wind; and youSaid it was peace … this day, this walkThe two of us high on the hill …And the lovely autumn flamed and burnedAnd the country was warm and stillAnd the wind blew gently past us thereWhere the meadow stretched far away …Purple with aster and gold with sun;Where you found a peace today.

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FragmentMarch 6, 1945

March woods cloaked with fogAnd shivering with rainStretch black and gray into the night.

FateMarch 21, 1945

Happiness is momentary …Like the flash of a birdOn the wing …You cannot hold it longIn your hand …It flies away;And as it goes comes sorrowIn its stead.All life is this:A flash of great and thrilling joyWhich does not last,But rather makes a pathFor sorrow’s heavy feet.

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Autumn EndOctober 24, 1945

Milkweed,Like snowWhich it foretells,Darts over the meadowAnd blows away.

Soft milkweed,Light as a fairy feather;Soon there will be snow in the airAnd the milkweed will be gone.

Late AutumnWoodsNovember 22, 1945

Late autumn woodsSurrender to drabness and serenity …Blue lake,Unbordered save for dead bushes,Reflects the bluer sky …What peace in ugliness,What beauty in our pain.

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NightMarch 2, 1946

Dilatory nightSo late after the day …Brush not the phantoms of dayFrom our eyes.

Day’s EndMarch 22, 1946

The sibylline nightSteals down the darkening plainSoft-footed, silent, sureTill day’s untarnished courseIs but an apparition of its former self,A mockery,And all that was is past.

On Death and LifeMarch 22, 1946

Death, the somnolent walker,Stumbles drunkenlyAfter the ravages of lifePicking the carcasses of desecrated mortals

Like a plunder-birdHovering darkly and shapelesslyOver the fields of yesterday.

Life, one step before Death,One breath (then from beingTo nothingness)Grasps at the shadowLest, in one instant,That which was is notAnd in passing Death retrieves its own.

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TheWindy HillJune 9, 1946

High on a hill I flaunted my loveTo all who would listen to me …And the winds roared loud upon the hillAnd I laughed with being free …But the night came down, and the sun was gone,And the world below me slept;And I was alone on the windy hillWith my flaunted love; and I wept.

Till a lonely being wandered byAnd spoke through the night-wind roar:“The world will awake with tomorrow’s dawnAnd will listen to you once more.”Then I rose and went down to the land below,The land I had known so well;And when the world woke and waited for meI had nothing of love to tell.

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There Is No ReturningAugust 8, 1946

Deep in my soulDormant and recliningIs savagery,Pushed carefully awayThrough long long years of civilization,Unrecognized …But, I ask this:Is it too far from meIn life today,So firmly subjectedBy my forebears (whose characteristics I am)That it cannot ever be awakened?And, if once aroused,Is there any returning to this day?Black primitive nightUntouched by us(We children of light and consciousness)Steal softly upon me,Drown me with heaviness,Pour over me your darkness.Blot out the light.I am no longer one;I am unknown and unseeing,A being among beings,

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Indistinct and inseparable …I cannot fight (except for preservation of body …Self is no longer awareness)For my mind is that of a child,But lesser …I grope; the darkness is part of me,I am the darknessAnd I do not recognize myself.

Fade, O midnight;Send back the gleam of my individualityWon through centuries of culture.

All the world is gray …Murky, unmoving gray;No darkness, no glimmer of light,No tangibility …I am not even darkness,I am a lost beingWithout substance …My eyes see without seeing;I hear, but distinguish no sound;I breathe, and do not know that I live.I am without consciousness,Yet not unconscious;Awake, yet sleeping,I cannot even pray again for light.

My Son,My SonOctober 29, 1948

Gentle little handsCaressingSoft as fairy-downMore precious …How I love you, how I love you, oh!My son, my son.

Merry big dark eyesOf mischiefBright and laughing eyesClose slowly …Full of sweetness, full of sleeping, oh!My son, my son.

Smiling little mouth.Those two lips,Mouth of him I love,So soft …Mouth that laughs and cries and kisses, oh!My son, my son.

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SnowJanuary 19, 1951

The woods bow downIn silent servitudeBeneath the soft concealing weightOf snow.The skies change blueTo gray, and blue againAnd from their depths send down the cloakOf snow.The days run outLike some swift-running tide;The starting and the end are metIn snow.

Autumn in OctoberOctober 22, 1954

Autumn in October …A time for nature replying to GodAnd earth returning to eternity …A time for knowingAnd a time for losing.Autumn in October …The leaves drift down like dreamsDead and sere …

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Dreams forever loved and rememberedA quest and a tear.Autumn in October …The gathering – close of fearThe releasing of joy …Beauty is death, in autumn,And knowledge is loneliness.

MidnightJanuary 23, 1955

About me through the silent houseWhere night is pressing deepI hear from distance, closing in,The whirring wings of sleep.

The guard of midnight falters watchAnd past its reaches creepThe shadows of an alien worldTo steal the cape of sleep.

Beyond the haven dark of dreamsAtop a mountain steepCome ghostly lights which wrap aroundThe pinioned arms of sleep.

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LongingJanuary 25, 1955

A breath, a whisper, a sighIn the darkened bosom of earth …The flash of birds on bright wings, highA flower unfolding its mystery of birth …Tenderness touching, misty-light,On the cheek of love, a kiss withdrawn …Longing heaves the surface of nightAnd speaks to the sky … and is gone.

BedtimeFebruary 21, 1955

The tangled starsroistering through the skies

Are like my sons’ sleepinessdenying sleep with little lies.

The moon bestirsto hush their noise.

As I undresstwo boisterous boys.

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The QuestionFebruary 9, 1955

Where is the answer that I seek?Is it in the secretsWhich only trees may speakWhich wind forgets?Is it in the moonlight fallingOn the ground like snowOr murmuring brooks callingWords I hear but do not know?Where is the answer I would find?In the faces I see unmaskedOr in some corner of my mind?Or … what is the question I asked?

Day of RainMarch 15, 1955

This is a day for remembering …All the days of sun in the past,The kaleidoscope fragments of pleasureSmall moments forgotten too fast.Rain is a giver of quiet and thoughtAs the tempo of life slows paceTo bring back lost memories and day-dreams

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From their half-hidden storage place.Think of a time and an age gone byYet linked with today by the chainOf memory’s generous storing – awayAnd found in the magic of rain.

Precarious PeaceApril 7, 1955

Precarious peacelike a straining birdmomentarily poised in flight …

A suspended breathheld in a vacuumawaiting the return of night …

A shaft of sunshinethrough riven cloudsreaching out for sight …

This is my peace …like a gentle handtouching not quite …

Rivers flow on,days come and go, forgotten;but peace is a moment’s delight.

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AndYet MyselfNovember 19, 1955

The storm raged on, and I …One being, lostStillborn upon a single page of time …Pushed up against the meshing foldsOf consciousnessAnd reached a groping handTo still the storm.I was the snow… soft ceaseless fallAnd wind and violence …And yet myself,The frantic spirit loosed and tossingOn the sudden dayWhich was my ownYet alien to me.

Linda JeanneFebruary 3, 1956

A fairy touchof tiny hands on mine …

A flash of sunyour smile for me …

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A sparkling brookyour eyes, deep, dark …

A song at duskyour gentle voice …

My heart you holdmost tenderly

In tiny hands,a fairy touch.

Love – PoemFebruary 3, 1956

My little girl, to meYou are the starsIn night’s black-velvet sky,The golden moon at fullOr silver thinIn midnight riding high,The sun most bright and warmUnshadowed joyWhich touches soft on sleep,The gentle steal of duskWhose shadows pushAnd tumble through day’s deep …You are the winds at dawn,The green-gowned trees,

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The far-off twilight bird;You are, to me, the soundsThat woods will speakWhenever they are heard.You who have blessed my lifeBrought laughter backAnd sight and beauty, too …In all the paths aheadWhere you will walkThere I will walk with you.

To My Father (on his final illness)February 10, 1956

May angels walk with youwhere we cannot

And guide your feet that youshall stumble not …

May gentle hands caress,this darkest night,

For we are helpless, boundby chains of light …

May voices speak to you,soft voices, clear,

For all the words we sayyou do not hear …

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May God’s compassion touchupon your brow

And give you peace and restfrom torment now.

We are so helpless hereto give relief

And only love can reachbeyond our grief.

May angels walk with youtill night is done

And tend you in our steadO dearest one.

GriefFebruary 19, 1956

I walk the long dark path tonightof grief, where man must walk alone …

The bitter emptiness and lossof death I’ve taken for my own…

There is no light ahead to lead,no hand I knew so well to guide …

I walk alone the endless pathand sorrow stumbles at my side.

Those we have loved are always oursin memories the years have grown…

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But in my grief tonight I walkin blinded pain … alone, alone.

To Maria AugustaTeall Stockmy poet grandmotherMarch 25, 1956

The songs you’ve sung I also sing …Where you left off I shall beginWith words you gave me from the past… Unfinished songs which came too fast …Your songs, my songs … a sacred trustA thread unbroke, continuousThrough years now dead, today the same.Your spirit touched my own with flame.

BiographyApril 4, 1956

A simple birth …A man unschooled in many thingsSave those most needed;A life of peace which courage bringsTo those who walkThe self-same path each day, and know

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The path bejeweledWith flowers, autumn leaves or snow;A quiet manDelighting in the earth, the wood,The trails he walked,The tall dark pines where oft he stoodAt his full heightAnd felt the weight of pain and careSlip gently off.So many times I saw him there,Myself a childAnd following one step behindAnd stopping, too,With him… some new delight to find.My father, he,Who gave so many loves to me …The love of landAnd woods and home and family;The love of GodFound by his side each Sunday morn;The love of man,All peoples, who are equal born;The love of right,Of courage, honor, song;The thirst to know,To find one spot where I belong.A simple birth,

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A man unschooled, with weary feetAnd low-bent back …He taught me his own wisdom sweet.

Her MajestyApril 20, 1956

Her Majesty is a rose …So pink and clean and sweet …She has a little button noseAnd tiny hands and feet.Her Majesty wants her bathShe would like it right awayIt’s morning, and it’s bath-timeShe wants to start her day.So, into the bathtub warmTo kick and splash and playThen out she comes, all wet,With sleep all washed away.A towel, big and soft,Is wrapped around her thick;She’s dried and powdered nowAnd dressed … we must be quick.Her majesty wants to eatSo, rush to put awayThe bath things, clean the floor

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Her majesty seems to say:“I’m hungry now, please hurry.”Her smile could change to tears …So, out we go to fetch it,Her majesty gives three cheers;A shout, a squeal, a giggleA charming sight to see …What joy that she is ours to tend …Our rose-bud Majesty.

Little AngelJune 14, 1956

Little angel, in a world your ownA world I could encompass with my arms …Let me touch you gently in my loveLet me shield you from our fears, alarmsLet me gaze upon you sleepingLet me smile on you awakeLet me love you from my heart’s joyGive full love and your love take.

Little angel, God protect you nowIn babyhood and on through all the years …Larger angels guide you, precious one,Keep you safe, for me, from unknown fears.

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Grow in grace, my darling, and in joy;Hold yourself in strength, in worth, in pride,

So know yourself that all may know you, too,And I, adoring, shall be at your side,Little angel, from this small world your ownCome swift to me, come straight to meAnd with your eyes and mine be made awareOf all the riches, beautiful, to see.

My Baby SleepsDecember 10, 1956

My baby wept …I held her in my arms against my heartAnd sang to her …My baby slept.

She stirred in sleepAnd woke with fretful crying, restless woe …God held her close …My baby sleeps.

Orcelia BirgeWinn in the Milton CongregationalChurch, Milton, Connecticut.