{"id":27103,"date":"2022-10-01T01:10:07","date_gmt":"2022-10-01T05:10:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/?p=27103"},"modified":"2022-09-26T17:09:05","modified_gmt":"2022-09-26T21:09:05","slug":"the-poetry-of-author-david-sparenberg","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/2022\/10\/01\/the-poetry-of-author-david-sparenberg\/","title":{"rendered":"The Poetry of Author David Sparenberg"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

WORD<\/b><\/u><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Before the written word, there was the spoken word.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Before the chronicles of history, there were stories.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Before tabloids and the messy spawn of scandalous gossip, ballads and epic poems sounded in mouths of bards and minnesingers.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Against the blind furies of forgetfulness, arose high cultures of memory.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Long before civilized humanity slumped into pulp fiction and sado-masochistic fantasies, myths were weaving threads of truth into archetypes, extending the dimensions of reality.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Guiding words of fire\u2019s intensity and eloquence resonate joyously through the alchemic laboratories of time!<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

You who have befriended Tolkien and the Shire, Arthur, Merlin, and voyagers to the Isle of Women, far, far off in the mist of sea and time, far beyond the fated Island of Apples – remember the beauty, questing, and the dreaming of words.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

ORPHIC VOICE<\/b><\/u><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Somebody sang a song.\u00a0 Song<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

moved on air<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

across land, across water.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It was heard far away.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

The song sounded<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in ears of another.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

It brought a voice, sweet<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

as amber honey <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and saying something.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

That song<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

made a stranger\u2019s eyes widen.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

That song<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

entered the heart of a lover.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

A <\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

scribe<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in the House of Memory<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

dipping one finger<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

into a rainbow<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

into a puddle of gold<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

remembered the song.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

This is how I began<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

at dawn of day<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

at the origin of time.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

An unknown singer<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

an Orphic voice<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

singing to life spontaneously.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Song on the wind!<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

That is how I will end:<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a well in a circle<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

reflecting a rainbow.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

<\/a> EMERALD \u2018o SEA<\/b><\/u><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

a chant poem for 3 or 4 voices<\/i><\/b><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the whistle the whistle the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the whistle the whistle the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the roads the stones the Emerald the sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the roads the stones the Emerald the sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

that man standing out<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

with the sheep on the road<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

has time on his face<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

and stout of the land<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in his body and soul<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the fiddle the whistle the pipe the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

that girl over there<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

with the flame of her hair<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

has the storm of wild sea<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

in her body and soul<\/i><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the whistle the whistle the fiddle the drum<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

from Galway to Dingle the Emerald o\u2019 sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

from Cork to the Arans- Emerald o\u2019 sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Sligo to Dublin Emerald o\u2019 sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the Skelligs to Tara the Emerald o\u2019 sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the stones the stones the Emerald o\u2019 sea<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

roads the roads the Emerald o\u2019 sea.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the pipes the fiddle the whistle the drum!<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

SHAMAN\u2019S TAG<\/b><\/u><\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Once I was a rock:<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

long time I was a rock<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

living in the way of rock<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

hard and slow.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Then I became the shadow of a rock.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I shifted many shapes and seasons.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

One morning, in conjunction<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

of a sun and moon, I awoke<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

to find that I had taken on<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the nature of a tree.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

My life then was of roots and branches.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I dreamed myself ever closer to the sky.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

After I grew intuitive<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

with the stealth of wolves and<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

clicking gait of caribou<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I became a human body.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Now I cast a human shadow on the ground.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I talk with wind<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

the vision-memories of my human soul.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I say, \u201cI am a man; I<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

am a woman.\u201d I ask,<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHow long will these bones dance together?\u201d<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I remember when I was a rock.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I recall having been a shadow.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I remember when I was a tree.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Someday I will remember<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

telling others in a circle<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

of this game shaman\u2019s tag.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

I will cherish this feeling\u2026.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

(Photo:Green Man in the Garden by David Sparenberg)<\/i><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Davis Sparenberg<\/b> is the author of CONFRONTING the CRISIS: Essays & Meditations on Eco Spirituality (Moon Books).\u00a0 An international essayist, eco poet and shamanic storyteller, David lives in Seattle, WA in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

  WORD Before the written word, there was the spoken word. Before the chronicles of history, there were stories. Before tabloids and the messy spawn of scandalous gossip, ballads and epic poems sounded in mouths of bards and minnesingers. Against the blind furies of forgetfulness, arose high cultures of memory. Long before civilized humanity slumped into pulp fiction and sado-masochistic fantasies, myths were weaving threads of truth into archetypes, extending the dimensions of reality. Guiding words of fire\u2019s intensity and eloquence resonate joyously through the alchemic laboratories of time! You who have befriended Tolkien and the Shire, Arthur, Merlin, and voyagers to the Isle of Women, far, far off in the mist of sea and time, far beyond the fated Island of Apples – remember the beauty, questing, and the dreaming of words.   ORPHIC VOICE Somebody sang a song.\u00a0 Song moved on air across land, across water. It was heard far away. The song sounded in ears of another. It brought a voice, sweet as amber honey and saying something. That song made a stranger\u2019s eyes widen. That song entered the heart of a lover. A scribe in the House of Memory dipping one finger into a rainbow into a puddle of gold remembered the song. This is how I began at dawn of day at the origin of time. An unknown singer an Orphic voice singing to life spontaneously. Song on the wind! That is how I will end: a well in a circle reflecting a rainbow.     EMERALD \u2018o SEA a chant poem for 3 or 4 voices the whistle the whistle the fiddle the drum the whistle the whistle the fiddle the drum the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum the roads the stones the Emerald the sea the roads the stones the Emerald the sea that man standing out with the sheep on the road has time on his face and stout of the land in his body and soul the fiddle the whistle the pipe the drum that girl over there with the flame of her hair has the storm of wild sea in her body and soul the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum the pipe the pipe the fiddle the drum the whistle the whistle the fiddle the drum from Galway to Dingle the Emerald o\u2019 sea from Cork to the Arans- Emerald o\u2019 sea Sligo to Dublin Emerald o\u2019 sea the Skelligs to Tara the Emerald o\u2019 sea the stones the stones the Emerald o\u2019 sea roads the roads the Emerald o\u2019 sea. the pipes the fiddle the whistle the drum!     SHAMAN\u2019S TAG Once I was a rock: long time I was a rock living in the way of rock hard and slow. Then I became the shadow of a rock. I shifted many shapes and seasons. One morning, in conjunction of a sun and moon, I awoke to find that I had taken on the nature of a tree. My life then was of roots and branches. I dreamed myself ever closer to the sky. After I grew intuitive with the stealth of wolves and clicking gait of caribou I became a human body. Now I cast a human shadow on the ground. I talk with wind the vision-memories of my human soul. I say, \u201cI am a man; I am a woman.\u201d I ask, \u201cHow long will these bones dance together?\u201d I remember when I was a rock. I recall having been a shadow. I remember when I was a tree. Someday I will remember telling others in a circle of this game shaman\u2019s tag. I will cherish this feeling\u2026.   (Photo:Green Man in the Garden by David Sparenberg)   Davis Sparenberg is the author of CONFRONTING the CRISIS: Essays & Meditations on Eco Spirituality (Moon Books).\u00a0 An international essayist, eco poet and shamanic storyteller, David lives in Seattle, WA in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"iawp_total_views":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[10004],"tags":[10346,14019,14010,10533,12076,12211,10227,11927,10055],"class_list":["post-27103","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-monthly-columns","tag-author","tag-confronting-the-crisis-essays-meditations-on-eco-spirituality","tag-david-sparenberg","tag-feature","tag-poems","tag-poet","tag-poetry","tag-writer","tag-writing"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27103","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=27103"}],"version-history":[{"count":14,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27103\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":27147,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/27103\/revisions\/27147"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=27103"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=27103"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/paganpages.org\/emagazine\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=27103"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}