Some of My Writing

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" height=120 BGCOLOR="#CCCC99" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="0ec8dfe1esnpes.jpg"> <div> <FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" ><B>Michael Czarnecki</B></FONT><B>     </B><B>|</B><B>     </B><A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Michael Czarnecki"><U><B>home</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id17.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Brief Bio"><U>Brief Bio</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id18.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Poet"><U>Poet</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id75.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Themed Programs"><U>Themed Programs</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id69.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Colleges"><U>Colleges</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id72.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Writing Workshops"><U>Writing Workshops</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id71.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="PoetintheSchools"><U>Poet-in-the-Schools</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id19.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Oral Memoirist"><U>Oral Memoirist</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id74.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Maine Coast Journey"><U>Maine Coast Journey</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id73.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Community Project"><U>Community Project</U></A>   |   <B>Some of My Writing</B>   |   <A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Palm of the Hand Writing"><U>Palm of the Hand Writing</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id57.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="US 62"><U>US 62</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id62.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="US 62 Journal"><U>US 62 Journal</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id22.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Schedule"><U>Schedule</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id76.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Fliers"><U>Fliers</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books Available"><U>Books Available</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id26.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="References"><U>References</U></A>   |   <A HREF="id25.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Contact Me"><U>Contact Me</U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" height=360 BGCOLOR="#A0A0A4" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="0ec8dfc3.jpg"> <div> <I>Some of My Writing</I></div> <div> A short  section from<FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#CC0033" FACE="Comic Sans MS" > <A HREF="id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Books Available"><U>Twenty Days on Route 20</U></A></FONT> has been translated and published in Japanese and English on <I><B>happano.org</B></I>, a non-profit Japanese Publisher's website. To view the selection<FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#0000FF" FACE="Comic Sans MS" ><B> </B><A HREF="http://www.happano.org/pages/fragments/23.html" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://www.happano.org/pages/fragments/2"><U><B>click here</B></U></A><B>.</B></FONT></div> <bR> <div> You can view my "Fifth Day of a New Year" haibun at Ray Rasmussen's</div> <div> <FONT SIZE="2" COLOR="#111111" FACE="Comic Sans MS" >English Haibun site:</FONT> <A HREF="http://raysweb.net/haibun/pages/michael_czarnecki.html" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://raysweb.net/haibun/pages/michael_"><U>  </U></A><A HREF="http://raysweb.net/haibun/pages/michael_czarnecki.html" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://raysweb.net/haibun/pages/michael_"><U><B>http://raysweb.net/haibun/pages/michael_czarnecki.html</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <B>See also</B></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id62.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="US 62 Journal"><U><B>US 62 Journal</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id70.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Palm of the Hand Writing"><U><B>Palm of the Hand Writing</B></U></A></div> <bR> <div> <B>After the Solstice</B></div> <div> <B>12/22/06</B></div> <bR> <div> The day after winter solstice. A cold rain off and on, from before sun rise until after sunset and beyond into the dark night. Last evening's solstice fire now a soggy pile of ash. Beech, maple, oak, ash, cherry, ironwood from our woodlot lit at the moment the sun reached its most distant point below the equator. Fire roared, sparks flew off into the longest night of the year. We stood near, feeling the warmth, watching the light of flames dance away some of the darkness that surrounded the space we occupied. Orion dipped in and out of view above the eastern ridge as clouds passed overhead. In the distance a few dogs barked, a screech owl called out its quavering song and nearby, one of the young roosters chimed in with his own just-beginning crowing voice. This is the nadir, the least sunlight of the year. Now a slow return of light, warmth to lag behind six weeks or so. A turn. A passage. Another cycle of seasons beginning? Another cycle ending?  Maybe neither. Just revolving, on and on and on.</div> <bR> <div> strong southerly wind</div> <div> pushes pelting sheets of rain</div> <div> snow falls somewhere else</div> <bR> <div> <B>**********************************************</B></div> <div> <B>Mid-Winter</B></div> <bR> <div> Venus beams in pre-dawn sky</div> <div> Orion rides high at night</div> <bR> <div> First son's guitar rarely still</div> <div> second son's books rarely closed</div> <bR> <div> Raven calls but can't be seen</div> <div> possum digs through old compost</div> <bR> <div> Geese fly north way too early</div> <div> sap in buckets way too soon</div> <bR> <div> Garlic bed never planted</div> <div> blueberries wait to be thinned</div> <bR> <div> Snow drifts disappear in warmth</div> <div> ground once frozen turns to mud</div> <bR> <div> How to keep up with changes</div> <div> where does this old body go?</div> <bR> <bR> <div> <B>**********************************************</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>New Moon Gift, March 2, 2003</B></div> <div> <B>(For Grayson)</B></div> <bR> <div> The moon cycle of your birthday</div> <div> full moon a day before</div> <div> day after, first day of spring</div> <div> this the first day of the cycle</div> <div> these March days leading to</div> <div> your twelfth birthday</div> <div> cycles turning so fast</div> <div> years flowing so quick</div> <div> this dark moon growing</div> <div> day by day, toward full</div> <div> as you grow, far beyond new</div> <div> beyond half cycle to adulthood</div> <div> to who you are to become</div> <div> though you are now, you, Grayson</div> <div> our eldest son, making your way</div> <div> in this dark-of-the-moon world</div> <div> take the gift of who you are</div> <div> this boy becoming man</div> <div> born the last day of winter</div> <div> light increasing, warmth increasing</div> <div> use your energy, your power</div> <div> to help lighten this dark world</div> <div> just as the moon grows in its cycle</div> <div> from darkness of new moon</div> <div> to brightness of full light.</div> <bR> <div> (Note: We started a family tradition of giving a present to another</div> <div>  family member on each new moon. This poem was my present to Grayson.)</div> <bR> <div> <B>**********************************************</B></div> <div> <B>Returning From the Road</B></div> <bR> <div> Once more a speedy return home after a long cross-country journey. 2700 miles in 64 hours, including a 12 hour visit in Minneapolis! Always the desire to get back on the hill after being away for any length of time. A return to home ground, to a place of grounding, a place where the spirit is at rest.</div> <bR> <div> Eighteen days traveling across the north country, from Maine to Lake Champlain, Upper Peninsula of Michigan to Everett, Washington on Puget Sound. A fascinating trip with one of my two sons accompanying me on each section - Chapin in the east, Grayson the west. A shared experience this time - not the long solo journeys of US 20 or the Mississippi River.</div> <bR> <div> As usual, the road brought a wealth of experiences, both people and natural world - an Amish poet in northern Maine; eagles above the Androscoggin River; loon calls in morning air; swimming in Lake Michigan with no one else in sight; a short connection on the side of the northern forest lined UP road with a hitchhiking young Canadian woman going the other way; northern lights above Chequemagon Bay, Lake Superior; crossing the Mississippi in Grand Rapids, MN; leaving the northwoods for the rich farmland of the Red River valley; the flooded out landscape of Grand Forks; miles and miles of undulating ocean-swell-like rangeland and grain fields; three buck mule deer silhouetted against the dark sky on the crest of a sage-brush Montana hill; an eerie boarded up pink church and wooden-cross laden cemetery; the grandeur of Glacier National Park; sound of a freight train whistle and yapping coyotes in the middle of the night; strange 200 foot high basalt towers in the Spokane River; sudden groves of fruit trees in the Columbia basin after miles and miles of dry eastern Washington grain fields and sagebrush; Cascade mountain cragginess and rapid rushing waters; humbling 600 year old red cedars and moss-covered, lichen-draped giant Douglas fir on west slope Cascades; a final poetry reading in art deco 1930s library at end of Route 2, Everett, Washington.</div> <bR> <div> A wealth of experiences beyond a listing of places, people, events. A journey inward as well as outward. Moving down the road the exterior scenery constantly changes, each mile brings new sights easy to notice, be aware of. The interior journey is a slower process, changes going on long after the physical journey has been completed, often harder to notice, more difficult to be aware of than those external scenes. The days and miles lead to an expanded inner self, an expanded relationship with others - those sharing the actual road experience and those who are close but not along on the physical journey. The road reverberates for a lifetime.</div> <bR> <div> Now home, with a deep sigh of sadness and excitement - the same sigh I sighed a few weeks ago on the evening before leaving for far north, far west. A sadness and excitement coming and going, leaving and returning. May it always be so.</div> <bR> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> beaming through thin clouds</div> <div> harvest moon on Wheeler Hill</div> <div> long journey behind</div> <bR> <div>                                                                          </div> <div> <B>**********************************************</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>As Autumn Approaches On Wheeler Hill</B></div> <bR> <div> Oak bench, open fire, lamp light, wineglass, poems of Yang Wan-li. Beyond flames cool air, cold stars. Nearest neighbor out of view. Who is there to share this moment with me? Yang Wan-li would pour wine, chant poems. Han-shan, T'ao Ch'ien, Su Tung-p'o. Immortals from centuries past. A far light of a car miles away down in the valley catches my eye. Distant, distant the dust of the world. Distant, distant the poets whose hearts are like mine. I toss a few more pieces of wood on the fire. Capella rises in the northeast, autumn soon to follow. A great horned owl calls out beyond western woods. What a poem that is! "Heaven my blanket, earth my pillow." The words of Yang Wan-li reverberate as I gaze up at late-summer constellations, think of the coming season. T'ao retired at age forty, grew rice and vegetables, wrote poems, drank wine. Han Shan lived in a cave at Cold Mountain writing poems on walls. Su Tung-p'o, in exile, the poet of the Eastern Slope. From where we will soon build our house I gaze at endless rows of hills. Staying put, traveling far, what difference does it make? Basho walked the back roads of Japan writing prose and haiku. I think of the granite coast of Maine. Who is it will walk there with me, writing poems, sipping wine as we go? A gust of wind kicks up from the west, a few leaves tumble near fire. I blow out lamp, close book, walk off to bed.</div> <bR> <div> <FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#000000" FACE="Arial" >From the book</FONT> <B>Drinking Wine, Chanting Poems (Out of print)</B></div> <bR> <div> <B>**********************************************</B></div> <div> <B>6/30/01 - A Half Year Gone</B></div> <bR> <div> Last day of the first half of the year</div> <div> cool morning breeze on shady side of house</div> <div> in sun, one can feel the coming day's heat.</div> <bR> <div> I sip a steaming cup of coffee</div> <div> youngest son lies on couch, still sleepy-eyed</div> <div> distant hills blurred in morning haze.</div> <bR> <div> Green bales of new hay stand in lower field</div> <div> bobolinks rejoice in grass not yet mown</div> <div> a little more time for young to fledge.</div> <bR> <div> Already day's length begins to shorten</div> <div> summer solstice behind, equinox ahead</div> <div> darkness of night slowly grows longer.</div> <bR> <div> No standing still of time in nature</div> <div> already my hair whitens, recedes</div> <div> each season passes faster than last.</div> <bR> <div> No use fretting on what can't be changed</div> <div> coffee cup empty now time for chores</div> <div> come evening I'll sit quiet with a cup of wine.</div> <bR> <div> From the book -<A HREF="http://members.tripod.com/poetguy51/FootHills/id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://members.tripod.com/poetguy51/Foot"><U> </U></A><FONT SIZE="3" COLOR="#CC0033" FACE="Arial" ><A HREF="http://members.tripod.com/poetguy51/FootHills/id23.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="http://members.tripod.com/poetguy51/Foot"><U>"Simple LIfe, Simple Poems."</U></A></FONT></div> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>