[Julie Steiner]

Perhaps I'm being too literal, but I see many of these examples as reflections on the eternity of the soul (in both directions, linear time being irrelevant to eternal things; if something eternal exists now, it not only will always, but also presumably has always; or has existed at least back to the beginning of linear time).

That's not the same as reincarnation, which posits that the same immortal soul may be clothed in mortal flesh more than once. Linear time seems an important part of that concept.

[Paddy Raghunathan]

William,

Reincarnation is a key tenet in Hinduism and Buddhism. You may want to get a translation of the Bhagavad Gita (itself a part of the epic Mahabharata, the longest poem in the world). The Gita talks about reincarnation at length.

Incidentally, Eliot was very impressed by the Mahabharata.

Cheers,

Paddy

[john savoie]

Can't say I believe in reincarnation; can't say I don't. But I trust the Muse and follow where she leads. I wish I could just link this poem that appeared in Slant xxiv (2010), but the fine little journal cultivates almost no presence on the 'net. I make no pretense to "mastery" (our section heading here), and I hope I'm not violating any house rules, but here goes. Yes, there are 3! epigraphs which partake of a kind of literary reincarnation--that's the mastery--the lines that follow, that's the humble musing.


Paolo’s Dream

Then she opened up a book of poems
and handed it to me
written by an Italian poet
from the thirteenth century,
and every one of them words rang true
and glowed like burning coal
pouring off of every page
like it was written in my soul
from me to you . . .
—Dylan, “Tangled Up In Blue”

And time and time again that reading led
our eyes to meet . . . that day we read no more.
—Dante, Inferno Canto 5, Francesca speaking

There is a dream dreaming us.
—Kalahari saying

The book lay open in light that fell
soft as snow, warm as rain, and after
so many years, so many lives, we had
found each other and read once more
upon the same page.

Side by side we sat
on a bench of stone in trellised shade,
moss jeweled with dew, flowers faintly
humming, tendrils curling all around.
Leather worn, spine loose, the book
balanced hand in hand above our laps—
and did our fingers never brush?
our knees never touch? Yet I felt you
tremble in the turning page, the gilt-
edge arcing its half circle in perfect
time, as you lifted, I laid each leaf
to rest. We did not speak a word.

O book bound in love!
The pages turning freely in our hands—
each moment lies unfolded
upon what’s past and what’s to come.

We read of Lancelot and Guinevere,
lovers long ago, but our eyes began
to linger in the unlettered lines
tinged with the sheen of your lavender
sleeve, the page unturning, telling
another story, this one all our own.

When I thought, you thought, to lift our eyes
and read face to face, my vision blurred,
I heard a stirring but could not see
a sound like wind through golden wheat,
or the first gust of autumn surging
through the woods . . .

. . . and you were gone.
I woke to find myself standing alone
before the open window, listening
to the purr of a solitary plane
blinking out of sight, listening, listening
to the willow toss, the rush and riddle
of God’s own leaves lit by the distant stars.

[William A. Baurle]

I don't know if I believe in reincarnation either, John, but I am far more open to it now than I was as a sprout.

Julie said something very important. Perhaps I don't have a clear distinction between the 'immortality of the soul' and reincarnation themes. Let's say that probably I don't.

So maybe, if I can alter the OP a wee bit, what I should do is suggest that many major poets have dealt with the immortality of the soul (collective consciousness [Jung/Akashic record, etc.]) or the theme of reincarnation?

*

I've had a 30 year struggle trying to appreciate Robert Creeley. I liked a few of his poems, but overall, I have always found his work to be rather conversational, talky, telly, rather than image-based, which I think makes for superior poetry.

I bought Creeley's Collected poems 1945-1975 years ago, and I look at the photo of him, and I keep telling him, "Someday, you and I will break bread together," kind of the way Pound broke bread with Whitman.

I think I finally broke that bread.

What I do is, I pick up the book, and open it at random, and say, "OK Robert, let's see if you've got something to tell me." Usually, I get nothing, or bits and pieces. I have just NOT been a fan of Creeley.

But just now, I think I got something. It's his poem, which I don't recall having read in all the time I've owned the book, or maybe I just glanced at it and paid it no attention. It's called The Rescue.


The Rescue

The man sits in a timelessness
with the horse under him in time
to a movement of legs and hooves
upon a timeless sand.

Distance comes in from the foreground
present in the picture as time
he reads outward from
and comes from that beginning.

A wind blows in
and out and all about the man
as the horse ran
and runs to come in time.

A house is burning in the sand.
A man and horse are burning.
The wind is burning.
They are running to arrive.



Does that poem seem to suggest the theme of the immortality of the soul, or possibly of reincarnation? And what about the title? Could it have something to do with salvation? I don't currently know what Creeley's religious views were, but I'll look into it.

[William A. Baurle]

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poet...ontentId=27987


Figures that seem to keep appearing, across many works by a variety of poets, are a Lady, and that damn Garden.

More Creeley:

http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poet...ontentId=27984

[RCL]

Walt Whitman, "Song of Myself"?

[john savoie]

Creeley and Hollander make quite a contrast. Neither poem appeals to me. Creeley's poem is representative of his work but strikes me as flat and easy. Hollander was a brilliant man--and co-director of my dissertation--but the poem you post is so busy and encrusted it yields little immediate pleasure, ornate learning and wit upon wit, yes, but that seldom moves the reader.

[RCL]

Emerson and Samsara ?

Brahma

By Ralph Waldo Emerson


If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.

[William A. Baurle]

I should probably apologize - re the Creeley and Hollander. I think my bi-polar crap is responsible. I'm seeing things that just aren't there, most likely. Or making leaps and connections that are unjustified by the actual text. My imagination more than anything.