#28 - Queen of Winter

 

(Russell J Turner)

The Cailleach is a Gaelic creator and weather deity. In modern Scottish folklore she is also known as Beira, Queen of Winter

Her mountain tops are cast like stepping stones

across the fields and forests, down the glen

where deer run between her strides and then

the hammer falls. All silence. Owls are flown

into the night, beyond the tracks of bone

which spiral downwards. Downwards, once again,

it is the doom and destiny of men

to live, to strive, to die beneath her throne.

She strikes a summer bargain with her shade ‒

a covenant not made with pen and ink ‒

division of forever is the price

which both will pay. She gathers up her blade

to strip the logs and kindling, then she drinks

deep from the well before it turns to ice.

RJT

#24 - ir/rational

(Russell J Turner) 

An irrational sonnet is an Oulipo form devised by Jacques Bens, with stanza lengths based on the digits of π. This one takes its cue from both mathematics and the non-creationism of Jainism

A circle curves back to infinity,

yet paradoxically constrained by three

point one four one five nine two six (or so)

The endless wheel rolls round, rolls on and on

For there are bounds to everything we know ‒

the limits of irrationality,

approximate perfectibility ‒

uncertainty above, caprice below

The endless wheel rolls round, rolls on and on

We dance at dawn until the summer’s gone

We read the words and then we turn the page

We feed the fires and dream all winter long

We sing a path through this eternal song

We live, we die, we love, we cry, we age

RJT

#19 - Wagtail

(Russell J Turner)

 Earth-diver creation myths are found throughout the Pacific Rim and beyond. This piece is a mash-up of various tales of the Ainu people

The ocean lies upon a giant trout

whose movements cause the earthquakes and the tides

A film of oil covers it about

and rises up in fire to form the skies

Five-coloured clouds are spinning on the mist

as gods and demons roil in the dark

The sun and moon emerging in a kiss

that clarifies the heavens with a spark

Then wagtail dives, from out of history,

to find the flotsam scattered on the deep

to make the islands out of sticks and mud

Then wagtail thrives, in all its mystery,

to wake creation from a dreamless sleep

to build a floating world for flesh and blood

RJT

#14 - The Problem of Susan

 (Russell J Turner)

This sonnet shares its name with a Neil Gaiman short story which has since become synonymous with debate about the fate and treatment of Susan Pevensie, as referenced in The Last Battle and other writings by C S Lewis

The earth lies black beyond the stable door

where bones dissolve beneath a dying sun ‒

the holidays have only just begun,

the shadowlands a dream that went before.

So feel the breeze and hear the lion’s roar,

as further up and further in we run

towards that dawn where worlds become unspun,

to pass through death and live again once more.

But Susan sits and paints her face with grief,

with all the pretty colours of her pain ‒

condemned to be an exile by belief

that judges her perfection as profane.

She rails against the prophet and the thief,

she weeps for love and innocence in vain.

RJT

#9 - Haida Gwaii

(Russell J Turner)

Raven Tales are the traditional human and animal creation stories of the Pacific Northwest Coast. This sonnet draws on a tale of the Haida people

White raven catch a pretty eagle eye ‒

a nod, a wink ‒ adornment to his scheme

to liberate her father’s hidden dreams

of fire, water, baubles of the sky.

Above the trackless territory he flies,

to hang them high, to make this island gleam

by starlight ‒ as the overflowing streams

all whisper to the worlds that hurry by.

Then fires flame and embers fall to hide

beneath the rocks, to make the mountains crack

with industry, with arrogance and pride ‒

with hearth light that still draws the traveller back.

The trickster shapes creation as a guide,

the cinders turn his finery to black.

RJT

#4 - She sleeps until a whistle cuts the dark

(Russell J Turner)

Yhi is an Australian Aboriginal goddess of light and creation

She sleeps until a whistle cuts the dark

of Dreaming – light falls soft upon the earth –

to usher in a sunrise and a birth,

the dawning of an unimagined spark.

And where she walks her footsteps leave their mark ‒

a panoply of greenery and mirth,

as flowers, grasses, fruits and fungi girth

the world while branches frame the heavens’ arc.

But she would dance, and bids us to the ball,

to leap and fly and creep across the plain,

to greet the skies and seas that feed us all,

to whirl beneath the gentle evening rain.

She draws the darkness round her like a shawl.

She sleeps until the sun comes up again.

RJT