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The Sonogram
Dodona housed the oracle of Zeus,
And there the Greeks sought his prophetic aid
(Whose force depended on how much they’d paid)
In auguries divinely quite abstruse.
Beneath his sacred oak they lay diffuse,
His priests who’d listen to the serenade
As wind among the leaves discreetly played,
Thereby their master’s message to deduce.
And I supine, my body bare, unkempt,
As sonic winds my blood bestir and push
And rustling weave their wary prophecy,
With priestly ear do listen and attempt
Within that pulsing dull shuh-whoosh-shuh-whoosh
To sense what God might whisper there in me.
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Pink
__All day my eyes were wet with tears
Unshed (I’d simply not the time for grief).
__I task to task my way careered
And found in busyness a dry relief.
__I felt myself a hardy soul,
____But as the sun did sink
And sorrow reassumed its dim control,
God had me pass some tulips lest I think
My darkness stronger than His waxen pink.
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Jeffrey Essmann is an essayist and poet living in New York. His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and literary journals, among them Agape Review, America Magazine, Dappled Things, the St. Austin Review, U.S. Catholic, Grand Little Things, Heart of Flesh Literary Journal, and various venues of the Benedictine monastery with which he is an oblate. He is editor of the Catholic Poetry Room page on the Integrated Catholic Life website.
Jeff, these are both great. The 2nd especially is so immediately universal in its application, and so marvelously concentrated.
I’ve had a few sonograms myself – just want to say I love the juxtaposition of that event with the literary metaphor. I’m going to be pondering this one for some time to come.
I really like both of these very much, Jeffrey. Thank you!
The “shuh-whoosh” was the exact way I remember the sonograms. The contemplativeness of both poems shines through from the concentration on the sounds from the sonogram as whispers to the soul and the pink tulips that relax the mind while reminding us of God’s great creation.
These are both beautiful poems. I love the metaphor comparing the “auguries” of old to those of the sonogram. (And I’m guessing you’re the first poet to think of “whoosh” as a rhyme for “push.”) The idea in “Pink” is wonderful, too, but I’m also fascinated with the varied number of meters in the lines. That technique reminds me of some George Herbert poems I’ve been reading.
Close, Cynthia. I lifted the scheme for “Pink” from John Donne. So glad you enjoyed the work.
Jeffrey
These are two very polished and professional poems. “Pink” brings Donne back to life, and “The Sonogram” creates a delightful and unexpected link between ancient augury and a modern medical procedure.
Beautiful and so moving!
In the “Pink” poem, I was reminded of “Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount”: also a Spring poem with a grief theme, ending with the vision of a flower. There is something very powerful about that vivid waxen flower image after a largely image-less lament: the speaker is snapped out himself to attention.
Pink is the liturgical color of joy. Pink is a revelation of something vibrant in the Divine nature. My grandmother loved strong pinks and related colors, which took me awhile to appreciate but I do now.
Most unusual linking of sounds to be interpreted! But the interpretations of the ancient priests are thoroughly undercut by venality and deliberate lack of clarity attributed to them. Is the poet-speaker unsure whether to trust interpretations given by modern sonogram technicians? Of course, they never say anything, but refer you to the doctor who ordered the test and only sees the sounds pictured on a graph!
All the oracles (including the big one at Delphi) were something of a racket. And a great many of the “tests” ordered by doctors today are solely for the doctors to get a payout from the insurance companies.