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related:

p r o f i l e s    i n    s t i l l n e s s
a dew-on-line feature three 

 

page one

our featured poet's winter garden in its second bloom

original image copyright  Marjorie Buettner  2002


page two

   

 

 

p r o f i l e s     i n     s t i l l n e s s
______________________________________________

 

o f   p o e t s   t o u c h e d   b y   g r a c e

 

 

 

 

 


page three

 

 

 

feature
______________________________________________


three

 

 

 

 

 

 


page four

 

 

Marjorie Buettner

______________________________________________

 

deep into nature . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


page five

 

 

 

 

 

                        After-Rain

                        After the rain black
                        birds start from
                        trees looking like
                        magician's
                        handkerchiefs thrown
                        open, silk,
                        waving in the wind.



 

 

 



 

 


page six

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002 

 

page seven
 

 

 

 

                        windy moon*
                        leaking through the empty parts
                        within
                        how strange this mid-aged body
                        still yearns for another birth



 

 

 



                       * Cherokee moon in March: traditionally the start of the new cycle of planting

 


page eight

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

 

page nine
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       At the Lake

                       On the drive to Lake Superior, phosphorous fireflies stain the windshield.
                       It is the sound of a dying star which we have thrown wishes to.

                       We fall down together.
                       Wild birds at the side of the road.

                        In the morning, I hear the emptiness of wings cup the sky.
                        It is the oriental wisdom of the dead.

                        Moving through this well of gravity, we want to feel beyond what we touch.
                        How the lake becomes vivid with dusk.

                        We sit in the circled light of burning wood.
                        Later your body is forest through which I find my way home.



 

 

 



 

 


page ten

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002


page eleven
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        Morningtide

                        Five a.m.,
                       
a crescent moon leans and
                        pulls at my belly.
                        Outside
                        a bird quiets a branch
                        rocking against a raven sky.
                        Later,
                        I will hear
                        dull throbs of lovers

                        behind an apartment wall
                        and think it is insects straining
                        against a wire-meshed screen.

                        



 

 

 



 

 


page twelve

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002


page thirteen
 

 

 

 

 

                        filtered through the window shades
                        sun shadows fill up the room

                        I close my eyes to see you better
                        how our boundaries merge

                        this afternoon has no end
                        I empty myself into you



 

 

 



 

 


page fourteen

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

 

page fifteen
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        The Borders of Sleep

                        The fog floods the air
                        as if it were
                        a liquid thing
                        seeking its own depth.
                        I am submerged,
                        following the narrowly lit path home,
                        unable to see
                        the outline of buildings,
                        the night sky, trees.
                        Who can say if this is the right way?
                        And where do the borders lie?
                        In the morning, the air
                        once again
                        is clouded by that mercurial wave.
                        It has invaded my sleep.
                        Is there a distinction between
                        the dreamer and the dream?
                        The wave and the sea?
                        The leaf carries the moth's absence
                        wherever it goes.
                        Even the sky at dawn
                        is signatured by stars.






 

 

 



 

 


page sixteen

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

 

page seventeen
 

 

 

 

 

                        how slowly this silvered moonlight travels
                        crossing the snow-spent lawn

                        such mysteries rising in the depth
                        this vast night sky

                        I lock the door and switch off the light
                        heavy with distance and time



 

 

 



 

 


page eighteen

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

 

page nineteen
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                       The Weight of Love

                        When the air at night is as warm as my skin,
                        I walk transparent into your arms.

                        When the air at night is wild roe,
                        I feed my bones to the moon.

                        When the air at night is velvet-lined,
                        I want to lie in the weight of your heart.

                        When the air at night is petal-scented,
                        I am like the unborn smelling the stars.




 

 

 

 


page twenty

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

 

page twenty-one
 

 

 

 

 

                        the wind tonight
                        drafty through the window pane
                        has winter in it
                        and this heart of heart still knows
                        the rime of being alone





 

 

 



 

 


page twenty-two

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002


 page twenty-three
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                        A Winter's Tale

                        When the language of mirrors haunts the tongue,
                        in the dark every mirror is a black sun.

                        We are hidden in the middle of each other
                        like the dwarf of myself in your eyes.

                        Dark river, pewter moon rising:
                        the night sky bends over the land like a lost lover.

                        In the middle of a winter's night
                        I have found in you a fire I can live by.





 

 

 



 

 


page twenty-four

original artwork copyright  ai  li  2002

 

]page twenty-five
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                         Before the Storm

                         Before the storm broke
                         the reveling of cardinals
                         punctuated the thicket of gray-green sky
                         with a different light
                         diffusing, as well, that storm growth in me.

                         This language of birds haunts my heart;
                         unable to translate, I stand, transfixed
                         but not removed, wondering when
                         I reach the last of my days
                         if I could ever be ready--
                         wanting less instead of more?


 

 

 



 

 


page twenty-six
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

f i n i s

___________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


page twenty-seven
 

 

 

 

 

 

Marjorie Buettner
______________________________________________


I have written poetry all my life and, like music, I cannot live 
without one or the other.  I live in Minnesota with my husband and three 
daughters.  I have a master's degree in Literature and Philosophy. 

My current publication credits are:  Anthologies:  Red Moon Haiku 
Anthology, (U.S.), 1998, In the Ship's Wake (U.K.), 2001, Countless 
Leaves (Canada), 2001, Tundra: a collection of short verse (U.S.), 2001.  
Haiku publications:  Modern Haiku, Frogpond, still (U.K.), The Heron's 
Nest, Raw NerVZ (Canada), Snapshots (U.K.), and Acorn.  Tanka 
Publications:  American Tanka, Hummingbird, Lynx, Tangled Hair (U.K.) 
still (U.K.), and Woodpecker (Netherlands).  On-line publcations:  Lynx, 
Poetry in the Light, World Haiku Review.  I have recently won First place in 
the Florida State Poets Association, 2001 in the sijo form. I have received 
placement in the 2001 Tanka Splendor Awards.  I have also received 
Honorable Mention from Japan's 4th annual Suruga-Baika Literary Festival, 
2002, Japan's Mainichi haiku contest, 2001 and Honorable Mention in the 
James Hackett's British Haiku Society's 2001 contest.  I have received 
Honorable Mention for tanka in still's poetry contest, 2000 and 2001 and 
an Honorable Mention certificate for tanka from Japan's Society on Water 
Environment, 2001.  I also write book reviews for North Stone Review, 
Modern Haiku and the World Haiku Review. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


page twenty-eight
 

 

 

thank you Marjorie for sharing your poems

__________________________________________________________________

 

 

if you have enjoyed the small selection of Marjorie's poetry presented
in this third feature of profiles in stillness on dew-on-line,
you may be pleased to know that you will be able to read more
of this versatile poet's work in  still 4 one, still 4 four,
still 5 one, and still 5 two .

none of the work featured in this section has appeared in still.

these editions of still are available from
back editions
on still's website

 

 

 

 

all featured poems copyright Marjorie Buettner 2002

 

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