Author: Byungafallgren

The aim was song

~ Byungafallgren ~ Leave a comment 

The Aim was Song
Robet Frost--March 26, 1874--January 29, 1963

Before man came to blow it right
   The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
   In any rough place where it caught.

Man came to tell it what was wrong:
   It hadn't found the place to blow;
It blew too hard--the aim was song.
   And listen --how it ought to go!

He took a little in his mouth,
   And held it long enough for north
To be converted into south, 
   And then by measure blew it forth.

By measure. It was word and note,
   The wind the wind had meant to be--
A little through the lips and throat.
   The aim was song--the wind could see.

The Aim was Song was first published in The Measure:
A Journal of Poetry Vol. 1, no. 1, March 1921, and later
appeared in Robert Frost's collection, New Hampshire, 
Henry Holt & Company, in 1923. Mark Richardson,
professor of English at Doshisha University in 
Kyoto, writes in The Ordeal of Robert Frost: The Poet 
and his poetics that "through us nature excess itself
in form, Frost says, and brings us to the place where
nature evolves into culture, where chaos resolves itself
through human agency into something "created" orderly.
The Wind is articulated or measured out in speech, and 
not only into speech, but song--poetry.

Winter Blue Remedy Song

~ Byungafallgren ~ 4 Comments 

Winter Blue Remedy Song

As a remedy we tend to 
think of the ones shivering
in the cold, in the land near and far,

while the senile ones on the top
play the game of war.

Another winter blues, the one you can see
             in the dying plants;
             in the tears of a mother;
             in the shudder of the moon; remedy

yet to be found;
hidden in the bottom of
the conscience, gem in the rock;
             wish it points to the light. 


©Byung A. Fallgren

The sister, one of the two fingers

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
The Sister, one of the two fingers

Her eyes see things others don't
when it comes to her bro.
when she catches his post on the Facebook
about his past surgery as if recent one
and his worry on the hospital bill, 
her senses go purple alert; halt her impulse
to send him a check, give her mom a call
to make sure if he'd do that.
Mom says it must be a hacker.
she'd call her brother for sure.

Mom's heart blooms: she knew
two fingers are better than one,
like a nation needs ally. 

--Byung A.

Keeping her safe

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
Keeping her safe

As the sea rise with the global warm
The villages grow skyward? 
Tall and wind-ridden? but away

From iron grab of angry ocean.
The vulnerable woman we neglected.
Memory of yester years, dreaming

To go back to her
Of yester years. Is it too late?
Why not keep her safe now?

*

unbelieving or selfishness
everywhere signs of global warming
but smokestacks still emit CO2


©Byung A. Fallgren

in some Assuming

~ Byungafallgren ~ 2 Comments 
in some Assuming

once been a fiction writer, some think 
her poems are lies, with horror and thrill and all.
"It must be some fiction trying to..." they'd jeer.

She smiles then shudder at the imprudence
of it, then with pity, jokes, "Probably you are
right." then shrugs. Nevertheless,

she examines her poetry; sees it as true and 
hurried as the impatient dame herself.
only needs to morph more.

"Assume all you might," she whispers them, "but
know that, in doing so, you lose your empathy
and quality of word; what a waste. 

"That's how we lost each other, long ago,
on the green hill, on a balmy, dazed day.
what follows: years of tossing at night in doubt."


(c) Byung A. Fallgren