To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

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To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

To be Published February 2–Nocturne: Poems of Love, Distance, and the Night, a callous and disinterested lover.

NocturneOn February 2, 2018, I will release my latest work, my only book of poetry.  It will be available initially only in e-book via Amazon and Kindle, but a print version will be released soon thereafter.

These poems were written from about 1985 to 1993, during which time I was an officer in the US Navy. This was a time of rapid and frequent change for me in many ways, including geographically, emotionally, professionally, and romantically.

During this time I had several lovers, who were always of good character and heart. They doubtlessly loved me more than I deserved, but I had an overpowering drive to experience as many women as I could. It was never a matter of heartlessly notching my proverbial bedpost, but honestly enjoying women for who they were. All these women were sincere in their feelings, beautiful in body and spirit, and honest with their emotions.  I suppose that what prevented me from forming a permanent attachment to any was a subtle, congenital character flaw of a need for solitude that inevitably won out over a need for a solid relationship.

As time passed, I enjoyed the hunt for women more and more and was more and more satisfied with one-night stands that I could find in local bars. My original sincerity gradually faded as I grew to identify more and more with the nightlife and the night itself. I lived for the night. Dawn was the unwelcome end to my adventures.

What stimulated my interest was my move to my first duty station at Naval Air Station Whidbey on Whidbey Island in northern Puget Sound in 1985. I fell quickly in love with the beauty of the San Juan Islands, Puget Sound, and the whole of the Puget Sound culture. I traveled as much as I could on weekends and, whenever I could, I would drop in on some small, out-of-the-way bookshop, where I became familiar with the works of local writers such as Tess Gallagher and Raymond Carver.

Something about that northwestern literary voice alleviated much of the professional tension I was feeling and I began to devour more and more of the northwestern literature, which became a stepping stone to a new literary world as I expanded my reading to the Beats, W.S. Merwin, and many others around the world. Soon I dabbled in writing poetry and found it at least as enjoyable as reading it, because it allowed me to ideas and feelings that had no other escape.

Somewhere around 1993 I began developing an interest in photography, which allowed me to express myself in other ways in which I could interact more intensely with my environment. Over the following years my love for photography supplanted my love for poetry, and then, true to my fickle nature, fiction began to supplant my love for photography, though the attraction to film and darkroom still lingers like the fond memory of a former lover.

Over the past year, I have begun contemplating my retirement from my current career and have begun to work at establishing myself as a writer for my second career. As part of that transition, I decided to collect as many of my poems as I could find and to publish them as my first serious literary accomplishment. Some of these are based on actual events; others are fiction designed to capture the spirit of the moment.

In reviewing them, I detected a theme. Therefore, I arranged them not in chronological order, but in an order that tells what I perceive as the story of my spiritual and emotional development during those years.

I made none of the photos contained herein. They are all public domain photos from online stock agencies. However, I selected each one carefully for capturing the intended spirit of the poem preceding it.

The Saturday Night Special: “The Bells” by Edgar Allan Poe (1850)

Edgar Allan Poe, circa 1849

Edgar Allan Poe, circa 1849

I.

         Hear the sledges with the bells--
             Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
       How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
           In the icy air of night!
       While the stars that oversprinkle
       All the heavens, seem to twinkle
           With a crystalline delight;
         Keeping time, time, time,
         In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
    From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells--
  From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

II.

         Hear the mellow wedding bells
             Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
       Through the balmy air of night
       How they ring out their delight!
           From the molten-golden notes,
               And all in tune,
           What a liquid ditty floats
    To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
               On the moon!
         Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
               How it swells!
               How it dwells
           On the Future! how it tells
           Of the rapture that impels
         To the swinging and the ringing
           Of the bells, bells, bells,
    Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
               Bells, bells, bells--
  To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

III.

         Hear the loud alarum bells--
                  Brazen bells!
What tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
       In the startled ear of night
       How they scream out their affright!
         Too much horrified to speak,
         They can only shriek, shriek,
                  Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
            Leaping higher, higher, higher,
            With a desperate desire,
         And a resolute endeavor
         Now--now to sit or never,
       By the side of the pale-faced moon.
            Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
            What a tale their terror tells
                  Of Despair!
       How they clang, and clash, and roar!
       What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
       Yet the ear, it fully knows,
            By the twanging,
            And the clanging,
         How the danger ebbs and flows ;
       Yet, the ear distinctly tells,
         In the jangling,
         And the wrangling,
       How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells--
             Of the bells--
     Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
         Bells, bells, bells--
  In the clamour and the clangour of the bells!

IV.

          Hear the tolling of the bells--
               Iron bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
       In the silence of the night,
       How we shiver with affright
  At the melancholy meaning of their tone!
         For every sound that floats
         From the rust within their throats
              Is a groan.
         And the people--ah, the people--
         They that dwell up in the steeple,
              All alone,
         And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
            In that muffled monotone,
         Feel a glory in so rolling
            On the human heart a stone--
       They are neither man nor woman--
       They are neither brute nor human--
              They are Ghouls:--
         And their king it is who tolls ;
         And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls,
              Rolls
            A pæan from the bells!
         And his merry bosom swells
            With the pæan of the bells!
         And he dances, and he yells ;
       Keeping time, time, time,
       In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the pæan of the bells--
               Of the bells :
       Keeping time, time, time,
       In a sort of Runic rhyme,
            To the throbbing of the bells--
            Of the bells, bells, bells--
            To the sobbing of the bells ;
       Keeping time, time, time,
            As he knells, knells, knells,
       In a happy Runic rhyme,
            To the rolling of the bells--
         Of the bells, bells, bells--
            To the tolling of the bells,
      Of the bells, bells, bells, bells--
               Bells, bells, bells--
  To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

A Short Analysis of Dylan Thomas’s ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’

Powerful reading:  A reading of a classic poem ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’ is probably the best-known villanelle in English poetry. If you’re not sure what a villanelle is, don’t worry – it’s not importan…

Source: A Short Analysis of Dylan Thomas’s ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’