January 2018
Kenneth Salzmann
kensalzmann@gmail.com
kensalzmann@gmail.com
After a career divided between working in the arts and working for newspapers, I have arrived at a point where I can spend more time on my own creative work. While I’ve always written and published poetry, I’ve certainly never been as prolific before, and it has never been my primary pursuit before. These days, I live part of the year in Woodstock, New York, and part of the year in a magical pueblo in Mexico.
Author's Note: Fittingly, it was a bitter cold night at a house in the woods near New Paltz, New York, when, several years ago, the two scholars hosted an eclectic solstice celebration, grounded in the fear and awe and hope that crosses ages and cultures.
The professors ignite the solstice
with the mingling flames
of Hanukkiot and Vodou candles
to welcome or ward off
the longest night and surely
the darkest. The clouds
so dense and low a rising moon
is merely a rumor; the stars
an icy memory; the snow
as deep as doubt.
The scholars wrap a world's worth
of solstice mystery into a room
filled by the spirit of drums,
fire and awe.
Shekhinah and Ezili dance toward Bondye
while Bondye dances away.
The loa carry our whispers to the gods,
who hold close secrets to be revealed
only in the lengthening days.
The candle light is warmer than the candle flames.
The professors ignite the solstice
with the mingling flames
of Hanukkiot and Vodou candles
to welcome or ward off
the longest night and surely
the darkest. The clouds
so dense and low a rising moon
is merely a rumor; the stars
an icy memory; the snow
as deep as doubt.
The scholars wrap a world's worth
of solstice mystery into a room
filled by the spirit of drums,
fire and awe.
Shekhinah and Ezili dance toward Bondye
while Bondye dances away.
The loa carry our whispers to the gods,
who hold close secrets to be revealed
only in the lengthening days.
The candle light is warmer than the candle flames.
©2018 Kenneth Salzmann