Life With Horace

poetry & essays


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the sixth

bright eyes and loving spirit
found again, oh so stubborn
in her quest for peace
despite life’s quakes

we see her unafraid,
bold both in laughter
and in loving touch,
this gift of light

our admiration swells
the more for knowing
what she gladly paid as dues
in searching for the truth

____________________

poem © 2014 KH Rantilla. all rights reserved.


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The child within

She calls me now where once she hid frozen,
afraid of dark paned windows,
conjured menace staring blankly in.

I first returned to grasp at shards of understanding
and found instead a small hand needing mine,
we stood together, unafraid.

There was a magma shift, the hard and inky dark
shape-changed by love’s reagent into brightness,
the bond of trust rewarding us with grace.

 


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The piano duo

The photo shows my godmother, Anne Hull (left) and my grandmother, Mary Howe, circa 1920. They were both pianists and composers, and performed together as a piano duo from 1912 until 1935. They met at the Peabody Conservatory in Baltimore in 1905, when my grandmother was studying piano with Ernest Hutchinson. She later returned to the Peabody (with the unequivocal support of her husband, my grandfather) to study composition with Gustav Strube, gaining her diploma with high marks in 1922. She was active musically until the early 1960s, an internationally recognized composer, and a founder of the National Symphony.

Anne was studying for an Artist’s Diploma and Teaching Certificate. She had a rich musical life, never married, teaching first at The Institute of Musical Art in New York, and later The Juilliard Graduate School. Retiring in 1968 at the age of 80 she left New York to live in the Algarve, and shared a house with the conductor William Strickland.

Friends for the rest of their lives, they did extraordinary things in a world that sometimes considered them dilettantes, and not to be taken seriously.

My grandmother’s unequivocal take on being a woman composer, circa 1950:

“Women composers should be played more than they are. I don’t think conductors have a prejudice against women composers now. But no one puts women writers or women painters in a class any more and they still do with women composers. I know I considered it a handicap to be a woman when I started composing. I’m not a feminist. But I think I would have gotten along faster if I’d been a man.”

I generally admire her pieces, and think her art songs were her strongest. She knew many poets, and read poetry voraciously. Her friendship with the poet Elinor Wylie, whom she met during an early stay at the MacDowell Colony, is a story in itself (a particular favorite of mine is her setting of Wylie’s poem “When I Died in Berners Street”).


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Today, a while ago

A while ago I had a gift
and gave one too,
a lovely boy
whose soul and name
my heart reached out and held
before his birth.

And then he grew,
gifts seized with joy
and challenge met with grace,
in one quick moment,
my life’s blink
this swoosh, bright energy
old true soul, became a man
possessed of loving honesty.

Now two score on
a truth teller thinker
dreamer husband father
nephew cousin brother son,
above all friend,
his light shines bright
held always
in my soul’s arms
and in my heart.

__________________________________
for my son, on his 40th birthday


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Nana’s birthday surprise for YaYa

A few years ago my daughter and her family were living in Hawaii. My then 6 year old granddaughter YaYa couldn’t hear enough about all the snow we had in New Hampshire. A true snow child. My answer was to send her snowballs for her early February birthday.

The two Fedex ladies near the Manchester airport didn’t bat an eyelash when I said the styrofoam steaks box packed with newspaper and dry ice needed to go overnight to Hawaii. They would get it there. I didn’t say what needed to stay frozen, and they didn’t stop to wonder until it was all packed in a big cardboard box full of packing peanuts. There were many forms to fill out and lots of ‘Hazardous Contents’ stickers. It is a tricky thing to ship something packed in dry ice by plane.

When they finally did ask I confessed to sending snow to my granddaughter for her birthday. They were simultaneously horrified (it was not cheap) and charmed.

The surprise came off perfectly. YaYa was thrilled with her snowballs. As were her classmates the next day when the first snow many of them had ever seen were part of show and tell.

© 2014 KH Rantilla. all rights reserved.


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living beyond

there are many ways to live beyond
outside a town or village
certainly, or in
excess of any kind
bereft pf limit or of sense
but those of many years
walk in honor
passing milestones
in their lives
until they stand
a generation’s singleton

great age has hangers on
the limpet mines
of ache or cloudy thoughts
that veil perception
turn thoughts inward
slow withdrawal
roles now reversed
you are our rock
however spiny
we love you fiercely
need you always
cherished elder
still a pilgrim

_______________________
for Dorothy


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Everyday pleasures

At the piano I watch small fingers make their music so determined so well done the joy in her eyes is in my heart joking laughter with her brother so much taller than the last time more movies made and volumes read a classroom visit sticky hands and icing gingerbread embellished a dog asleep in sunlight the rhythm of lives cherished and held close in memory to be enriched once more

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This prose poem was written as I read about the events in the lives of two very dear members of an online creative group I belong to. it is posted in recognition of profound love and loss, and my abiding gratitude for the love of my family, as we gather together this week.


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The Stuffing Bowl

Once spied up on a dusty shelf
and brought home as a prize
the stuffing bowl sits quiet
holding memory in its curve
The sisterhood of early rising cooks
assembling the ingredients
of timeless celebrations
ingatherings of family and friends
all linked by common filament
It waits for careful hands
to lift it down and fill its heart again
with love and thankfulness

_______________________________
My sister Annie and I have always called each other on Thanksgiving morning, up early, cooking.


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finding joy

in a redwood grove
the sun’s arm lights the ferny floor

in the company of beloved children
there is nonsense and wonder

in the winter marshland
there is texture more than color

in the midst of singing
the voices tell me stories

in the simple potent thing
there is splendor waiting for me

it feasts my eyes
and I am full of joy


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lunch with a cousin

Being a southern girl at heart, my grandmother always set great store by her cousins. I’m with her on that, a good thing since I have a ton of them!

Yesterday, Cousin Stan came for lunch. My late husband’s first cousin, he lives in San Francisco and was making a swing through New England reconnecting with family and friends.

It was a really nice time — first a walk through the woods with the dogs, up the hill to see what animals had been visiting, and what colors were left in the woods. Over lunch there was lots of talking, catching up with news from our families, ourselves.

Turns out Stan is one of those special family glue people. He likes to keep in touch, connect branches of the family with each other. My uncle was like that, and family, sometimes quite distant cousins no one had ever heard of, often came to visit or for lunch.

I told him about discovering my cousin Cassie and her family, then through her Elizabeth, the three of us meeting this summer, third cousins all descended from one great great grandfather.

Seeing Stan brought back so many memories. He resembles his father and my late mother-in-law, and has some of their mannerisms, small things that tugged at my heart. They were with me in those moments. Guess I’m feeling a little wistful today, actually more than that, to be honest. It’s all good.

My youngest brother and sister and I are meeting up on the left coast next month. We’ll hang out, see lots of my son and his family, and also see Stan. It’ll be a good time.

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copyright © 2013 KH Rantilla