This morning, I’m packing for my New Orleans weekend and headed down to South Louisiana. I’ve got two appointments, and if I have time, I’ll try to work in some others. Tomorrow, I must get to Pelican early to pick up a couple of boxes of my books, then go to the Friends of the Cabildo Bookstore on Jackson Square, then to Tisket-A-Tasket. Traffic should be high in this busy season with such pretty weather. Saturday will be a long day at the Metairie and Kenner Sam’s Clubs. I’ll end up back in Monroe in the wee hours of the morning Sunday. I wanted to make this post this morning because I don’t know if I’ll get to make another before Sunday. In addition, I need to follow up on some phone contacts, but because cell phone reception is unpredictable on these trips, that may have to wait till Monday.
I have so many projects I need to get to. Just added another editing job last night. Looks like an interesting book though. One project I’ve already mentioned is the collection of poems based on the astrological signs. Another is a new one based on mythology. I recently saw a John William Waterhouse painting and it inspired this poem. There is a great essay on this painting here: http://www.newcastle.edu.au/school/fine-art/arttheoryessaywritingguide/johnwilliamwaterhousessainteulalia.html
A great site on Waterhouse, where I borrowed the painting below, is here: http://www.johnwilliamwaterhouse.com/
The painting is below the poem.
My Saint Eulalia
Martyred in AD 304,
In the terrors of Diocletian,
She is the patron saint of sailors.
In the Waterhouse painting,
I thought she looked like you,
Her beautiful exposed body
Cast to the cold, stone ground,
Falling snow her burial shroud.
Like her, you’ve been tortured . . .
Your heart torn with meat-hook words,
Your face scorched with fire-brand insults,
No one there wants to listen to your faith,
But we sailors do.
Her bones and relics are still
In the Church’s hands,
Kept with great veneration,
As great as the veneration
I have for those you’ve given me,
Relics that have given me fire and warmth.
With my poems I’ve built you a church,
Erected over the sad bloody ground of our hearts.
I am a sailor, and you are my saint,
Protecting, guiding, inspiring me,
And most of all, loving me.