Lying On My Back in the Snow at 11:30 ... A poem-song

12-20-2020 (A mini song-poem)

Lying on my back in the snow

at 11:30

Looking at the sky full of clouds

so bright they seem daylit

Whiteness reflecting

from above and below

As I am held

in a cocoon

of cold mist and sound

I feel beneath me

the firmness of the ground

Yet my body feels weightless

Feels weightless now

prayer song-poem

Today’s edition of Silvie shyly singing poems into her phone while on a walk. An idea revisited from mid February ...

“Let go of the fear and hold onto the joy.
The Father’s arms are open wide
     for you.
So come and lay your head on His shoulder. Hold onto his hand and you won’t feel lost
     any longer.
Hold on to the joy and let go of the fear.
The Father is beckoning you to come near.”

(a poem with pictures)

Make a wish,
If you dare.
Send a sign of your heart
Off into the air.
Only after the flower fades
Is it that you see the fruit.
Only after the seed of hope is fallen
Does a brand-new life shoot forth.

May-18-2020

 

This Life Brings Me to Tears (a poem)

19 April 2020 ... my heart is churning so much



This life brings me to tears
At its most beautiful
At its most cruel
At its most joyful
At its most wearisome

This life brings me to tears
And the stains on my cheeks
Lead me to wonder
What is past that has been good
And what has passed that is else

This life brings me to tears
Brings a smile to my face
Brings a pang to my heart
Brings a doubt to my mind
Like I have caught sight of something
     in the corner of my eye that I cannot find

This life brings me to tears
It fills me with words
And it leaves me speechless
It holds me in its embrace
And it lets me plummet through the world

This life brings me to tears
And leaves me looking for someone's arms
And leaves me searching for a lost melody
And leaves me lost in a reverie
Looking for a realization
    that is blowing in the wind.

 

A LETTER FOR MY BIRTHDAY, Apr-30-2020

Apr-30-2020


It’s my birthday.

It is the last day of another trip around the Sun. It is the last day of National Poetry Month and it is the last day of Autism Acceptance Month. I would like to say a few words about all this.

I AM GRATEFUL to G-d for all the blessings in my life, for my family, my security, my dear friends, my mentors, my opportunities…
I am grateful to all the people who have had an amazingly wonderful impact on this most recent circuit of mine through the solar system, for the relationships I have developed, for the sweetness and talents I have enjoyed…
I am grateful for ice cream and chocolate and crackers…
I am grateful for the song of wrens outside my window, the sound of the stream beside my house, the brightness of blossoming flowers and the rustling of wind in the trees...

I AM A POET. I see every aspect of life, every experience, and every art form as poetry. To call myself a poet is not a sign of hubris. It is a sign of vulnerability that I am willing to share with others the way I see myself and who I am at my core.

I AM AUTISTIC. I am grateful for the diagnosis I so unexpectedly received just two and a half years ago, one that validated me and so many of my experiences. I am grateful for the lessons this has opened to me and the deep communication it has allowed. I am grateful that I received this diagnosis at the YOUNG AGE of 19!—females with autism are usually overlooked for diagnosis and are underrepresented in clinical and popular knowledge, often either being diagnosed very late in life or never at all. I am grateful that I received my diagnosis in a healthy atmosphere! It was not a curse; it was an insight.

Recently I have been using these two tags in many of my posts: #AlsoIAmAutistic #NormalizeAutism. I am not putting them on “autism posts”. I am putting them on ORDINARY, general posts. I am a poet, I am a woman, I am a student of science … I am so many other other things … and, also, I am autistic. “Autism” is often seen as making someone totally “other”, as putting someone in a box that is conceptually so narrow and stifling and sad. Yes, I have differences from the typical allistic (non-autistic) person. But those differences do not eliminate our commonalities. Being autistic is an important part of my identity, but it is not all of it. I am also not identical to every autistic person in the universe! As with any large population, we autistics vary drastically! We have various interests and gifts and preferences and, yes, difficulties. I am not a paper cut-out. I AM A PERSON..

I want to see the day when it is not so rare an occurrence that the instance of me mentioning that I am autistic is met with understanding, acceptance and friendship rather than shock or incredulity. This is where normalizing autism comes in (This does NOT mean viewing everyone as autistic. It is NOT TRUE that “everyone is a little bit autistic”.). Normalizing autism means portraying autistic lives not as consisting of separate “autistic” moments and “human” moments, but as consisting completely and entirely of HUMAN moments. We are all human, in all the complexity and miraculousness that this entails.

Thank you.
Thank you for reading.
Thank you for being.

May G-d be near to you and sustain you and show you the depth of love that He has for you in all your being.

Silvie Ḥannah Lundgren
Sparrow, Little Well and woodland creature

****
P.S. Please do NOT support Autism Speaks. They are an anti-autistic hate organization who spread fear and misinformation about autistic people, are money-grubbing, encourage the use of trauma-causing therapy techniques, and do little to benefit the actual lives of autistics.

Любовные мысли

«Я тебя люблю»?..
Не знаю.
Ну, что такое «любовь»?
Это чувство?
Это действие?
Нет,
Она больше, чем
Кто-либо
На этой земле
Знает.

24.IV.2020

(original)
——————

Love-thoughts

“I love you” ... ?
I don’t know.
Well, what is love anyhow?
Is it a feeling?
Is it an action?
No,
She is greater than
Anyone
On this earth
Knows.

Apr-24-2020

(self-translation)
(I really enjoy it when my original ideas were Russian.)
————————————————————————————

#SilvieLundgrenPoetry

#AlsoIAmAutistic #NormalizeAutism

🧡

Bard Translation & Translatability Initiative, The Translation Symposium at Bard College (video conference), 24 April 2020

This was such a wonderful experience for which I am deeply grateful. I have never done a panel paper before! Here is my paper in case you are interested in reading it (it is not word-for-word what I said but is basically what I presented): “There is no native language: The perpetual question of “How would you say that?””

This made me feel so happy and enriched.

P.S. I am stodgily going with the classical rhetorical meaning of "beg the question". But I acknowledge that language morphs and expressions gain new meanings.

[I have a typo, at least one: schoolteacher is one word without a space.]

My Father the Blacksmith (2010 poem)

Quick study break: A friend asked me to dig up this poem I wrote in November 2010. (Not my absolute favorite, but it made quite the impression as a child.) Almost a decade ago, wow!


My Father the Blacksmith — by Silvie Lundgren

There he stood in front of his work
With his mallet and hammer,
And he swung one arm up
And then the other.
“Clang!-Clang!”
He worked on the metal day and night.

And on the bottom step of my cottage stairwell
I would stand and watch him,
And watch him,
I would watch him day and night,
Working with all his might.

And then one day,
When I went down
To the bottom step of my cottage stairwell,
I heard no “Clang!-Clang!”
Of the mallet and the hammer
(Going up in one hand,
And then the other).

The only sound to be heard
Was the moving of the water wheel.
“Whoosh!-Whoosh!”
And then I looked around the corner,
And what I saw I could not believe.

There lay my father The Blacksmith,
On the ground,
Mallet and hammer on the table still.
But there on the floor my father lay,
Never to swing the mallet and hammer
(One arm up
And then the other)
Again.

And then I knew
That I could never stand
On the bottom step of my cottage stairwell
And watch my father
The Blacksmith
Swing his mallet and hammer
Ever again.

“Clang!-Clang!-Clang!-Clang!”

And then the next day,
My father was buried.
Deep, deep under the ground,
To lie still and rest forever.

And I fell to tears in my mother’s lap,
For my father The Blacksmith
I could see no more.

And now,
All I remember:
The sound of digging up gravel
And laying my father — The Blacksmith — down.

__



[Original written November 2nd, 2010. Underwent modification exactly 3 years later for school.]

#AlsoIAmAutistic #NormalizeAutism

🧡

My real-life father is alive and well.

The sun yet shines ...

The sun yet shines ...


The sun yet shines,
Gets in my eyes ...
And filled with smiles,
I draw the blinds,
Seeing those
Spectacular shadows
That of the light remind.
______

I’m just being silly over here. I thought this set of marbled shadows looked beautiful, and it wasn’t meant to turn into a poem. (Pictures look better if you view them fully.)

#poetry
#creativity

#AlsoIAmAutistic #NormalizeAutism

🧡

My Father the Blacksmith (a 2010 poem)

Quick study break: A friend asked me to dig up this poem I wrote in November 2010. (Not my absolute favorite, but it made quite the impression as a child.) Almost a decade ago, wow!

My Father the Blacksmith — by Silvie Lundgren

There he stood in front of his work
With his mallet and hammer,
And he swung one arm up
And then the other.
“Clang!-Clang!”
He worked on the metal day and night.


And on the bottom step of my cottage stairwell
I would stand and watch him,
And watch him,
I would watch him day and night,
Working with all his might.

And then one day,
When I went down
To the bottom step of my cottage stairwell,
I heard no “Clang!-Clang!”
Of the mallet and the hammer
(Going up in one hand,
And then the other).

The only sound to be heard
Was the moving of the water wheel.
“Whoosh!-Whoosh!”
And then I looked around the corner,
And what I saw I could not believe.

There lay my father The Blacksmith,
On the ground,
Mallet and hammer on the table still.
But there on the floor my father lay,
Never to swing the mallet and hammer
(One arm up
And then the other)
Again.

And then I knew
That I could never stand
On the bottom step of my cottage stairwell
And watch my father
The Blacksmith
Swing his mallet and hammer
Ever again.

“Clang!-Clang!-Clang!-Clang!”

And then the next day,
My father was buried.
Deep, deep under the ground,
To lie still and rest forever.

And I fell to tears in my mother’s lap,
For my father The Blacksmith
I could see no more.

And now,
All I remember:
The sound of digging up gravel
And laying my father — The Blacksmith — down.

______

[Original written November 2nd, 2010. Underwent modification exactly 3 years later for school.]

#poetry

#creativity
#AlsoIAmAutistic #NormalizeAutism

🧡

My real-life father is alive and well.

Bard Translation & Translatability Initiative presents: The Translation Symposium at Bard College—April 24, 2020 (via Zoom online)

I am sooooo deeply excited and grateful about this! If you want to attend (via Zoom), please let me know!

🌱🧡📚📖

Урррррра! Такие новости!

This Life Brings Me to Tears (a poem)

This Life Brings Me to Tears (a poem)
19 April 2020 ... my heart is churning so much


This life brings me to tears
At its most beautiful
At its most cruel
At its most joyful
At its most wearisome

This life brings me to tears
And the stains on my cheeks
Lead me to wonder
What is past that has been good
And what has passed that is else

This life brings me to tears
Brings a smile to my face
Brings a pang to my heart
Brings a doubt to my mind
Like I have caught sight of something
in the corner of my eye that I cannot find

This life brings me to tears
It fills me with words
And it leaves me speechless
It holds me in its embrace
And it lets me plummet through the world

This life brings me to tears
And leaves me looking for someone's arms
And leaves me searching for a lost melody
And leaves me lost in a reverie
Looking for a realization
that is blowing in the wind

.............
#poetry

 

A poem about zooming out a little in life

Let your eyes blurr over a little,
Not focusing so much in to every detail.
Let yourself catch a glimpse of that bigger picture
Which is made of parts, but is only whole.

April 18, 2020


(I left “blurr” intentionally spelled that way, and I am aware that the English phrases are usually “eyes go blurry“ and “eyes glaze over”.)

#creativity
#AlsoIAmAutistic #NormalizeAutism
🧡

Dancing! — Post #2

Since I have decided to embarrass myself by sharing me flailing about in my room trying not to knock into things ... Here is the other video I did yesterday, which I took directly before the first one I posted. This is my favorite song in Spanish right now. “Conocido”, by Tauren Wells, about Divine love that sees us completely—every beautiful detail and every flaw—and has wide-open arms for us. He has an English version too (“Known”). I like the Spanish version so much. 

I was not feeling as secure while filming this one.

This is the link to his English version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xckDgX8xNfg

Dancing!

Dance is a great way to get the lifeblood flowing, and even to meditate. The camera slipped down when I started the video, so it is pointed a bit too low. I do not usually dance in a situation when anyone can observe me; I am going out on a very unfamiliar limb here to share this!

May you have a Shabbat filled to overflowing with shalom and simcha and ahavat haAv. Draw near to G-d and He will draw near to you, because He loves you. 🎶💃🏻👸🏻🧝‍♀️✨🕍📖🌱

The music is by the band Sons of Korah. It is Psalm 91. They are wonderful, please check them out, click on their name above to see their page. If it does not work, just search for their name.

A Poem with a Long and Somewhat Facetious Double Title of Which This is a Part: Street Smarts nor City Smarts nor Guile Have I None (Well, I Have Some) + Men are Exasperating

(Notice to the Reader: This poem is from my Spring 2019 semester abroad in Saint Petersburg, Russia, and is based on personal experiences there. This was my first ever taste of city life. It is not meant to denigrate Russia, a place where I very much enjoyed being, nor is it meant as an insult to men.)


I have been catcalled in two Russian cities,
The ones they call capitals,
And asked out by an overfamiliar fellow
Who followed alongside and would not leave,
Stopped suddenly by an old, impertinent smoker
Who stood passing time at the crosswalk corner.

I have heard the most unpleasant, loud kiss
In the air beside my face
As I walked on the sidewalk to university,
Heard strange compliments from behind me
As I sat with another girl in the metro station,
Heard a guy lean over to his friends and say, “She’s cute,”
Not realizing I could understand.

I have been hailed stubbornly at night from a red car
With my friends on a street corner,
Been looked at going down the long metro escalator,
Been flirted with by a few more pleasant persons,
And asked sweetly after by one decent friend-of-a-friend.

I have been asked my name out of nowhere,
Asked my number ...
Asked where I am from by a too-interested drunk stranger,
Asked why I am not smiling,
Asked why I look scared—
As if you would understand.
As if you cared.

No one showed this small-town girl
The ropes to living in a city.
No one taught me beforehand in this language
How to say the words, “Get away from me”,
Or how to ignore someone without feeling ashamed
Or walk past a sales-boy who slyly startles me
Into stopping and now stands blocking my way.

They taught me how to ask directions and how to be polite,
How to buy metro tokens and
Keep my possessions held tight.
No one told me when it is safer to be a foreigner
Who understands nothing
And when it is better to speak my best Russian
With a flawless accent,
Except that we should pretend to not know Russian
If we are stopped by the police.

No one could have thought to tell me
How to make sure I get on a bus travelling the right direction.
Someone did instruct me
To shove my way confidently in and out of a metro car
And warned me to say “no” firmly
If I ever do not want something
But not what to do in case I forget how to even utter the word.

I have learned that averting my gaze
Is not a sign of humiliation
(It is a survival tactic),
And sometimes I choose the road and oncoming traffic
Instead of the sidewalk,
Where the men waiting in lines ogle
As if standing in a group
Gives them the right to be rude
(I will not refer to their brazenness as courage).

I have learned that I cannot always keep my wits about me:
When I am surprised I may surprise myself
(It is a wonder I did not find myself in real trouble).
I have learned to stare straight ahead,
Pretending I cannot see the several young men on the street
Who may or may not move aside,
All while I strive to be aware of my surroundings,
Wanting to pass them by as quickly as I can
But not to look like I am running away.

I have learned that walking with confidence
Limits the power of those watching me pass.
I have learned that many men
Are willing to treat me like a slut if I am wearing heels,
Regardless of how else I am dressed.
I have learned that if I am lost I had best not show it,
Because some men are kind
And others are scoundrels.


22 May 2019, origination; 28 December 2019 and 2 January 2020, expansion; March/April 2020, edits

alone (a poem)

This is from July 2018. It has a melody too, but I don’t have that prepared:



I just want to be alone
But I don’t want to be left alone
I want someone to stay by me

I just want to see
The love that’s in your eyes
Even though I am so afraid
To look you in the face

I just want to spend some time
With someone who understands
With someone who does not judge me

I just want to know
That however I may be
You can be here
To be here for me

I want to reach out and I want you to hold me
Even though I walk away
And I put up so many walls

I just want to be alone
Yet all the while I yearn, yearn for company

I just want to be alone
But please don’t you leave me

                       * * *
If our souls know each other's soul
Then stay a while with me
And if they are strangers still
Then maybe they can meet
At some point of understanding
With an ounce of love and of compassion                       * * *
I
Just want to be
Not alone

I just want to
Be not
Alone

Life's as easy as ...

It always seems significant to me that this is the street address of our little hamlet's church.

“In these uncertain times” (a 'spot' poem in response to hearing a phrase)

“In these uncertain times,” they say,
But the times are always uncertain.
Not one day ahead
Is ours to predetermine.
“The sun will dawn as usual upon my life”
Remains our quotidian assertion,
And, while likely, the truth remains: it is uncertain.


16 April 2020

#ThisIsHowISocializeNow ...

I, I
Here I lie
Beneath weight of sky
Blithely making googly eyes


Poetry/pictures from April 4

       

National Poetry Month and Autism Acceptance Month (+ a poem)

April is National Poetry Month 📝 and Autism Acceptance Month ∞ (It is also my birth month according to the Gregorian Calendar, but my birthday anniversary is a few weeks out yet!). I am both a poet and autistic (albeit rather covertly, in the case of the latter).


Here is a poem back from 10/7/2013, when I was fifteen:


Have you ever looked at a tree
And just thought,
"Oh, what a beautiful tree."?—
Have you ever smiled and not wondered why?

Life feels like a sigh
Without the breath before,
Like a splash of rainbow color
From a single falling tear.

Sometimes the wind blows
And it brings down a forest,
But the wind is still beautiful—
Full of whirling leaves.

a poem from 2/7/2013

2/7/2013

icicles in my mind
wait to plunge and strike
cold mixes with warmth
frigid in the dark

I am a punk, I am a poet ... (a poem)

I am a punk, I am a poet.
I am a kind girl with goodness in her heart.
I am a sweet girl whose mind is sometimes
     suffocated by the dark.

I am a punk, I am a poet.
I see disaster in every ending and an end in every start.
For me twixt bliss and melancholy
     the line turned out not so well marked.


Edited March 27, 2020 from a January 2020 scrap.

#punkpoet #punk
#DysplasioftheSoul

29.5735 Milliliters of Irony (a poem)

I'm heartbroken
So what does that make me …
I'm bleeding out
But it's all in—
Inside of me

Nobody died
Nobody left me
See, I’ve just got
A kind of tragic
Personality

And a fractured heart recirculating
Nine pints of pining blood
I've been bleeding out
But it's all in—
Inside of me

March 27, 2020


#punkpoet #punk
#DysplasiaoftheSoul

March 24, 2020

Lately I’ve been struggling,
Can’t shake the sense I’m drowning.
It seems like there’s no air,
But maybe I just forgot
     the way to breathe.

Lately I’ve been trembling,
Can’t shake the fear I’m losing
     who I’m supposed to be,
Holding happy, love-filled moments
     in my one hand,
My guilt and terror in the other.

Oftentimes it’s best
To keep trudging on through life’s quagmires,
Other times to lie flat
To keep from sinking in the quicksand.

Struggling, struggling
     like a bird in a net,
Like a fish trapped in air,
Like a dancer who has fallen
     and can’t free her foot
From her mind’s own snare.

Lately I’ve been struggling
And wondering
     when I will ever make it out of here.


#punkpoet #punk
#DysplasiaoftheSoul

(a poem prayer)

Blessed are You, O L-rd, my G-d,
Ruler of the universe,
Who fills my blood with life,
My lungs with air,
My mind with light
And my mouth with prayer


March 22, 2020, on a walk after dusk

#poetry #prayer
#onlyOnerulestheuniverse

(a springtime poem)

Spring has sprung
When fiery crocus blossoms
Join fresh-brung birdsong
And sweet earth-smell surrounds
Paths coatlessly tread upon
Basking in warm-bright sun
Grown steadily more lingersome
On a soft Marchtime horizon


March 4-6&14, 2020