Poem Review: Moonlight
I was supposed to write this poetry review in May — when there are no rains, and the summer is warm at night and scorching in the days. I wrote another review about ‘Letting Go’, while I sat on this review. But June is the last month of the summer — before monsoons kick in elsewhere in the country. So, let us get on with this.
This summer is like no other. I walked out of my study and around the quiet apartment block. A sneaky old female dog runs around. Two black and ginger cats preen around as if they own the apartment. During the day, the raven (of the Summer Raven) doesn’t like them.
The summer looks best under the moonlight. The people are already in, weary of the unusual heat on the way. My evening routine of gym, dinner, and post-dinner walks enjoying the peace and the quiet as my mind slows down from the humdrum of the day and the rigmaroles of entrepreneurship and seeks company — a quiet, cool company of the moon. The milky whitewashes the buildings, trees, and open area — the shadows are softer than the day.
“And then I feel as if I’m witnessing a miracle, as ever so slowly she raises her face towards the moon. I watch her drink in the sight, sensing the flood of memories she’s unleashed and wanting nothing more than to let her know I’m here. But instead, I stay where I am and stare up at the moon as well. And for the briefest instant, it almost feels like we’re together again.”
― Nicholas Sparks, Dear John
Such a serene moment flows into me in the form of verses, and I think of the poets who have walked this path — with the white orb as their company.
a) Poem 1: Lost in Moonlight by Jacob Bergheof melds our minds into the moonlight so much that the sun looks like a stranger;
b) Poem 2: Moonlight Yoga by Therese Young Kim explores the mystical qualities of the moon as she soaked in innocent radiance
c)Poem 3: In Shining Armor by Chloe Douglas brings out the inner knighthood with its attributes of courage, harmony, and freedom inspired by the moonlight
d) Poem 4: Moonlight Reverie by Ahmed Anwar teases us with the little things that soak us into the milky trance.
Why wait? Let us walk and drink in the cool, milky white of moonlight sonata.
Poem 1: Lost In Moonlight
I walked in the woods, on a path I walked
many times before, completely lost in thought,
not noticing that darkness was falling, that stars
appeared in the sky, that moonlight
brightened my path. A sound brought me out of my musings, I was startled and looked up,
surprised to see that the tree’s silvery white
stood out against the darkness of the night.
A warm yellow light called me, far away
from behind the trees. I was in doubt,
should I go? Is it a dream or am I awake?~Jacob Berghoef
Commentary on Poem 1:
One should explore Poet Jacob’s work to understand the depth of his writings and artwork. He likes the fringes of time — both the day and seasons and opens the little details into colorful hues and words that result in a melody for horizons. A small walk in the woods at night brings out the poet in him.
I walked in the woods, on a path I walked
many times before, completely lost in thought,
not noticing that darkness was falling, that stars
appeared in the sky, that moonlight
brightened my path
The poet loves long walks in solitude, just like me.
Such long ways are never lonely, because we immerse in thoughts that flood our minds. The mind churns the future questions and unsolved problems, grinding so loud that the silence of the night becomes a white noise. But there are times when the mind seeks outward, embracing the silence to escape its ruthless churn. But the poet indicates that he is ‘lost in thought’ alluding to the first situation, where his mind is too busy to notice the usual things like nightfall, stars, and the moonlight.
But if you notice the lines, you would realize that the poet says ‘not noticing’, yet gives a vivid illustration of the ‘falling darkness’, ‘stars in the sky’, and the ‘brightness on his path by the moonlight’. A dual perspective of thinking inward, while observing things that haven’t been noticed is a big philosophical question.
We are made up of many fragments, each contradicting the other, both linguistically, factually and theoretically, contradictory desires, contradictory pursuits, ambitions that deny affection, love and so on — one is aware of these fragments. And who is the observer who decides what he should do, what he should think, what he should become? Surely one of the fragments. He becomes the analyser, he assumes the authority. ~ J Krishnamurthy
The poet becomes the philosopher here, seeing but not observing, in a contradiction of perspectives between within and without.
A sound brought me out of my musings, I was startled and looked up,
surprised to see that the trees silvery white
stood out against the darkness of the night.
The moments soaked in reverie belong to another realm, a universe of the poet’s thoughts. An external stimulus, a sound brings the poet back to the present, where he is seeing the nightfall yet not noticing the sky.
Then, he becomes the observer — his mind connects with his senses with such suddenness, that he is startled by the change of realms. The startling effect is followed by the surprise of the beautiful silvery wash on the trees that stand like beacons amid the darkness of the night, more like divas on the night stage.
A warm yellow light called me, far away
from behind the trees. I was in doubt,
should I go? Is it a dream or am I awake?
A warm yellow light from the eastern horizon pierces the ethereal, cool, white ambiance. After a deep slumber, the sun is now awake while the poet has been walking in the woods. The wander-and-ponder now gets the piercing golden wake-up call.
“Dawn was breaking, like the light from another world.”
― Alfred Jarry, The Supermale
The presence of the yellow light is an invitation to reality, as the poet finally has to decide between dream or wakeful reality.
Poem 2: Moonlight Yoga
While Poet Jacob encounters dawn as the culminating event of his moonlight poem, Poet Theresa is waiting with her October moon for the sun to set on the western horizon.
The October full moon lingers in her pale shadow
waiting for the sun to plunge
into the sunset riverbefore she enters the night.
Standing under an old oak, I place my hand
onto its bark thickened and groovedlike a rice farmer’s palm.
I stretch my arms over the head and slowly arch back
like a crescent moon and inhale the faint scent
of the old tree.
When I was innocent like a plum I used to play
hide-and-seek under a harvest moon, hidingbehind a stone Bddha with missing ears.
I circle the oak, like the moon around the earth
not once turning her face to revealthe dark side of her.
The full moon beams down onto my head
as if trying to levitate me.
Aware of her magic that can lift the ocean,
I dig down my heels into the earthwhere I belong.
Drinking the forgiving air of the moon-drunken park
I amble down to the city light dancing
in the full moon night.Written by © Therese Young Kim Posted April 6, 2024
Commentary on Poem 2:
This poem is a beautifully crafted meditation under the moonlight.
The October full moon lingers in her pale shadow
waiting for the sun to plunge
into the sunset riverbefore she enters the night.
The scene is set in the twilight of an October evening. The stage is set to change — the main act of the day is over, and the sun is set to retire. Even the sun, the giver, needs a bath and a rest. The moon follows the sun to take its primary role in the sky.
“Tell me the story..
About how the sun loved the moon so much…
That she died every night…
Just to let him breathe…”
― Hanako Ishii
The relationship between the sun and moon is complicated. Lovers, fellow actors, dependants… the list is long. But here, it is a character by itself, waiting for the sun to cede its space in the sky. The diva, you know.
Standing under an old oak, I place my hand
onto its bark thickened and groovedlike a rice farmer’s palm.\
When I was innocent like a plum I used to play
hide-and-seek under a harvest moon, hidingbehind a stone Bddha with missing ears.
The old oak tree represents the eons that have passed by almost as old as the moon. Like the rice farmer's palm, the calloused barks of the tree represent the weather-beaten and hardened surface. In a sense, the earthy, timeless permanence and all-weather wisdom of the ages is evident in these lines.
“It’s not a love of the old as such. It’s simply that the process of aging or deterioration provides the necessary detachment — or arouses a necessary sympathy.”
― Susan Sontag
The poet looks at the vintage of the oak tree as a yardstick of her young innocence. The tree is now like a piece of furniture, compared to the plum of blissful innocence of the poet. She brought life to that quiet place, playing hide-and-seek, while her folks harvested the bounty through the night illuminated by the white moon. The presence of a broken Buddha statue — with its missing ears — indicates the amorphous existence of religion in rustic life.
I stretch my arms over the head and slowly arch back
like a crescent moon and inhale the faint scent
of the old tree.
The oak tree is her maternal figure and the moon is her friend. Her flexing and arching of her back was like the crescent moon yet smelling the old oak tree’s aroma floated into her nostrils. It is a perfect world — vintage woody smells from the oak tree and the perfect arc of the moon.
I circle the oak, like the moon around the earth
not once turning her face to revealthe dark side of her.
The full moon beams down onto my head
as if trying to levitate me.
The timeless permanence and centricity of the oak tree on a relative timescale against the poet's youth and mobility are compared with the relative position of centricity and vintage of the earth with the moon. The poet is looking at the oak tree, and not turning her back toward it. Her analogous companion, the moon, the circumambulating their older counterparts, shining her white, cool beams on her, participating in the fun, even trying to levitate her.
The poet draws the moon as a young, vibrant companion for her nighttime play, while her family is out there harvesting.
Aware of her magic that can lift the ocean,
I dig down my heels into the earthwhere I belong.
The magic — the pulling force of gravity that lifts the tides, and those high tides fill in the crevices on the earth’s surface. The magnetic effect of the white orb, with its little speckles, is so attractive to her, like the waves of the ocean, that the poet had to plant her feet firmly — despite the moon’s intoxicating invitation, she likes to play around the oak tree.
Drinking the forgiving air of the moon-drunken park
I amble down to the city light dancing
in the full moon night.
The intoxicating white soaks the park — the moon has many companions, so as the poet is forgiven; the night is about soft invites and merriment. The little girl walks under the omnipresent, smooth, melting trance — in the park and the city. It is her world, filled with loads of love and moonlight.
Poem 3: In Shining Armour
In shining armour
Stepping into the light
As if it were day
The moon is my torch
Leading the way
Close to the lone tree
Yet under the hill
I am not yet visible
And my memory is still
Listening to Twilight Fall
Gathering momentum
A prayer on the wing
Making all the birds sing
‘Time to take flight
Our knight is melody
We are invincible
Our language is free!’
©️Chloe Douglas, 12–04–22
Commentary on Poem 3:
If Poet Therese brought out the innocence kind of the moon, Poet Chloe sees harmony and inspiration of a knight’s journey. If there is a white knight in shining armor in all our lives, it is the moon.
In shining armour
Stepping into the light
As if it were day
The moon is my torch
Leading the way
Close to the lone tree
Yet under the hill
Our existential questions always have one answer: purpose. When we feel purposeful, we will discover the knight in shining armor within.
The poet steps out, adorning a shining, silvery armor — this could be her will, purpose, education, or skill- shielding her from the vagaries of time (or weather). The journey starts under the moonlight soaking in a cool, calm, and white ambiance, acting as a beacon or a torch, as it illuminates the poet’s path.
“Knighthood lies above eternity; it doesn’t live off fame, but rather deeds.”
― Dejan Stojanovic, The Sun Watches the Sun
This solitary journey is arduous and meandering, crossing a lonely tree and beneath the hills. This journey is symbolic of our lives, where we embark on a journey with purpose, and are equipped with hope, wisdom, and faith, but are judged by our deeds.
I am not yet visible
And my memory is still
Listening to Twilight Fall
Gathering momentum
In this journey from an anonymous origin to a visible knighthood, we mature with wisdom and experience. Experience comes with initiative ( our start) and action (our progress). The poet reckons her invisibility yet, but her memory is clear, as she remembers her purpose.
She sees the sun disappearing, leaving the trailing hues in the sky behind, but the moon is there, acting as her comrade. With that confidence, the knight ( the poet) picks up speed in her journey through the moonlit night.
A prayer on the wing
Making all the birds sing
‘Time to take flight
Our knight is melody
We are invincible
Our language is free!’
Apart from the moon, the poet has her companion in this long and arduous journey. So a little prayer will do a lot of good, and more so, if it is a musical expression of faith and harmony.
The soft beams of the moon spread in the cool breeze, setting the visual ambiance for the harmonious melody, melding with nature that screams freedom.
“Possibilities are always revealed in the moonlight.”
― Andrew Pacholyk, Barefoot ~ A Surfer’s View of the Universe
The moonlight illuminates the darkness, acting as a symbol of hope and faith, of musical harmony and a beacon of fortitude, matching the silvery shine of the armor that the knight wears on her journey.
A magical poem of hope and harmony… now leads us to the magic of the moonlight from Poet Ahmed’s perspective.
Poem 4: Moonlit Reverie 🌠
Under the bright moon’s gentle light,
Where shadows dance in the night,
Whispers breeze through trees so tall,
Sharing secrets, one and all.Silver beams in the tapestry spun,
Magic, love, and mystery spun,
In stillness, emotions take flight,
Beneath the moon’s enchanting light.Old tales blend with new,
In the moon’s soft hue,
Night Alive with whispered themes,
Bathed in the moon’s gentle beams.Hand in hand, let’s wander free,
Through this moonlit reverie,
Where hearts soar and spirits soar,
In the night forever more.~Ahmed Anwar
Commentary on Poem 4:
The enchanting moonlight melts Poet Ahmed’s heart with hope and harmony. While Poet Chloe brought out the beauty of a journey under the moon, Poet Ahmed’s perspective is about percolation emanating from the moonlight’s stillness.
Under the bright moon’s gentle light,
Where shadows dance in the night,
Whispers breeze through trees so tall,
Sharing secrets, one and all.
On the night of the full, bright moon, stillness and silence are illuminated by the gentle white light. It behooves a breeze to bring a frail and fragile moment, in whispering whiffs through the tall trees, and their shadows dance to the silent tunes, leaning towards each other as if they were sharing secrets.
“The ferns are silvery in the moonlight, the woods full of shifting shadows.”
― Holly Black, The Stolen Heir
The breeze, the trees, and the moon form a sort of dance party — quiet, whispery, black and white turned out to be magical in the poet’s eyes.
Silver beams in the tapestry spun,
Magic, love, and mystery spun,
In stillness, emotions take flight,
Beneath the moon’s enchanting light.
One has to walk around a park or a garden or spend time in the woods far away from the city lights, to see the magic happen. The pure and pristine silvery beams fall on earth, over every object in equal measure, making it into a beautifully spun tapestry soaked in white.
Stories and songs of ‘magic, love, and mystery’ are born, marinated in the white ambiance, creating a whole genre of life and artwork. In the stillness painted with a silver brush, the poet’s emotions take flight, coloring the spectrum with such beautiful legends.
Old tales blend with new,
In the moon’s soft hue,
Night Alive with whispered themes,
Bathed in the moon’s gentle beams.
The timeless oeuvre on the silvery canvas flows from one night to another, as the moonlight waxes and wanes, showering the earth in its soft hues. The night comes alive, as explained before, in whispered themes between the breeze, trees, and the moon. The poet goes to great lengths to highlight the eternal nature of this oeuvre.
Hand in hand, let’s wander free,
Through this moonlit reverie,
Where hearts soar and spirits soar,
In the night forever more.
Against this timeless setting, the poet invites us for a walk holding each other’s hands, for it is easy to get lost in the limitless freedom that will make our hearts and spirits soar. We might succumb to the milky magic of the moonlit night, walking in reverie.
“This is what I am talking about: the bewitching power of moonlight. Moonlight incites dark passions like a cold flame, making hearts burning with the intensity of phosphorus.”
― Rampo Edogawa
When we walk around hand-in-hand, exploring the bewitching magic of the moonlight night, one cannot but appreciate that the poet’s effortless verses acting as the invitation to such an ethereal experience.
Moonlight on a May Night:
The Summer Night Moon is a poet’s delight. Even Shakespeare fell for its intoxicating allure.
“How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank!
Here will we sit and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:
There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins;
Such harmony is in immortal souls;
But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.”
― William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice
From the magical reverie to the innocent interludes, from the inspiring journeys of the inner knights seeking harmony to the lost walks soaking in its timeless oeuvre, moonlight brings the best out of our poets, translating their experience into such milky, magical verses.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2024
