1975

UCB COPY- “POEMS” -since works below are still in transit.

PStephen Frost © 2007 p. 48
Covey The shadows from our narrow wood have disappeared beneath these first low clouds. The white fall muffles to silence all but the call and scurry of several dozen quail feeding near-by. They are dark, nervous patches on a crystalline field of white. The snow is only somewhat thicker where it has fallen than where it is falling. Stephen Frost © 2007 49 Saint Andrew’s Priory Valyermo, California 1975
Awaiting Satori I Snowstorm White, gray, milky blue-gray. White, undulating around animal tracks and single, yellow stalks of wild oats. It covers a plateau: smooth, particled, over a hidden path, over a plateau, to the edge to a fall. Trees, apples trees bare in their orchard, crotch full. Then translucent white, not so very, but gray and black also. Slick, hard above flowing water, and willows, frozen in the stream. Silent Stephen Frost © 2007 50
before the first sighting of the sun after the first light. It has been a long freeze, a long wait. I am silent The snow touches all things bare to the sky. Stephen Frost © 2007 51
Rocks. Gravel. Dry Branches. A hilly path of crumbling rock. Long silent days. Rocks, hot to touch. The brush is dry, seeming dead. Stephen Frost © 2007 52 Satori II The Desert
Here, a flower tiny beneath its bush one several, a miniature meadow of moist repose and glory. This warm stone cools light-washed beneath its dry tree. Stephen Frost © 2007 53 Valyermo, California
Silver swift behind the rock, beneath the water, sliver quick, and slipped beneath the surface of a cloud. Splicing between particles is the Word, a field, unified to completion, peeled to a seed of fig. stig-motted divided dismantled undiscovered is the Name before and now the same, beyond sight and angel’s measure man of sorrow tears of blood, transmuted in the clay, from the first breakage by time from that arrogant first moment to an intimate mingling of clay and light… Stephen Frost © 2007 54 SLIVERS St. Andrew’s Priory Valyermo, California
1978 For Mike Sky Lights Changes Pilgrim Stephen Frost © 2007 55
For mike, on the occasion of his mother’s passing. In each melting moment we might face the inevitable loss of anything held dear or everything or one precious person whose presence we thought held firm against transient time and space. Whose being conjured screens of love for our nurturing and held us sweet in their concern. Some moment as it passes will take our waiting love and leave us sometimes empty, robbed and incredulous at the loss. (moments melt and flow forms change the sea beats the land to beach Stephen Frost © 2007 56
becomes rain carries land by river to the sea) Tangible form is so only as it passes –and what remains? The well-loved form? The loving sigh? The sigh, then since it issues from a cohesive force, an eternal realm. The tie in binding binds for good. Love once given is not like energy that can dissipate in empty space but rather it remains waiting sometimes– inside in-between somewhere forming heart shaping vision silent– present beyond each melting moment Stephen Frost © 2007 57
above the flood of time, waiting waiting… In light in love Venice, California,1978 Stephen Frost © 2007 58 for you—
I. II. Sky Lights I live beneath a river of clouds; rain masses moving beyond my reach. I watch the slipping light-boats run their rapids down each white-capped undulation in the sea. Here, jetty rocks hold for hanging froth, for falling foam from full-bent breakers, the last leaping roar of ocean-going waves. Sea pull your sucking best, waves and sea– even if you held me firm in your limpid, liquid grasp, I would from you or any holding hand, be free. Stephen Frost © 2007 59
III. IV. V. If I lived among rocks and sand, a white cage in the driest land, with a cold wind to tune my cry, I would still know the rhythm of Your pulsing light, and heave my loving sigh. I live in a clean corner beneath a river of sky a giver of clouds and torrents bringer of gentle whispers in the evening breeze. I live beneath a river of dreams– images and vast space crowding between moments, feelings that hold their claim in waking, Stephen Frost © 2007 60
VI. sight beyond the grasping heart and more and more that can’t be held by words but only in the stillness and silence, and roaring, crashing moan given by glacial Arctic ice flows. I live beneath a flood of stars knowing the daily round– the morning prayers and prayers to wash the dishes again and breakfast and serving it all and all and washing the clothes and washing and prayers for lunch, thanksgiving and praise the rite of it in the afternoon chores that move us into night. (We carry our boats and move beneath a river of night a silent crew marching, marching… God knows where.) Stephen Frost © 2007 61
VII. Oh, Pluck the string, Climate of my dreams, sound your timbale, that I may sing of Elevations and river dreams of all that is and all, all that seems. Stephen Frost © 2007 62 Venice Beach, California Stephen Frost, 1977
Changes (Written while living in a Trappist monastery..) Red-leafed maples have cried the death of this year’s green delivery. Hills are mottled gray beneath the waiting of a cloud-shaded day. It’s as if something had changed or was about to change… within the silence and the dying, within the creation of fall and spring, like a worship of holy things, still in the singing of Godly things, a rising, a stepping-over, beyond earth and Fall to spring without the Fall and that brothers sisters all is all… and All. Steve Frost Abbey of the Holy Trinity Huntsville, Utah. 1977 Stephen Frost © 2007 63
I. As I wait leaves fall glorious dead magenta red blood, magenta red. As I wait squirrels, nearly falling, hide their forage nearly fall in the dance before quiet rhythms of winter waiting. II. Mother of pearl sky above gentle, clattering, blood-red leaves Mother of sky speechless in magnanimous largess. Cities of steam clouds blown up to blossoms congeal down thunder dark, shake our puny particulars to the point of pleasing God? in humility. Pilgrim Stephen Frost © 2007 64
III. As I wait decadence dies fresh blooms open sky wide. In the in-between (oh yes, between feast and fast) I wait for that last vision that lasts… that is as now/before for labored whore as well the monk in solitary cell. IV. So, in Central Park, trees no longer grow green rather gray before our jagged horizon beneath movements of clouds blown high against crystal blue. So, in Central Park, on my way by, the woods fill with damp-trodden leaves Stephen Frost © 2007 65
bruise red, glorious dead upon the damp ground. Fragrance reaches with hands to caress… It’s time It’s time to set time on the shelf, to set sail in conestoga wagons drawn by the wind. To where? Where else, but the waiting. Or… Perhaps that’s not quite the word V. A leaf turns yellow red red to pure light… right right as waiting was the word It wasn’t my waiting though but his I heard. Holy Queen from the start, you’ve waited and you’ve waited for the turning for the turning of my heart Stephen Frost © 2007 66 …Unfinished, 1978
1979 Big Sur Night Prayer Steward’s Point Stephen Frost © 2007 67
Big Sur The eagle wings gently into spreading night. black cormorant screams its hunting whistle above afternoon cliffs. Wave and wave white-capped swells flood the sea. light sails the wind-carried waves. Having fasted and have prayed, I am ready for the feast– fresh and clean. The eagle, the Old Man are with me now, Abbas Mundi– Servant of God, feeds me on the Spirit, shows me the glory of creation nearness of God. Stephen Frost © 2007 68
This is heaven, the presence of God– but we cannot see. He helps me to see, shows me the liveliness of everything. He is the Old Man standing in a dark portal. I am brother to Christ forgive my transgressions Eagle Golden Eagle the Eagle rests. Stephen Frost © 2007 69 Steve Frost Big Sur, California 1979
Silver slipped down the branch lit night leaves almost bright carried dark shadows through endless silence Luminous gray ruled the land raised shadows, laid patterns light across field and trees, across endless bramble of this life’s night. Owls, courting loot loot the countryside of mice perch in pine tree outside my window discuss the price of meat these days. Stephen Frost © 2007 70 Night Prayer
All all speak of endless patient waiting for the endless, endless end San Francisquito Canyon, California 1979 Stephen Frost © 2007 71
STEWARD’S POINT Light sails the wind-carried waves– big swells and whitecaps. My eyes rest on the largess of now… Luminous salt, liquid sea, Turquoise sea– white foam and light; Fresh, clean, rushing waves Fresh and clean as the rush of heaven. Stephen Frost © 2007 72 Steward’s Point Big Sur, California
1992-1993 Himalayan Storm Moraine Cast the Spell/Come the Storm Stephen Frost © 2007 73
is? #1. HIMALAYAN STORM THE QUESTION BEING Frequency of high thorn bushes with reddest red berries Each branch piled high crystalline chaos whitest snow. High above this, opalescent origin icy rivers come a few young tourists and old maybe seekers; no pilgrims Stephen Frost © 2007 74
come this way amidst the highest peaks. Now, a breeze thawing then freezing again the chaos makes ice flags stiff out along redberriedbranch. My soul “pales [then and now] fair to blanch”* …As I observe the full filled color the ‘presence’ the past, then tomorrow, always “pales fair to blanch” Ice flags stiff, nameless Stephen Frost © 2007 75
full filled colors fill my crowded empty soul– Ice flags stiff along a thorny branch. So far here from my family’s California ranch. Huge now puffs of snow millions white fast floating down obscure delightfully dark vast Himalayan canyon Stephen Frost © 2007 76
Stephen Frost © 2007 77 (I want to know…) [It reminds me strangely of a film I’d seen 20 years ago of a similar snowfall at night “between cherry trees themselves full of full blossoms a stage set for torturous slow procession old time royal officials Japanese who one by one proceed
Perfect stiff white snow flags along a red berried thorny branch so far now from my family ranch DID I MISS SOMETHING in the past? My life going dark and light monastic fast Stephen Frost © 2007 78 widely spaced perfectly attired across across across broad and perfect starlit garden]
to make it up, what I missed along the way YOU KNOW I want to go back now home WHEN WILL WE BE THERE? HOME AT LAST WHEN THE GARDENWIDE PROCESSION PROCEEDS SO TORTUROUS FAST PERFECT SLOW FROM RANCH TO HERE? (I WANT TO KNOW) Khumbu and Helenbu, Nepal–1992 Stephen Frost © 2007 79
Fogs and mist gray and white black and mist dragons that devour these massive cliffs mountains fountains beneath glacier dredged hill high piles of rocky debris seems solid slips beneath your feet shifts by seasons lift and fall #2. MORAINE (THE METHOD) hima laya Stephen Frost © 2007 80
by the mile by the summer’s heat and winter’s fall Mist and heat f a l ling Seems to shift “still– the mountain” (loved) eaten by the mist. Stephen Frost © 2007 81 Steve Frost Pokara, Nepal–1992
#12. CAST THE SPELL, COME THE STORM After setting down from 19 hours in the air from Bangkok from Nepal to San Francisco to sleep the first hours of jet lag away Awake to ‘Lasher’ of a storm wind rips hip, lip sucking trunk thigh lift strip leaves lift and lift the air sway and swim swarm like hair underwater stay rooted lay Stephen Frost © 2007 82
self up on upon the shelf let the wind blow clean through work its pleasure lash the ground sweet bright breath clear and sound clean lift the dust and rave raise sprint high the spirit my soul not last my storm gusting through yours Transparent permeable to your full breath. whip the air Stephen Frost © 2007 83 Whip bearded, hatted, stranger’s papers, through the air, papers high (brief case left open to the wind) perhaps a liberal arts or more likely a technical dissertation; the stack
piled neatly, filed in their sullen society then solely-membered in the clear clean sky (that morning) between earth and sky mating a clean sky morning high snow storm of papers whipped up instead of down “hope you have a copy buddy…” good blow the wind luck connubial bliss with the wind sin… no, no eucharistic feast maybe at least its a good try earth and sky moves replies, flies light the doubt break the heart crushing broken centuries, eons dry lake dry for all our sakes sate the drought Stephen Frost © 2007 84
light not doubt ignite the storm then sweetly kiss our lips together with a gentle fall light drops on an iridescent day (Hide my lady, the front is coming.) points of passage in this sweetest honeycomb of mornings and misses in this labyrinth of meaning and misses Until the rain (sane director, ringmaster, crew) rain too full many body laid out forms some not lost yet not yet sheath the sword Stephen Frost © 2007 85 refer a dream recalls the battle of a prescient battle dream a battle fraught with love and fought from trench foxholes freshly dug grave s
Dear my sweet Lord forgive my fears dear my Lord… COME THE STORM red berries high branch high piled snow whitest crystalline chaos transformed to taste of sweet salvific satisfaction sung in high rhythm lilting in high heavenly choirs in rhythm with our groaning evolution from start to finish to ravish the ‘lie’ to reason and lavish dream (for ‘I’ start to see too clear, too clean) So, finish the dream for ‘I’ cannot (upon the shelf) Stephen Frost © 2007 86
So, rip the wind earth river ocean stream weather and spirit maker of storms and climate of our dream. Stephen Frost © 2007 87 Steve Frost Berkeley, California, 1993
MILLENIAL WORKS Stephen Frost © 2007 88
Stephen Frost © 2007 89 petunias are a working class plant; like pansies, adequate to decorate gas stations and 7-11s but now as sun light shifts surely behind their purple, no magenta, no vermilion purple offering, its enough to make one want to believe in GOD.
God is smiling His rapture through Undulating waters In Dark and crystal Waves behind our boat. God is whispering (her) Sweet kisses In tiny breezes across my ear… God is chattering en * thus * i * asm By Our friendly talk Stephen Frost © 2007 90 NILE POEM
Sailing past sunset Down the Nile, through the arms of life, and the embrace of stars! ALTERNATIVE ENDING TO “NILE POEM” … sailing past sunset down the nile through the arms of life and the embrace of star encrusted black and empty space ‘97 Stephen Frost © 2007 91
We, Watchers from either shore Where our river bursts To the sea Like pincers, we observe A commingling of waters Fresh and salt The thrust and back wash Peaking and waves in every direction Turquoise and steel Froth and spray Colors the day of undertows and treacherous admonitions A sloughing channel narrowed from its wide bay—intensified Capsized to make its passage. We Watchers (know the moment of arrival) steel and turquoise… Then, languish in torpor As after a kill. Stephen Frost © 2007 92 Christmas 1999
After Compline, We continue down a verdant middle way Having stood in the hot shade Of telephone poles All the long road long During enduring During the day. Nearby, a furious wasp Is trapped In a plastic shopping bag With its putrefying cut of safeway steak At night We fly between Stars and high wire dive To deep rapids below …wait for just the crepuscular Moment to Stephen Frost © 2007 93 ‘stop the world’ ‘04
Late sunlight Glints gold white Brillant off The wing top Of gliding black black raven Watching. Starts to illumine Weed wild chaparral and mesquite, full grasses of our last profane exile. Mother lies dying And I try to Remind her of the golden poppies and purple violet lupine Of my kind infancy The high wild oats and our secret place hidden amid fresh oats that high happy retreat. Weak and wretched Now, she grows to the ‘great departure.’ Stephen Frost © 2007 94 BACK LIT GRASSES Huachuca, Arizona–March, 2005 Initiation is nearly complete.