Keeto: A poem by Charles Bryant

Loading...

Sign in or sign up now!
Alert icon
Upgrade to the latest Flash Player for improved playback performance. Upgrade now or more info.
2,450
Loading...
Alert icon
Sign in or sign up now!
Alert icon

Uploaded by on Feb 23, 2008

Here is my poem 'Keeto'. This is in fact the first section. There is a second section and maybe one day there will be more. It is not I who write my poetry but my poetry which writes me and I cannot turn the flow off and on like a tap! This section is written as a series of sonnets - real sonnets, as against the pretend sonnets which some poets write today!

Keeto


I knew at once it was a miracle -
fixed, tender gazing and the upturned palms,
the moist red lips my very moving All
forming those utterances, songs and psalms
and flowing canticles and hymns
of ancient beauty which so pierced my soul.
Here, where the promised life-blood boils and brims
into the seething cup, is found the goal
and fountain-head. Here is staked my axis
whose vast wheel joins the nearest and most far
into a juddering whole where stasis
turns to liquid; from which ebb and shower
that glittering overarching rainbow's formed
whose loss I had for many dry years mourned.

I sat upon the steps - my usual place -
comforting and charging quavering souls.
He came, and graciously kneeled. And in his face
I saw the matted jungle and the shoals
of teeming fish that swarmed his river-home,
and the heron-birds, and the rain-filled skies.
He bowed and sought permission. The jet comb
that held his hair flashed black. His suppliant thighs
were trembling as he took my cold old hands
and warmed them in his own. Then I recalled
how I too first came here from distant lands
to seek great master Chokutul, made bold
by shattering vision of the golden bird
that spoke with human voice my native word.

For many years I had awaited this,
this last and great event, this promised plot
for seeding, my successor. Pure bright bliss
shone round me, drenched both me and him, and shot
its shimmering glancings through all the court
on every face and fixture. Time stood still
in that eternal present which is fraught
with all-time. "Master..." he intoned. The thrill
ran through me and a strong hand squeezed my heart.
My quetzal-feather headdress quivered, shook.
"Father, from far away by your great art
subtly drawn to this place, I forsook
all family and friends to come to you.
Please accept me - father, master, do."

As if myself were speaking with myself
and forty silver years had melted, run
from the fire in a bubbled trough, wealth
altogether wasted, mixed with earth. "Son,
the process is not easy. There is pain
in the calling. Can you endure?" "Father,"
(how he said it! that one word!) "please explain
what Keeto must perform. He would rather
die at your hands than leave the task undone."
I leant and looked into his shining eyes
and there, yes there, the golden bird was, one
with the calling and the answered prayer. Sighs -
sighs of my own and those from his red mouth -
were intermingled. Warm winds from the south

thus meet the warm wind just above the trees
and take and mingle with its fragrant breeze
the astringent sea's aroma. Decrees
the father-master: "My dear boy, who frees
intention from the one who vows and lets
it fly unfettered through unfettered sky
must be as nothing. Who himself forgets
must have another self he can call I."
"Let father be my larger self to whom
I may return in time of need." His skin
was ripe as firstfruit, warm as honeycomb,
dark as luscious fruit; honey on the chin
when gleaming teeth are plunged into the comb,
fruit of the rich earth-mother, of her womb.

I took him in, for his sake and for mine.
The older-younger love is somewhat rare:
the gnarled and aged trunk supports fresh vine;
the vine adorns the tree in a green shower
of gleaming foliage. Both are renewed -
the boredom of youth with wisdom, boredom
of age with beauty. Know too that strong-thewed
growth and frail decay together fall, loam
their common destiny. But all things die -
renewal is renewal of old death,
death the herald of birth. No flinching! Fly
together, die together! Breath in breath
the golden ring of combination bent
us in shimmering circles of descent.

The act of obeisance came easily -
I to master Chokutul, Keeto me,
all three to the power that set us free
and gave us second selves with which to journey
into the deep and through the sky; wherewith
we sank in gathering ecstacy; rose
and floated upon moving cloud to breathe
the upper atmosphere, the pure that grows
the purer for our homage and our blood;
which brought us to the knowledge of our god
and joined us with our ancestors, the tribe
of the undying and renewed. We should,
but for that vision, have been senseless, dead,
dust and carrion, better left unbred.

I have taken music and pictures from a number of sources. Some of the pictures are from Mel Gibson's 'Apocalypto'. Some are original Maya vase paintings of which there are endless beautiful examples photographed by Justin Kerr and which can be found here:

http://chnm.gmu.edu/worldhistorysources/r/287/whm.html

Category:

Entertainment

Tags:

License:

Standard YouTube License

  • likes, 0 dislikes

Link to this comment:

Share to:

Uploader Comments (brychar66)

  • "Who himself forgets

    must have another self he can call I."

    "that glittering overarching rainbow's formed

    whose loss I had for many dry years mourned"

    very powerful poem -- Thank you.

  • merci beaucoup M. Robert le Comte! Regards, Charles.

  • Very impressive -- enjoyed very much!

    But what is a "pretend" sonnet?

  • hehe, sorry that was just my pettishness, very UNgrownup. it's just that a sonnet is by definition 14 lines of iambic pentameter held up by a scaffolding of regular rhyme-scheme. so few poets can write in strict meter these days, and it annoys me when they say 'here's my latest sonnet' when all they can produce is a bit of quite limp free verse masquerading as something it's not. so there!!

  • In order to perceive one must conceive-imagine. Is it possible to extend further than one can see? Yes. Listening to the words, the links, the parallels-connection and you have me there. Again Chas, atonement(Theology), pace, extension ("My quetzal"), gathering ("my cold old hands") and the warm cocoon you cradle before a open fire. Thank you for your beautiful work-the poem, the music, the pictures. I always look forward to your next (our) adventure.

  • thanks very dear spirit I am honoured to journey with you.

see all

All Comments (7)

Sign In or Sign Up now to post a comment!
  • Very nice, as always =)

  • Oh :-) I understand. Maybe not so petty though; I can certainly appreciate how difficult this is. Bravo, well done!

  • Wonderful! Thank you for transporting us to another place.

  • thanks for your encouragement Brandon, it's much appreciated.

Loading...
Alert icon
0 / 00Unsaved Playlist Return to active list
    1. Your queue is empty. Add videos to your queue using this button:
      or sign in to load a different list.
    Loading...Loading...Saving...
    • Clear all videos from this list
    • Learn more