In Springtime’S Fields of Glory

By Elizabeth Clayton

Respite is a come good- or the memory of a wish that did after the dark

In Springtimes Fields of Glory
And let me lie in springtimes fields of glory,
In meadows at bloom, a counterpointed flower,
Where clouds, effacing, having lost their daunted presence,
And I to peace of these, and thought,
Know healing silence in feeling,
Touch, and understanding.
Beauty, my long companion, will drape a pall
Of lovely, silken gray, of sunbeams
Turned briefly, in kindness, aside,
To sprinkle crystal raindrops over petaled
Roses, dried of time and feeling, and lightly rosined,
Close to twilight.
The time will be of rest from struggle,
The absolute devouring of doubt and fear, and,
Most, the loneliness of a heart apart,
That could see and could not catch, left,
A heart, alone.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524639129

Elizabeth Clayton

Elizabeth Clayton is a retired college and university professor in fields of Psychology and Literature. Since retirement, she has written almost daily and has produced twenty-three works, primarily poetry. She has received numerous commendations including membership in Sigma Kappa Delta, nominations for the Eric Hoffer award, and representation at numerous world book fairs. In addition, she has received several U S Review recommendations. She has also received several Golden Seal of Excellence Awards by her publisher. Her first work was I, Elizabeth which dealt with her struggles with Bipolar illness and her most recent work was published in early 2019, a review in poetry of the fable/myth of the White Hart. Other outstanding titles are Scarlet Flow, Quiet Sheba (a trilogy), We Lesser Gods, and Addendum, and The Kept Ecclesia of Agatha Moi. She lives alone in her country home near Jackson, Mississippi. In 2018 a large volume of poetry was published, The Kept Eclessia of Agatha Moi, and her most recent work, a review of the myth\fable of the white hart, Jason’s Pause, was published in early 2019.

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© 2016 Elizabeth Clayton. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/16/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3911-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3913-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-3912-9 (e)

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The appointments of artistic expression to this piece are the personal works (paintings, sculpture, and others) of Elizabeth Clayton, photographed by Tonia Germany who assisted with the work throughout, with Ora Steele.

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Introduction

Within the text of this work, words, images, ideas, outside sources providing unique sentiment and record such as the porcelain doll, are often repeated. Many Biblical allusions appear, probably suggesting the influence of my rigorous, fundamentalist rearing. Quite apart, is the growing emphasis on the moment; and the absolute finding of truth in one’s self – the truth being as elusive as the catching of the rainbow’s hues, as they modulate, but remain, in some fashion; or the intense feelings (sentiments) one may experience in approximating a relationship – these such struggle alongside, and toward coming maturity – an almost unhappy questioning of the entire still – but all is, yet, continuous – these constructs show the fullness of the work of Thomas Wolfe, in his novel, You Can’t Go Home Again, the poignancy of his phrase, …a stone, a leaf, an unopened door…; we cannot go home again, - for it is not static, a firm possibility – and in realism, for we are always in a reality (it always being with us, our carrying, as we may) – whatever its nature – we are ever in one of its manifestations; and home is multi-complexioned for we, each – all. To arrive at peace, repose – is to be free of press in our steps of all journeying, to be, at least, consciously, comfortable in wealth afforded, the underpinnings of unconsciously dissonant thought in healthy management – in sentiment and expression. This work, then, is predominantly an autobiographical narrative expressed in lyrical verse – from thought, instruction, observation, and intuiting, spontaneous at times toward verse prose. It begins, suggests, and explains into conclusion an answering to familiar questions of those thoughtful, whatever their circumstances – only more, it allows them freedom to dally in truth.

Andso, these verses were written in a period (January 1 - August 23, 2016) when I was again emerging from a trough of Bipolar complications; I wished to be free, to be soon to retire, with lovely sentiments from some of my comforting images – these cushioning my slipping away to the final destination, the proverbial, home. The verse is to be read at the sealing of my ashes, with apologetic echoes, it, my worded, ever lament.

When one comes, following a proper compilation of hours, to retire, to forgive resolve and responsibility, a soft light falling on comfortable coverlets suggests a page, of some few words, or perhaps, several more, a gentle benediction to the day – such to arrange an ambiance, pleasant, in the waiting arms of Morpheus. We can drift, then, into the beauty of reverie which seduces yesterday, and invites the present, to finesse the excitings of forward, future activities.

All, however – when we allow our present warrior self to disarm – the entire – is not without the other side of beauty. Our different levels of consciousness are now in place to vie for expression; we find entering doubts, and fears, stings of the day, passed, wounds of spirit, even beyond the many crowds we review. Then our courage arranges with will to approach the mark of that which crowds we review. Then our courage arranges with will to approach the mark of that which others must to say of the adventure of living – very often: beauty – yes – but with pain, its most effective elixir.

The verses of this small, bedside appointment, a volume of bright and darker lyric poetry, is written in free verse including only poems and is to serve as a brief respite to kindred souls. Cathartic givings and recurrings, whether spoken or silently exchanged, can, beside aesthetic value, offer a bridge across for troubled thought.

The illustrations are from a variety of expressive methodologies: oil on canvas; acrylics in various patterns: washes with water and other mediums as that heavily placed and cut out; watercolor, and hand-pressed sculpting are used, alongside much interesting, colorful lawn design offered up to the observing eye. Paper mache also proves delightful – almost any object, or substance, with properties which can be thought into an image, and executed into a form carrying beauty, for me are beauty potential including some few ceramic pieces whose molds found my interest; many of these varied pieces hang in my home, my toys which delight me with their charm and loveliness, speaking my sentiments all over again – even if it is only my pleasure. To the creator, almost any form, color, texture which can metaphorically illicit stronger sentiment to the viewer – such as beauty – becomes beauty wisdom.

Written, also, just following the beginning recovery of the onset, and rapid progression of Rheumatoid Arthritis, complicated by medication regimens including efforts at Bipolar mood stabilization, these verses run the full gamut of joy and despair; I could not be with any, and my solitude comforted me only in darkness – but three Christmases, with all of their particulars, at last played their music out, and I found new appreciation for life within my conditions – but not without pain and loneliness, though, now, much lessened. Audible ruminations, at all waking hours, and, at times, coming out of sleep, elicited wretched sentiments, truly dreams awake. Memory became my constant companion, that of all of my life, its review ultimately becoming as the twinkling stars Dante draws in all of his work when he wishes to present the closeness and warmth of God’s love: whatever the recipe, the formula – doctrine, circumstance or plan, sentiment and reason must comply at some point, the marriage shown within the comfort which these verses came to give to me, through working out their expressions; mutual, common, the same beliefs do not afford completeness within the balances; there simply are many reasonable faces of God, genuine to the earnest seeker, His representations, and activities, His movements, unable to our understandings, certainly not completely. The I – Thou relationship provides many paths