Lughnasa\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Full Harvest Moon<\/p>\n
At about 8:00\/8:30 pm I drove over to Than Do to pick up some take out.\u00a0 At the end of our cul de sac, a bit above the tree tops, was a golden harvest moon.\u00a0 It stopped me.\u00a0 The moon always catches me, draws my breath\u00a0 up from deep within, a rush of exspiration.\u00a0 Many of us have it, a mystical connection to the lesser light, its waxing and waning, the crescent moon with venus nearby, the full red moon of a lunar eclipse, the outsized floating golden orb of an October full moon, even the dark sky of the new moon, pregnant.<\/p>\n
Many of my friends in the Woolly Mammoths devour poetry books.\u00a0 I’m not a regular reader of poetry, more episodic, sometimes in binges.\u00a0 I get onto poets through odd routes, like Antonio Machado whose poem, Pathmaker, now occupies the upper left of this webpage.\u00a0 Paul Strickland has a mentioned Machado many times.\u00a0 Machado is one of many non-English language poets Robert Bly has translated.<\/p>\n
Machado, whom I had not read, appeared in an article I read about attempts to name the crimes of the Franco era in Spain and the strange reluctance of Spaniards to talk about the Spanish Republic which Franco overthrew, then destroyed with brutal force.<\/p>\n
Machado is a poet\/saint of the Republicans, buried in exile across the northern Spanish border in France where many of the Republicans fled when Franco defeated them in Spain.\u00a0 The author of this article, a resident of\u00a0 Barcelona, wrote of a moving celebration at Machado’s grave, a remembrance for those who fought and died, lost forever to their loved ones by burial in mass graves.<\/p>\n
A single woman began chanting this poem, the Pathmaker, and all the others joined in, there at Machado’s tomb.<\/p>\n
When I read it, I realized it was the perfect poem for Ancientrails.<\/p>\n
Pathmaker, the path is your tracks,
\nnothing else.<\/p>\n
Pathmaker, there in no path,
\nThe path is made by walking.<\/p>\n
And turning the gaze back,
\nLook on the trail that never will be
\nWalked again.<\/p>\n
Pathmaker, there no path,
\nOnly the wake on the sea.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lughnasa\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 Full Harvest Moon At about 8:00\/8:30 pm I drove over to Than Do to pick up some take out.\u00a0 At the end of our cul de sac, a bit above the tree tops, was a golden harvest moon.\u00a0 It stopped me.\u00a0 The moon always catches me, draws my breath\u00a0 up from deep within, a … Continue reading Machado, The Pathmaker<\/span>