[Thespiritexpress] Pole-Vaulting to Nirvana

[Ed Balldinger]

I'd like to share the Kathryn Hohlwein poem I read before Tuesday class
this week.  To preface the poem, I'd like to tell you a little about our
dear friend.  Kathryn was a professor at Sac State University where she
taught English and Humanities.  She was president and founder of The
International Readers of Homer where she masterminded readings of the Iliad
and the Odyssey with audiences all over the world.  She loved poetry, the
arts, wining, dining, conversation, and classical music.  We miss her
physical presence, but she lives on through her poetry and her beautiful
spirit.

Peace, harmony, and blessings to all...

~ Ed

*Pole-Vaulting to Nirvana *



Hop-scotching towards Nirvana,

the easy knees reassuring,

the rubber-heel-toss lots of fun.

But here a choice is exploding.

There a decision glimmering.

Still, play is a form of gratitude

and delight a kind of prayer.

Twilight is always a comfort,

the valley lights coming on.

And mother plays the piano.

But the path itself obscured

by blossoms, thistles and berries.



Leap-frogging towards Nirvana,

using the back of Brahms,

lifting from the strength of Homer.

An influence in the doorway –

one of the beautiful teachers

one of the beautiful guides.

And now my taste being formed,

identical to my being.

And I still loving the gloaming,

still adoring Bach.

The lovely children leaving

and the students growing older.

The astonishing kiss a signpost.

The bed of loving a gift.

And the path itself less hidden

though fog and sandstorms cloud it.



Pole-vaulting to Nirvana,

with pacemaker and cane.

A certain joy in forgiveness,

a pleasure in recollection.



My brunette frame now a photo,

the dance movement cancelled out.

Students nearing retirement,

and grandchildren testing their names.

The world itself a confusion –

both bitter and radiant.

And the path itself lit softly

with the glow of splendid friendships,

and the luminous music of Mozart.



I rock, I rock to get ready

and my eyes are fixed on the height.

I propel myself down the well-worn path.

I plant my cane in the tight little box,

take off – to maybe twenty feet,

then clear the bar forever.



I think that I am flying.



 ~ Kathryn Hohlwein

    from* The Little Chapel in Donegal, Collected Poems*
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