Blake's Tiger and the Mistress of Typhoons

“Blake’s Tiger and The Mistress of Tphoons” is yet another iteration of a piece that just will not let me rest. Though it appears on subsack within my first year publishing here, it was years in the making and has several iterations.

I first titled it “Speaking of Nature.” That version appeared in Crane’s Eye View in August of last year as “Nature’s Voice.” It also became a poem in four parts, published within my November 6 post, “Fear and Loathing of Nature.” Ironically, storms soon struck Chattanooga and we experienced the destructive powers of nature much like those described in the first portion of the poem. My electricity was off for more than 48 hours. Another iteration of the essay appears below.

The piece began as a response to criticism of my chapbook, First Days (Finishing Line Press). I had departed from my nature poet persona and wrote the chapbook while recovering from heart surgery. The poems honestly described the experience. They were a bit dark but ended on a hopeful note.

Other heart patients commented that the poems accurately depicted the experience. I thought the book could be genuinely helpful to other heart patients and their families during the healing process.

I received comments from several sources that I should stick to nature poetry. Years later, the thoughts returned. “Blake’s Tyger and the Mistress of Storms” is one form of the response.

Blake’s Tyger and the Mistress of Typhoons

I live in an alternate universe populated solely by me and Mary Poppins. This seems to be the image I conjure up when I tell an audience that I am a Nature Poet. Sometimes this image is true. 

I enter this universe where the keys of a distant piano yield the soothing strains of Debussy’s “Claire de Lune,” The poet William Blake appears and reads the introduction to Songs of Innocence. I hear a voice say, “Pipe a song about a lamb.”

With a sudden twist, Blake recites lines from a better-known poem, “Tyger, Tyger burning bright…” I see in his face the assurance of one who could gaze upon both the gentle and the destructive personas of the natural world without flinching. The piano music changes to the opening from Khachaturian’s “The Saber Dance.”

The nature goddess Kali Patron of Kolkata appears. She wears a necklace of human skulls. She is mistress of the typhoon, the earthquake, and the tidal wave. Kali is sometimes depicted with her foot on her husband’s chest, his heart in her upraised hand.

A tidal wave ravages a distant shore, washing people, goats, chickens, and homes out to sea. Some wave their hands in hopes of an unlikely rescue. The sea reclaims all flesh. Kali smiles as new life sprouts to fill the void left by her destruction. I hold the mystery of birth following death in my heart. The vision passes and I am on the shore of a familiar pond.

A heron snatches a hapless frog. Herons and egrets take flight with hoarse croaking. They gently glide and land on the further shore. They take up stationary posts, resuming a patient hunt with speedy attacks from ambush. A kingfisher hovers above the water seeking a fishy dinner. I imagine the strains of Aaron Copeland’s “Appalachian Spring” filling the air. 

If Blake were present, he might smile and gaze at a tree, its branches filled with angels. But he is not here. A dragonfly lands on a nearby twig. Its wings shimmer in the morning sun.