Robert Frost wrote the poem “Acquainted with the night”, it was first published in The Virginia Quarterly Review, Oktober 1928. His rich text poems has parallels, contradictions, complex idiomatic textures, which ironically evoke emotions, symbolic and significance in my life. I choose this poem this to share with you and present one of his great pieces of work, which he left for perpetuity. As an interim blog before a series of some blog posts about Scandinavian and Norwegian culture insights seen from my point of view, experiencing it first hand, where I will include some video. For those who don`t know much about Robert Frost he was born in San Francisco in 1874, he published his first collection of Poems in 1913, 39 years old. “A Boy`s Will” He managed to win 4 Pulitzer Prizes for his work, the first one in 1924, for the book “New Hampshire”. He has been an inspiration for many writers, intellectuals, artists, and many other people who has read some of his work. He is looked upon as one of the greatest writers of 20th century. He died in January 1963.
Acquainted with the night By: Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain — and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street.
But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
A luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
The angry gray winter was another reminder as depression was so near. Where limited daylight, eclipsed by darkness, two competing companions interlock. I peered out at the seven mountains stripped, naked trees standing aimlessly in the icy cold rainy wind, leaving behind a deafening blackened sky. The wind speedball raindrops pelted my window pane below. I fought hard to dismiss emotions, plagued by reflections of brighter days. Days when I could hear the laughter and conversations of my young son’s voice. The time’s of their presence, but for now… thunderous, banging, high pitched winds, and crying rains. There is always an omnipresent, of their energies; although they are 140km away
Crystal clear as the reflection in the mirror. I could see every smile, all the different silhouettes and features, but they are not here; not yet, not now. I feel the warmth of their hugs, their glowing young happy faces, our deep spiritual loving relationship as father & son. Our interconnectedness, a bond has been shattered into thousand of scattered pieces by the impartiality injustices of the system. They are not here..!
“They are not here..!”
These powerful feelings can emerge anytime, every second, minute, hour, day, night, months, year to years. It is present as each breath I take to fight; describes to renounce these reflective emotional images, of that of a mirror that has broken into millions of pieces. Every day‘s challenge to repair shattered glass. Somedays, perilously brave with hope, while other’s are cold, heavy dark, full of doubt and despair. Whence on edge, the peripheral of insanity, I run like hell in the mountains to find balance, in the labyrinth of unknowns.
Hope: A weeks visit,
My 2 youngest are such amazing teens. They both have different styles; an empathy of being kind, considerate, intelligent aware, polite, curious and funny. The sibling rivalry and spates too, but mostly a bundle of joy to experience and learn from always. Yes every parent would express such accolades. Our father & son and family times together are scarce.
My 15 year old and I are in the process of making a film where I am instructing, or teaching in a martial arts video that I have more than 2 decades of proficiency and certification. He has been making films as a gymnast for 3 years now. His encouragement of the film process took me by surprise. He had developed a skilled knowledge and talent for the camera, he had purchased with his own saved money almost 3 years ago.
“Thursday morning shoot.”
My son, was ready at 9:30 am. “Come on, come-on, Dad; we have to go!” “Get up! We’re going to film today.” “This is the last day. You have to do this.” He was filled with conviction, and taking charge. He wasn’t letting me off the hook. He had the location chosen. We collaborated on the script days before, but when we arrived at the location, a gym where he trains, it was all business. He set up his Canon 360 on the tripod, and began directing me. This was an amazing moment.
I hadn’t been in front of a camera for years, but he managed to give me the confidence, and brought back old talent lying dormant. A great deal was accomplished with the time constraints we had. We went home and in a team effort we edited, including dubbing. Mostly all of which he was in full control of teaching me. Still a work in progress, something I am looking forward to be doing as father and son, when he comes for his next “visit”. A monumental achievement to witness, his growth and development.
The reality, is somedays more painful than other’s. It requires great resilience, tenacity hope, or change, prevails… I try and hold back the moist water, rolling down my face, my inner voice cries-out!
“I want to scream!”
I try, to abandon these emotions, look to the future. But how; how? To understand the future you must understand your past. The pain is overwhelming, at times unbearable. I try to forget and live a normal existence. To be a part of your son’s everyday needs, to guide, direct, educate and empower them in an ever complex world is paramount, essential more than ever…?
But what is normal, when all you want to do is be a father, to your son’s? A part of their everyday needs in life. I ponder this question over and over as I find strength in writing these words, hoping that somehow, someway this fight for justice, and equality shall not be in vain..?
Who suffers in the grand scheme when the system, of sabotage or impartiality becomes endemic and in this case, the scales of justice in another country certainly didn’t prevail here for the boys or me. I’ve seen the difficulties of my relationship being deteriorated by the distance, that has been put between my young boys and me. They now live 3.5 hours away from where they were born, and where I live to be close as their father.
Here I Stand With You Wholeheartedly.
Endless Emotions Finds A Way To The Doorstep Of My Mind.
Emerging As A Voice, Of Rage, Confrontation, Question, Disguise, And
Which Face Shall I Wear Today? (Will You Claim)?
The One Of Humanity? Hidden In Compartmentalized Intelligences,
The One By The Door ?
Today The Cracked Mirror On the Wall Has Shattered Dreams Of Yesterdays
Hopes Of Tomorrow’s Future
Shall I Wear My Suit Of Armour?
A Brave Warrior Has No Fear Of The Battleground.
All The Winter’s Of War, Are Cold, Dark, And Heartless.
All The Feelings Are Locked Up Inside
Was It Me Inside Of You, Trying To Get Out, To Free Humanity
Of All It’s Heartlessness?
By: Jose Kendall 2006-08-11/1991
At a request from someone who made a comment on my blog, I wanted to try to give you a small insight to my writing.
The writing process is sometimes perplexing, at times daunting, arduous even challenging. Then there’s the process of who, what and why I write. The who; the audience, I wish to provoke, cajole, and communicate those enormous scales of emotions to. The infinitesimal drama and perplexity of storytelling that allows for substantive discourse as the writing process finds life.
The what; “The Journey” of everything that has happened through the eyes of the beholder, being a father, going through the conundrum of fighting the survival of the fittest. Exploring and being a pioneer in my field. Through the daunting task of trying to give my sons a future, when all of it is at stake; being allowed to be a caring father, having a home, a career, a financial stability, being an immigrant in a foreign country. Where the signature on a piece of paper, or the lack of it, a few letters, changed absolutely six human beings life forever, and where the ripple effect has caused a tsunami of emotional tragedy that still has not settled.
I had been writing for many years, starting with poetry, then keeping journeys along my travels around the world when I was an international model. It took many years before my writing had transformed or developed into something that I became to enjoy and love. Over time the hard work, the ups and downs, often the juxtaposition never knowing where the creativity took me while I was writing, it all became a part of a change, it became an endless exciting rewarding, learning process. What has changed my writing process is the development of appreciating it in its true art form. The time and the exercise you give; allows mental agility, new pathways for objectivity, style to relationships of subject content.
The process, itself, similar to a painter with all his color’s knowing how to get the right value, textures, the subtle detail, that creates style which make the painting special synonymous to a signature that defines an artist. I needed the tools for this trade, like the painters needs, paint. Refinement, imagination, observation, self examination, lots of research and reading, literally everything, I could get my hands on to read.
As I have struggled through the mindfield and merritt of emotions, intellectual masturbation, self analysis, to find my voice, or style of writing this continues to be an exciting exploratory way to creative freedom and expansion. To be a writer can sometimes be scary at the same time extremely liberating.
I must say over the years writing has been not just a process, but therapy that has giving me freedom to be more..