Tell a Woman

Sahara Peace Choir singing for Women's March,Asheville NC 2018

Tell a woman that, deep inside,
deep in her heart, where no one can see,
she holds the flame that lights the world.
Tell a woman that no one can ever extinguish that flame.
Not anyone,  be he bigger than her, stronger than her, 
faster than her,
angrier than her, drunker than her, 
more convinced he is right.
This flame is our secret, all women’s.  We are born with it.
With this flame, within our hearts, 
we work two jobs while raising three kids.
And we give them piano lessons.
With this flame, we cross oceans
so our children can grow up strong without stigma.
With this flame, we nurse our elders, 
and our young ones too,
often at the same time, keeping an eye on bill payments,
scrounging for food and rent.
Tell a woman she has a huge bright flame 
ready to flare up in her heart,
and she’s not alone.   We all have one,
we who walk tall, and we who are under the thumb,
we who speak here now, and we who have been silenced,
we all share this flame, it’s an eternal flame,
it’s hot, and it’s brilliant, and it never goes away.
Tell a woman, this is our birthright, this is who we are,
we, the women, the people of the womb,
who carry the world, who yearn for love and honor,
who, somewhere deep inside, will never be denied, 
will never give in.
Tell a woman, this is who we are, 
all of us aflame, all of us women,
all of us carrying that precious fire
that guides our days, 
that reminds us of what this life really means,
that shows us its light and tells us how to move,
how to be, how to turn, how to love each day.
Tell a woman, she has a pure flame deep in her heart
that can never be extinguished, that cannot be pushed under,
that can never be broken, that does not bleed away,
that cannot be raped or beaten down,
that can only rise higher, that flares up within us,
and with each step brightens, and lights our way,
brighter and brighter, as we see our flames
more clearly, more loudly, more assuredly, more proudly,
all of us gazing at that brand new day,
not much longer now, just on the horizon,
when we look at a woman and know,
with her light, she leads the way.

Annelinde Metzner
January 23, 2013

Audience at "Rise Up Asheville," January 2013

 Girl Scouts at Black Mountain march

Young high school women who organized the Asheville march!

The music teachers

Around the ocean drum

“Shake it to the east, shake it to the west,
     Shake it to the one that you love the best....”
 
The young music teachers’ eyes gleam in their college cubicles
     as they study, study, study
     the music of all the world.

“Step it, step it, step it down.  Remember me....”

On the diploma, “Fine Arts,” a college degree,
     each note, each measure of music gathered up and treasured,
     building a matrix of joy in the heart
     to support us all for a lifetime.

“De colores, de colores se visten los campos en la primavera.....”

Studying the songs and dances
     that bring us all together, the whole human race,
     passed down from person to person, child to child
     over millennia, yes, millennia.
Why? “It’s good for the children,” says Bessie Jones,
     Sea Island mother of music,
     surehandedly guiding us all.

“Shalom chaverim, shalom chaverim....”

We study each culture, ever more in love
     with how this music is what truly matters,
     this music that holds the world together.
We memorize details of steps, costumes, melodies, harmonies,
     songs in ancient modes, polyrhythms,
     feats of mind and body set to music,
     all for this shared joy.
The smile on the partner’s face,
     the warm touch of hands clasping,
     the harmony in two, three, four, five parts,
     pulling us all together, tighter and tighter.

“A ram sam sam, a ram sam sam...”

The music teacher comes to her classes full of children
     and she knows, she knows
     we will endeavor to preserve this, to love this,
     to keep the proud meters and the intricate steps,
     with our bodies and our voices joined in love,
     remembering as we move and sing,
     what is important in this world.

“Sansa Kroma, nee-nay wo, a-che-che koko-ma...”

The music teachers with years of experience
     hear the new politics, the hatred, the viciousness,
     the ignorance, the bigotry, and we say, “NO.”
Decades of our lives, pulling this all together,
     the pride and the joy in children’s eyes learning the dance, the song,
     and “NO!” We will not give way
     to suspicion, lies and separation after all this joy.

“Miss Mary Mack, Mack, Mack,
     all dressed in black, black, black....”

All our lives have we woven our children, your child and mine,
     into a fine tapestry of all our abilities,
     stepping and singing to the World’s beat,
     together creating a future full of love.

“Brown girl in the ring, tra-la-la-la-la......”

With the people of all cultures we stand,
     knowing this is a world filled with music,
     every imaginable rhythm,
     new sounds yet unheard,
     steps we have yet to find,
because this is what matters: the love, the love,
     each people unique and brilliant, our lives all interwoven,
     all of our notes a symphony,
     all of our steps a path.

(Words in italics are from children’s songs of the world.)


Annelinde Metzner
October 2, 2017

Three kids in preschool music

Jayma studying piano




Orff instruments and recorder

Among the Galax

Galax in bloom

I’m entranced by the smell of boiled cabbage!
     or a mean old skunk, maybe,
     or some moldy old boots.
I’m standing thick in the Galax,
     blooming now in June,
     rain so plentiful the white noise of the branch
     fills my ears and carries me away.
I’m entranced among the Galax,
     enchanted really, as this thick abundance
     of shiny round greenness sings to me,
     standing here, wet, wet.
Yes!   It’s a rainforest, wet and cool,
     lichen and moss growing up the tree trunks,
     ferns growing from stones,
     magic, magic everywhere.
Who lives in that twig house atop the standing stone?
Who giggles at me from over my shoulder, entranced like me?
It’s June!  and the Galax is flowering,
     proud white candlesticks among the rounds of green,
     here in Gaia’s garden, so perfect, so huge,
     the rhododendron buds sticky and bright pink,
     opening to white,
     the leaves so pale green and new.
I’m entranced among the Galax, and it’s June,
     a wet one, a rightful rainy one,
     and the moss is green upon the stone.
White Indian Pipes, ancient as time,
     arise like magic among the Galax, hidden and shy.
Be still!  Receive what She has for you,
     all this, the wetness, the ancient ones,
     the skunky smells, the whispers.
You are in Sacred Time now.  Don’t go too fast.
She is here for you, in the Galax.
She is more than you or I will ever know.

Annelinde Metzner
Greybeard Mountain, NC
June 16, 2012
 

Twig house

Rhododendron bloom

Gnome tree

Indian Pipes

There is a great story about Indian Pipes told by Mary Chiltosky in the book, Cherokee Plants...
"Before selfishness came into the world-that was a long time ago- the Cherokee people were happy sharing the hunting and fishing places with their neighbors. All this changed when Selfishness came into the world and man began to quarrel. The Cherokee quarreled with tribes on the east. Finally the chiefs of several tribes met in council to try to settle the dispute. They smoked the pipe and continued to quarrel for seven days and seven nights. This displeased the Great Spirit because people are not supposed to smoke the pipe until they make peace. As he looked upon the old men with heads bowed, he decided to do something to remind people to smoke the pipe only at the time they make peace."
"The Great Spirit turned the old men into greyish flowers we now call "Indian Pipes" and he made them grow where friends and relatives have quarreled. He made the smoke hang over these mountains until all the people all over the world learn to live together in peace."

Ice Bells

The icy branch

Twenty degrees, the very earth
     crunches and cracks under my boots,
     ice forming everywhere.
The world is bracing, nose-tingling,
     eye-opening, and brand new.
The lovely little creek is water-full,
     singing, singing,
     heedless of the cold,
     ice bells tinkling from each fallen branch.
Winter, and alive, and new again,
Lo!  It all begins again,
     crackling with anticipation.
The first day of the year.

Annelinde Metzner
Montreat, North Carolina
January 1, 2013