Poetry by Dyson
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Other authors insist that one of the best uses of a website is to show samples of your work. So I decided to post some of my poems that are no longer available anywhere else. If you like or hate them enough to say so, or want to reprint or perform them, please click on my name at the bottom of the page to send an e-mail. These poems are protected by copyright, and permission is required for anything other than personal use. Thanks for your interest in my poetry. This poem was
written for Dr. Stan Schmidt, the editor of Analog magazine who bought my first
science fiction story, as a thank-you note. I sometimes sing it to a country tune,
using the first stanza as the chorus. The Fashion of Physics * by Marianne J. Dyson The photon is a woman deciding what to wear, A patterned or a solid dress? the answer isn't clear. If you peek while she's deciding she'll choose one just for you, But when your back is turned again she'll try on something new. Even with a closet full she'll not be satisfied, For styles often cancel out or wrongly coincide. She'll slip into a dressing room to test out something sheer, Then change into a rigid mood unhappy with the mirror. Eventually she is arrayed to interact with you, But she arrives, to your surprise in not one gown, but two! *as published
in Analog Science Fiction magazine, April, 1993 --------------------------------------------------------------------------- This sonnet
was composed by Science Fiction Poetry Association (SFPA) members on Genie (on
online Bulletin Board), spring, 1993. The title, first two lines and last line
are by Marianne Dyson. The middle lines are by: Bob Fleck, Joe Haldeman, Mark Kreighbaum, Lisa Leprovetsky, John
Nichols, Joy Ostreicher, Chuck Rothman, Larry (Puck) Schimel, Martha Soukup,
Mike Arnzen, and Keith Daniels. (Keith Daniels is now deceased.) The Past in Realtime The old come here to deepest space to seek their past from light that left their lives
in youth And though Louise would find the thought
uncouth, her past is there for anyone to peek Her loves, her hates, revealed as mingled
life her golden mornings lost in childish dreams her russet evening lost in starlight streams now found like beauty as a virgin wife But also all mistakes of youth she sees, regret blooming in her heart once again the music, quit; the bad job, done; the men who turn to face her now, like dying bees with stinging eyes which death cannot forgive though space expands to stretch the times she
lived. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- This poem was
written during the Gulf War, but may apply more generally. The Standoff (a Petrarchian sonnet) by Marianne
J. Dyson We wait for bombs and death to choose the brave On sands of heat, or oceans deep with scorn For guns and jets, our hope against the storm Of men too young to flee a hero's grave. The Reaper holds his scythe so soldiers crave To fight before the light of rightful morn, Before our dreams of freedom are forsworn By sun upon the dead we planned to save. Our lovers wait, our children weep like rain Without the clouds, forewarning us of fear We will endure this war for nothing more Than boundary lines of men in power, and pain. Or worse, to wait and wait and then to hear We lost the right to fight and end this war. Placed 10th in Poetry Society of Texas 1993
Contest. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- This poem was
written in honor of the first Japanese spacecraft to study the moon. Hiten
crashed on the southeastern side of the moon (look for it on the map in my Home
on the Moon book) after completing its mission in 1993. Hiten By Marianne
Dyson Japanese
flame in the night Hiten celestial
maiden arms twirling skirt burning
orange far from the
ballroom sun. Silent, on
small feet dancing with the
Moon. *published in spring 1991 issue of Starline, and
also in a Japanese American journal. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- This poem was
written for a close friend who had just suffered through a divorce. (Just to
show I also occasionally write “normal” poetry!) For My Friend During an Uncertain Time*
by Marianne J. Dyson I’m really lucky to have a friend like you who knows when I’m joking and only half, Who is willing to let me finish when I need to or finish for me when I can’t. I’m really lucky to have a friend like you who knows what I need to hear and makes me listen if only to myself, Who stands firmly beside me when I’m right and just as firmly in front of me when I’m wrong. Now that it’s time for you to face the blank pages of an uncertain future, I hope there’s nothing that can’t be said between us, and will be said no matter how busy we are or what time it is or who’s paying. Because friends like you sometimes need reminded how lucky they are. *First published in the State of the Arts, Clear
Lake, February 1999. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Inheritance of a Woman by Marianne J. Dyson Are you Scottish, they ask and I ask myself the same, One eighth - is it enough to claim the clan? What does it mean, these numbers don’t measure my heritage in blood, not truly For I am my great grandmother’s daughter
my red hair is hers my freckled skin my voice, She gave me those genes with no need for a name, My name is English - my husband’s name Before that it was Greek - from my father But his mother was Gaelic too and he carried those recessive genes like my mother from her Scottish grandmother or so the old wives say the men don’t know for sure, women’s lines aren’t kept except in their faces, their eyes, They look at the children and know who has the temper the hot blood, the sight. Am I the daughter of Scots? Of course I am. *First published in the State of the Arts, Clear
Lake, February 1999. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Order one of my children's books from Amazon by using the cover link: |
