Some Thoughts on Turning to Myth: Looking back at “The First Lamentation of Demeter ~ (Poetry and Myth)”

A Note to My Readers:

Here it is January 2026. My blog has been quiet this year for a number of reasons too long to list.  But the most obvious reason is that of a block or mental ‘resistance’ to writing. Last year in 2024,  I turned to sharing a few older poems of mine that I love. It was a good reminder to me of why I loved writing.

Today, WordPress showed me my latest stats. I rarely look at these anymore, but one thing I notice each time I see an update is that some of the poems I wrote relating to classical myths seem to be accessed the most. I wonder if, in this sad and tumultuous world and country (mine being the USA), we turn to mythology to find answers to timeless questions that appear and reappear over a lifetime. Who are we and why are we here? What is it we are looking for? What really matters? I am now 79.  Those questions and many more have come up time and time again, and the answers have been quite varied over eight decades. What do you, dear reader, think? Why do we cling to myths and tales from long ago and from cultures we know only though history books, literature or art? I’d love to know what you think.

To honor some of these poems, I’m going to post my two Lamentations of Demeter, one at a time. To save some work, I’ll post the whole original poet from my blog. I hope you find some meaning in each of them or perhaps a way to think of something beyond our wild world of today.

 

 British Museum GR 1885.3-16.1 (Terracotta C 529), AN34724001

British Museum GR 1885.3-16.1 (Terracotta C 529), AN34724001

 

Here is the original 2014 posting:

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I’ve been looking over my writing notebooks written a while back but unread by anyone other than myself or my husband. The myths of Demeter and her daughter, Persephone, fascinate many including me. For a number of reasons these myths seem to appeal especially to women. Many of the great living women poets have written brilliant poems about Persephone (e.g., Louise Glück and Eavan Boland). The story is timeless.

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In today’s poem I’ve written a Lamentation of Demeter. Demeter, the goddess of the harvest and grains, is often referred to as the mother-goddess since she represents fertility on earth. Her importance is indisputable. When she mourns for her missing daughter, Persephone (who has been abducted by Hades and taken down into the underworld by force) the seasons stop. Things stop growing and the earth begins to die before Persephone’s father, Zeus, intervenes.  You know the story, but it is worth re-reading if you haven’t read any mythology for a while.

Demeter statue in front of my gym in Hillsborough, North Carolina

Demeter statue in front of my gym in Hillsborough, North Carolina

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So what is a lamentation? The Oxford English Dictionary defines it simply: “The passionate expression of grief or sorrow; weeping.” Anyone who has grieved knows instinctively what it is to lament the loss of someone who is dearly loved. The feeling is painful and deep, and I think this resonates within us all. Demeter mourned her daughter’s abduction to a point where the earth nearly perished. This poem begins with her not yet knowing all that has happened. I picture her as a mother desperate to know what has happened to her child.

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This is one of two lamentations of Demeter I’ve written. The second will follow at some point.

Demeter

Demeter

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To listen to an audio recording of me reading this poem, click on the link below and wait a few seconds for it to begin:

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The First Lamentation of Demeter

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How is it that I don’t know where she has gone?

        I warned her.

I told her time and time again not to trust them,
that there were those who so longed for her
they would stop at nothing.

        And who was right?

Like all girls her age, she could be headstrong,
believing her own mother too old
to understand those yearnings.

         I warned her.

Last night I watched the dog star rise up.
Its magnificent beams were like beacons
that might lead me to my lost child.

        Why is it the stars are silent?

O, Sirius, your brilliant rays reach down
to us and yet your silence is puzzling.
Surely you saw where she went, my only child.

        Will no one tell me where my Persephone has gone?

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Grief-Statue

Gusts ~ Tanka #1

Gusts Summer 2016

 

I’ve had the good fortune to have three of my tanka published in the latest issue of GUSTS,
NO. 23, Contemporary Tanka, Spring/Summer 2016 (Tanka Canada). This is the first time my work has appeared in this beautiful poetry journal, and I’m most grateful to the editor, Kozue Uzawa.

I’ve decided to post each tanka separately here on my blog.

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Without Light ~ A Tanka Sequence

My very first tanka sequence was published in RIBBONS: Journal of the American Tanka Society, Winter 2016: Volume 12, Number 1. My thanks to editor, David Rice, for suggesting to me that these three tanka would work best in a sequence.

 

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Is Mythology More to Your Liking?

Now that it is early autumn, we tend to stay inside more and even read more (at least that’s my experience). Someone recently asked me if I would do the audio recording for some of my mythology poems on this blog. I had done one already, so it does seem natural to now do the others. I hope you like them. My style of reading isn’t dramatic, and I do try hard to avoid “poet voice,” something I dislike very much. Hopefully my readings are pretty natural, maybe too natural for those who do like more drama. I guess it’s all a matter of taste.

By clicking on each link, you will be directed to the original posting for the poem but with the audio now included. I hope you like them.

Grief

                     Grief

The First Lamentation of Demeter:

The First Lamentation of Demeter ~ (Poetry and Myth)

The-Abduction-Of-Persephone-By-Hades

The-Abduction-Of-Persephone-By-Hades

Second Lamentation of Demeter:

The Second Lamentation of Demeter ~ (Poetry and Myth)

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Icarus I

https://apoetintime.com/2014/10/10/icarus-i-poem-by-mary-kendall-mythic-poetry-series/

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Icarus II

Icarus II (Poetry and Myth)

And, while we are at it, here is one other poem on this blog linked with mythology:

Orpheus and Eurydice by Rodin, Metropolitan Museum of Art

Orpheus and Eurydice by Rodin, Metropolitan Museum of Art

The Broken Promise: Orpheus and Eurydice

The Broken Promise: Orpheus and Eurydice, poem by Mary Kendall (Mythic Poetry Series)

My Attic is Full

AUDIO COMES TO MY BLOG!

It’s time to try something new on my blog now that I’ve reached the one year anniversary. I’m adding an audio version of this poem, “My Attic is Full.”

 

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This week’s poem was written in 2011 for a friend I worked/taught with, Jean Sotelo Coene. Somehow we got to talking about cleaning attics and about all the treasures hidden up there and how hard it was to part with things. Jean mentioned her grandmother’s handbag and all the stories it held and that was it…a tiny seed of a poem was planted. I don’t know how those things come to be while others never take hold. I wrote the poem and gave it to Jean as a little present. I love to gift poems to just one person. For that reason, no one has read the poem except for each of us.

Today I was going through some lovely photos from a trip to Cornwall in 2013. [See Bedford Square +2, my travel blog for the whole story of that visit if interested.] We had visited a small manor house, Lanhydrock. [http://www.nationaltrust.org.uk/lanhydrock/] Part of our wanderings allowed access to the attic. Of course it was beautifully staged as were all the rooms in the house, but seeing these pictures this morning was too hard to resist. I worked on the poem today, changing words here and there, adding in a whole stanza and then deleting it. In the end, I liked the first version best. Only a few words are different from the one I handed to Jean.

This poem is dedicated to the memories of all grandmothers who gave us so many wonderful stories to listen to, to dream about, and to share.

To hear the audio, simply click below. I am not much of a professional reader so please bear with me.

 

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My Attic is Full

The attic needs cleaning. It seems so simple,
but it isn’t easy to throw old things away.
There is always the worry we might forget
those we loved, the ones crossed over.

Old boxes hold memories and clothing.
Do you hear the stories held in the silence?
A flowery print dress of soft lawn cotton
holds the story of when it was freshly laundered
and worn in the days of the mid-summer sun.

An old leather purse might tell you where
she went and what she wore.
Inside, a handkerchief delicately edged
in tatted lace is tucked away.

How often she must have clutched it
in her hand to wipe away tears or sneezes,
stifle laughter or mop her brow.
Even now the linen is redolent of old
damask roses from the flower garden.

Beyond the piled boxes of her belongings
are clothes from her husband so long mourned.
She kept them up here all those years,
the only way to keep him near.

Don’t you wonder how often she came up
into this dark attic, pulled the light string,
unfolded a crisp white shirt
and held it to her nose, eyes tightly closed
longing for the scent
that had faded from his pillow?

Lovely tatted edging-22maids-of-honor22-by-mary-konior.jpg

Lovely tatted edging-22maids-of-honor22-by-mary-konior.jpg

Blood Moon (Tanka)

Blood Moon Tanka

A plea for ending hatred:

This week the news was filled with the grand and rare beauty of the appearance of a Blood Moon eclipse and the absolute horror and non-sensical murder of Christian students in Kenya by Islamic fanatics. When, oh, when will the world stop hating?

“Early Thursday five shooters from the Somali-based al-Shabaab terrorist organization swept through a university in the Kenyan town of Garissa, shooting Christian students. They knew who to kill because they ordered students to recite an Islamic prayer. Those who could were spared. Those who could not were shot dead, about 147 so far. Police killed four of the terrorists and captured the fifth.”    (from the Wall Street Journal)

Note: This beautiful photograph of the Blood Moon is not mine. I found it through a google search, but it’s exact origin is unknown. I thank the photographer whoever he or she is for creating such a beautiful capture of this event.