Anne Wilkerson Allen

Crane Dance

Poem accompanied by a pencil drawing, May 2011

The poem itself is a description of the dream. It is still so clear––I can see the details of her feathers and feel the breeze off the lake. It was a magical, beautiful, but heartbreaking dream. I was later told that this is very similar to an archetypal story about a heron or pelican; I do not remember ever hearing it. This was written at a time when I was doing some work for the local womens' shelters. It followed the tsunami and earthquakes in Japan, which were still being vigorously discussed. And just days afterward, the tornado hit Joplin, MO. So much pain in the world. Trying to think globally, act locally.

A colleague asked me to submit one of my poems in artistic form to be auctioned at a fund raiser in Japan through ArtSun, a group of Japanese feminists who provide art supplies for students. I chose "Crane Dance" and asked my son, Matthew, to draw something to go with it. Matt is a student at SCAD in Savannah, GA. We have not yet heard how the auction went, but are hopeful it was a success. In addition, a friend in China sent the poem to another scholar, Kunbumi Izumi, to be translated into beautiful Japanese calligraphy, which was added to the piece. So this wonderful dance has gone around the globe several times and hopefully will "feed" the creativity of a young artist.

Crane Dance

We danced at the edge of pale waters,
not caring if we missed a step
or fell into the wake of each others jubilance.

We leapt in the moonlight,
contours of light and shadow
reflected in the depths of the lake.

The soft down at the base of her feathers
was a gentle caress on the breeze of tender love
and her silver eyes embraced me.

"Why are you afraid of what you feel?
Kindle the furnace of your heart and
let go, or you will never know yourself"

I beheld my nakedness and abandon
and felt complete freedom in that moment,
as with a trusted lover.

"Mother," said she, and I looked behind me.
"Mother," said she, and stepped closer to my fear
because the voice was not of my child.

In her voice I heard the yearning of a million hearts
I felt the aching of a thousand needs
And the brokenness in my own heart that I don't know.
I don't know if I have enough to feed them all.

Copyright 2011: All work contained herein is protected by copyright. Neither words nor images may be used, copied, transmitted or reproduced in whole or in part in any form nor may they or any part thereof be stored in a retrieval system of any nature without written permission of the artist.