“Time’s Passing Reflections,” Blog Tour Day Four- Elizabeth Bishop and Power of Being an Empath

Supported through the efforts of A Bibliophile’s Workshop-editorial/publicity services for self-published writers-  the first inaugural Blog Tour is here. For this first blog tour, Indulge your mind with some lovely yarns of poetry, perfect as an antidote to life’s trials and tribulations!!

Celebrating the Poetic Legacy of Thelma Barselow, one poem at a time….

Time’s Passing Reflections Blog Tour (September 14, 2014-September 20, 2014)

Like & Share these posts with a wide pool of people, to be eligible to win a special  literary prize…. more details about such a prize can be found below!


Capturing the vivid intimacy of journaling combined with the photographic realism of  rich poetry, Thelma Barselow’s collection of poetry is a volume of poetry that any serious reader of poetry will not want to miss!!

Synopsis, taken from the Amazon product page:

“This collection of poetry spans the years and encompasses a lifetime of observations, broken down into simple, yet elegant and sometimes whimsical poems. Some of the poems are religious, others are merely soulful.

Thelma has spent her life caring for others, starting with her children and her husband. That career included caring for the children of others, and ultimately, taking care of Alzheimer’s patients which she did until her recent retirement.

She has many stories to tell and I hope that someday she will tell them all. Until then, please enjoy this collection of her words, her thoughts, her passing reflections.”

This is a poetry collection, which Anne Rice made sure to buy five copies for friends and family:

Anne share
Poem-of-the Day:

**If you have an eidetic memory (the type of memory that lets you recall images and sounds without mnemonic tricks), you may be able to memorize fragments of these poems. Many of the poems featured here will be short, highly visceral,as are most of the poems contained in Thelma Barselow’s poem collection- Time’s Passing Reflections

Today’s featured poem is written by one of my absolute favorite poets, Elizabeth Bishop. Elizabeth Bishop really spearheaded the poetic phenomenon of writing “empath” poetry, which as the word “empath” applies (without any hocus-pocus, new-age connotations attached) is more about the mysterious psychological ability for us to empathize greatly with others.The Man-moth typifies every ghostly apparition of a person, who seems to incidentally become more ghostly, incorporeal, as we become desensitized or bogged down by the mundane, mechanical constructs of the world. We forget that we are hard-wired to be compassionate, and that the ability to greatly empathize with another person’s grief, simultaneously imbibes us with a sense of being, realness. When our emotional experiences are bridged, we can salvage the ghosts and apparitions of the mortuary of the world from without our interior lives, and spare us from neuroticism, self-abnegation, self-pity, and our sorrow, melancholy, and downright feeling of stabbing impotence in the world can be used to link ourselves to another’s experience-see through their eyes- and remind them that there is a purpose for living.

Each time we give the ghosts around us, the withered, vanishing people of a depersonalized world, acknowledgement, appreciation, and above all, empathy, for some struggle in their lives; we are offering life to those people, and they are also offering us life, in a sense, as well. Real empathy is not a situation, where there is inferiority or superiority, but there is an egalitarian exchange almost of seeing, recognizing, and take each other’s burden into one’s another mind, and remembering that there is no such thing as a human struggle that is so far alienated from our experience that we can’t empathize, or learn to understand it. There is no man-moth in the structural jungle of this world, that we can’t learn to understand, and learn to love and appreciate as a fellow human being, worthy of being shown dignity.

One of my favorite portrayals of a man-moth, from literature, is the fascinating character of Miss Havisham, especially as played by the sublime Gillian Anderson.

The Man-Moth, by Elizabeth Bishop

“Here, above,

cracks in the buildings are filled with battered moonlight.
The whole shadow of Man is only as big as his hat.
It lies at his feet like a circle for a doll to stand on,
and he makes an inverted pin, the point magnetized to the moon.
He does not see the moon; he observes only her vast properties,
feeling the queer light on his hands, neither warm nor cold,
of a temperature impossible to record in thermometers.
                     But when the Man-Moth
pays his rare, although occasional, visits to the surface,
the moon looks rather different to him. He emerges
from an opening under the edge of one of the sidewalks
and nervously begins to scale the faces of the buildings.
He thinks the moon is a small hole at the top of the sky,
proving the sky quite useless for protection.
He trembles, but must investigate as high as he can climb.
                     Up the façades,
his shadow dragging like a photographer’s cloth behind him
he climbs fearfully, thinking that this time he will manage
to push his small head through that round clean opening
and be forced through, as from a tube, in black scrolls on the light.
(Man, standing below him, has no such illusions.)
But what the Man-Moth fears most he must do, although
he fails, of course, and falls back scared but quite unhurt.
                     Then he returns
to the pale subways of cement he calls his home. He flits,
he flutters, and cannot get aboard the silent trains
fast enough to suit him. The doors close swiftly.
The Man-Moth always seats himself facing the wrong way
and the train starts at once at its full, terrible speed,
without a shift in gears or a gradation of any sort.
He cannot tell the rate at which he travels backwards.
                     Each night he must
be carried through artificial tunnels and dream recurrent dreams.
Just as the ties recur beneath his train, these underlie
his rushing brain. He does not dare look out the window,
for the third rail, the unbroken draught of poison,
runs there beside him. He regards it as a disease
he has inherited the susceptibility to. He has to keep
his hands in his pockets, as others must wear mufflers.
 If you catch him,
hold up a flashlight to his eye. It’s all dark pupil,
an entire night itself, whose haired horizon tightens
as he stares back, and closes up the eye. Then from the lids
one tear, his only possession, like the bee’s sting, slips.
Slyly he palms it, and if you’re not paying attention

he’ll swallow it. However, if you watch, he’ll hand it over,

cool as from underground springs and pure enough to drink.”
(Elizabeth Bishop)

What does this poem evoke for you? Leave your comments below, with your own deeply inspired thoughts of what you think about this poem, and what images it conjures in your mind?

Stay tuned tomorrow for another poem-of-the-day, and other tantalizing features(special Time’s Passing Reflections tea; an in-depth review of a book by this blog’s own poetry connoisseur), as part of the Time’s Passing Reflections Blog Tour, featuring a new post every day of this entire week

Special Giveaway:

Enter below by clicking this enchanting photo of Station Eleven, with a mugful of Station Eleven-inspired tea, to be redirected to the Rafflecopter App, allowing you to enter this contest

    Station Eleven is an excellent, darkly dramatic, slightly sardonic, piece of writing, meditating on the vicissitudes of life, as seen through the lives of various human beings exposed to apocalyptic trauma, and how art itself helps salvage us, give us a reason to claim “mere survival is insufficient.”

*Only those living in the US/Canada are eligible to enter this contest!*

If you have any questions, concerns, about this blog tour, and anything else connected back with A Bibliophile’s Workshopplease do not hesitate to email our center of our operations at the following email address:

One Comment Add yours

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