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C.N.P Poetry 

Mon Père, Pépère; Ephemeral and Constant; Solitude, Six Studies

By: Deborah Rosch Eifert

Mon Père, Pépère 

              For I am the King of Owls. Where I float no shadow falls. I have hungers, such terrible hungers, you cannot know, Lords, I sharpen my talons on your bones.  — Louise Erdrich “King of Owls”- about the mad French King Charles VI Bonebreakers. pursuers of hungers Fathers, forefathers sharpened oiled knives on whetstones  blades pressed to  the grinding  surface sounded  a grating whir–   a stone dove’s flight. Fathers have a  hand-grip hard  and fast,  bruising as talons. My fathers, forefathers  more peregrine  than owl, from  on high  their fierce plummet- dives pierced us, the  prey leaving shame- tears torn bones body cavities filled  with the water  of sorrow. My sister of the sky, the owl calls to me in her silence especially in her silence floating  cream and wood-brown plumes lofting slow  soundless feathers weightless-seeming flight  beneath her green grassland flows yards of verdant silk  under the ribbon  of the Milky Way my owl-sister glides past  moon on her wings flying beyond the stone dove beyond sorrow beyond the reach of falcons.

Ephemeral and Constant

                 “The single quantity, time, melts into a spider web of times.”                                  – Carlo Revelli, The Order of Time Stop at the edge  of land sea foam greets dark sand listen  waves  a heart pulse rumbles celadon Atlantic indigo ribbons  of deep current  distant humpback  breaches bridges water  to sky Inverted bowl  of black- purple night  the Big Dipper  glitters its silver flecks  ladled time pours  to earth  catches in  a sea urchin’s spines this light  thousands of years  old Throw your  watchworks far out  to sea feel how time flurries  on the wind ephemeral and constant

Solitude, Six Studies

                   - after Rainer Maria Rilke I. Dusk.  River birches lean against shore, branches backlit  against bruise-blue sky. Poised at the twig tips, a hundred crows each tree limb ends in a slim stem  bearing a single  unmoving bird, a black paradise flower. II.  I visit the city on the opposite coast where my grown daughter lives. Leaving, I hop on the blue  bus to the airport.  She walks away, head down, tugging her army surplus  collar higher up, hiding tears, descendants  of those that tracked my face while her yellow school bus  drove away. I stare down  at the transit map  through a watery blur, searching  for the right  stop. III. When bricks crumble to mud, glass returns to sand, coins and cars  fold back into earth  as ore, names dissolve into unmoored sounds, then I will be whole. IV. Early evening snow is glazed, icy. White frozen banks reflect  lavender, shadow pockets  deep blue. A gray fox patters across  a snow dune, stops, sniffs  the ground in a circle, lifts her head looks deep into me. Her cat-like face  empties all my  deep-down self I don’t refill  until dawn. V. anxious  vibrations of my  earthquake heart  blur strangers into  lollipop faces  the light is the color of a tooth the air smells like burnt coffee I cannot breathe there is nowhere to go VI. God and all angels, these are the sounds of my soul: an exhaled breath before sleep, the soft plash  of a seal  slipping underwater, the silence of a broken  pine decaying  on the forest floor.


Deborah Rosch Eifert is a poet and clinical psychologist. Her poems have appeared in The Gateway Review, Persephone's Daughters and other small presses, as well as appearing in several anthologies. She was a semifinalist in the 2018 Split Rock Review Chapbook Competition, and First Runner-up in the 2018 Esthetic Apostle Chapbook Contest and was shortlisted for the Doug Draime Poetry Prize. She received an Editor's Choice Award from *fws: journal of literature & art.' She was nominated for a Pushcart Prize by the journal Constellations, named a top 100 literary journal by

“Mon Père, Pépère” – I was reading the Louise Erdrich poem referenced in the epigraph, and two things came to mind. First, my father and grandfather were French madmen who behaved as despotic monarchs within the family. Second, Erdrich made the “Owl” aspect of the Mad King seem fierce and bloodthirsty. I think of falcons as having that ferocity, whereas owls seem serene, graceful, zen-like, even though they are also hunters. Bringing those elements together seemed like a way to speak about sexual abuse, violence, predation, yet also about ultimately transcending it.

“Ephemeral and Constant” –The nature of time fascinates me. In trauma survivors, the qualities of time become distorted; five minutes feels like hours during a horrifying event, but if you later dissociate, you may lose hours of time in blankness that feels like only a few minutes passed. I had been attempting to read through this dense book about the physics of time, and then I went to a small town near Mount Katahdin because I had heard the Northern Lights were going to be visible in Maine and I wanted to see them. I missed the Aurora, but the Milky Way and Big Dipper were in front of me, huge and immediate in the pristine darkness. I thought about this physics of time book and how the light that comes to us from stars left its origin an incomprehensible amount of time in the past. I visualized the Big Dipper as a ladle pouring time onto Earth from the heavens. I am not sure I can describe how the ocean elements came to the poem, except that I heard the phrase “throw your watchworks far out to sea” like dictation in my ear.

“Solitude, Six Studies” – this poem was influenced by one in Rainer Maria Rilke’s Book of Hours. In that poem, he talks about metal that is removed from the earth being enfolded back into the ground and how “then we will be whole.” I started thinking about being whole versus being fragmented into isolated pieces, which led to thinking about solitude and how there are many ways of being singular, solitary. During the period when I was having these esoteric discourses with myself, I went to the beach, to a spot in Maine known for having a lot of seals. I am really a bit obsessed with seals and selkies, and I saw a pod of seals, and then one that was lying on its side in the water, did a roll and slipped back beneath the surface seamlessly, with a very quiet ‘plash.’ I felt soul-satisfied by that sound, which led to wondering about the sounds that characterize my soul. Dividing the poem into very structured sections reflected my thoughts about isolation and fragmentation.


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