Of One and Many Worlds
By Rayn Roberts
Reviewed by Christopher J. Jarmick in Raven Chronicles
Be still as you move,...
Rayn Roberts slips this line into the last, poem “The Web” in his third book of poetry, Of One and Many
Worlds.
I wish it was the title.
I was immediately filled with doubt about this collection because it begins with a full on rave review in the
form of a preface written by Paul Dolinsky PhD, who is the editor of the Buddhist poetry website, The
Golden Lantern.
Dolinsky writes “Rayn Roberts takes us on a journey of discovery Of One and Many Worlds—the title of
his latest volume of poems... The poet acknowledges that there are ultimate questions, but denies that
there are final answers that could be given by any final authority. He writes highly of art and stilling the
mind through meditation, but even these don’t guarantee any transcendent experience or insights into
existence.”
Several pages of detailed analysis and appreciation of the poems in the book follow. I’m thinking, this
book is either going to be good or it will end up being to poetry what Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer
Space is to movies.
Then I found myself frustrated with some of the poems. The ones I sampled and read through quickly
seemed to be making proclamations and contained lines that sound like something the Dalai Lama might
say.
I hate reading reviews of poetry collections when the critic immediately confesses that he or she doesn’t
like the kind of poetry they are about to read. I think to myself— then why are you the one who is
reviewing the book?
I prefer the kind of poetry that is full of character and points of view and different voices. I don’t like
poetry that tries too hard to teach or philosophizes too much.
But wait, I have heard Rayn Roberts read his poetry live and it’s full of nuance and wit. I must have a
little faith. I also know he’s a practicing Buddhist, an American who lives most of the year in Korea and
teaches there. Teaching is in his blood, in his bones, and it is what he does. So of course it will be in
his poetry.
I step back, I come at the poems again. To appreciate the poetry you have to slow down, try to taste the
words, like you would sipping a fine wine.
Be still as you move.
Rayn is doggedly determined to capture the aesthetic experience of every day life and not create art out
of it in his poems, but instead helps us to see the art in the ordinary journeys we take. He uses his own
journeys to try and connect with us. Sometimes he will connect, sometimes the poems are too preachy
or try too hard to teach, but often they find the right balance.
Of One and Many Worlds contains 52 poems and a few additional untitled lines. The poems are divided
into six sections: 1—How I See; 2—World of Children; 3—Worlds I See; 4—One World Twelve Poems;
5—On Peace and War Before Spring; and 6—Many Worlds.
If this seems a bit formal and pretentious to you, I can assure you, the poems are usually not overly stiff
and proper. We’re being set up. Told to keep a straight face, sit up straight and to behave. The child
however of course cannot help but smile. And that’s what will happen as you travel through the poems.
There’s a gentle lyricism in many of the poems and there’s also humor, some very dry, some the kind
you get from a sweet surprise of a brilliant turn of phrase,
All poets are priests
he proclaims in the poem, “Religions,” and then writes:
Poetry is an offering of being
A meditation of who I am
and
A rocky religion, plain and true!
Working sound without faith in heaven
The title poem "Of One and Many Worlds" opens with a line from Emily Dickinson, “I dwell in Possibility.”
And later there is this:
There is meaning
in every motion or change
the momentary violets
pushing into light, are questions
the old trap of time letting go—
Is the coming of Joy
and more pain
In the one titled, “Each Morning Begins a Journey Until You Arrive At Who You Are,” we start with lines
like these:
Out in the yard, one big palm stands in the sun.
Though it knows the secret of creating dates
. . .
How to lean in the wind and not break
It mostly knows the passage of time.
And then the poem dissolves into flashes of autobiographical images.
The poem “Deserter” is an example of a poem that tries too hard.
When a poet quits writing,
walks from where he lived with the word
to be a soldier in a war,
his pen rises over his desk
over a blank page
sketches that part of his soul
he will lose to hell.
I get it. It seems profound and well done to the poet, but it’s obvious, too wordy, too needy. It’s a Stanley
Kramer movie, the oh-so-important message blocking out the art of poet.
On the other hand I admire the courage Rayn displays in the poem “Since You Asked What Lonely Is.” It
has unabashed confidence and dares to give us this first stanza that purposefully overloads our senses.
An irony from the start...
Can you hear the winter scrape of wind in leaves
or feel the white petals of a cherry tree
burn your skin and still
imagine seasons without weather
language without words
words without speech, a profound fatigue
good sleep cannot heal?
And there are fun ideas that seem like they should work better than they do such as in “Meeting an
Archetype”:
I’d thought it idea only or myth, but I met her
Anima, my other half
Fair skinned, blue eyed, blond as I am
But with a smile
Like the light of dawn:
It’s the kind of poem we might enjoy if it was light, clever and a bit smart ass. It is not. Good title but
disappointing execution. You wish an editor could have persuaded the poet to find something else to
include in the book.
Then we have a poem that is obvious and acceptable for an open mic reading in 2003, but not as part
of a poetry collection in 2006:
They Just Don’t Get It
If for a week they spent on food
what they waste on war
we’d eat for years
and not a child would die
holy war is always an oxymoron,
we make the world eye for eye
child for child
as thousands starved in Africa
because we drop bombs instead of bread...
But just when you think this poet has lost his light touch, you’ll come across:
Why Do You Fear Me?
While I sat on a bench
A pheasant peeked out
Of the underbrush nearby
I only moved my head
To look up and see it
When it took to the air
As if I was a hungry cat!
Did you think, pretty bird
I wanted you for dinner?
I was only reading a book.
I feel like I have been given an extra prize when I read:
Arrival
On the temple floor, in half lotus position
Meditating forty five minutes, forty five
Very long minutes indeed: I open my eyes
Find that I’m in an exotic mountain temple
In no less than Asia, South Korea in fact!
I don’t know why people take airplanes.
I like the line breaks. I like the energy the poem seems to have, the child-like sense of wonder you get
from the choice of words and punctuation. And I like the punch-line too.
There are other short poems full of humor and wit that wipe away the memory of the poems that tried too
hard or belly-flopped with their own well-meaning intentions.
There are poems that are contemplations of spiritual teachings, and poems that observe all of the
exaggerated phallus symbols in the antique stores of Seoul. A picture is taken of a piñata at “The
Birthday Party;” another poem remembers being disappointed by the Doors in concert; lost love appears
in “Things We Cannot Name.”
I can’t excuse the short poem “Acorns.” It’s derivative and like poetry elevator music.
There are poems about natural disasters, Katrina, the War in Iraq - all better than you would expect -
though none flawless and unforgettable.
I like the blunt honesty, the questioning of the poet’s own faith and path in “The Temple as Cage.” It’s
personal, graceful and intensely truthful. A bird that flies into the temple inspires these lines:
It appears more imprisoned by its own ignorance
much as I am, making long flights over water and land
The lazy Bodhisattva, blinded by wanderlust and poems
Rayn Roberts’ Of One and Many Worlds is a satisfying collection of poetry that on occasion rises far
above to inspire, teach, amuse and connect to our mind, our heart. It’s honest, sometimes imperfect, a
little messy, but authentic.
Christopher J. Jarmick is a novelist (The Glass Cocoon), writer/journalist/critic (“A Slow Ride On Muiholland Drive”), and
a poet (published in print magazines, newspapers, anthologies, literary journals and online). He earns his living in
Seattle as a fee-based financial planner and advisor. He was recently the Executive Vice President for the Washington
Poets Association, the curator for poetry readings at Seattle City Council Meetings and is the President of the
Washington chapter of PEN and board member of PEN USA at Antioch College in Los Angeles. For over five years he
has been hosting a poetry reading the third Friday of every month. E mail him at (g1asscocoon@hotmail.Com).