July 3, 2013

ODE TO THE SUPER MOON JUNE 2013: One Moon, One People. The most beautiful shots from every corner of the world...& a bit of poetry.

This year, on June 23-25, one Goliath moon shone over and was appreciated by people all over world. I've posted the most romantic shots I could find of this year's summer solstice super moon from several countries at my Pinterest page (http://www.pinterest.com/kaitlinhanger). Thanks to the photographers who captured the moment on film. 

This recent super moon was not only the largest full moon of 2013, it also marked the closest the moon would be in proximity to the earth until August 2014. Astronomers call this a perigee full moon. The summer super moon causes our lunar friend to appear 14 percent bigger and 30 percent brighter than other full moons viewed on Earth. 
How lucky we are to witness such inspiring vastness and admire, to borrow the words of James Joyce, the moon's “nocturnal predominance...her luminary reflection: her constancy under all her phases, rising and setting by her appointed times, waxing and waning…her potency over effluent and refluent waters: her power to enamor, to mortify, to invest with beauty, to render insane, to incite to and aid delinquency…her motion and her presence…her arid seas, and her silence...”

The power of the moon can make us humble.

Photos of Super Moon around the world:
SOME WRITERS IN AWE OF THE MOON & HER CONSTANCY:  (including, so humbly, myself)
A cool small evening shrunk to a dog bark and the clank of a bucket -
And you listening.
A spider's web, tense for the dew's touch.
A pail lifted, still and brimming - mirror
To tempt a first star to a tremor.

Cows are going home in the lane there, looping the hedges with their warm
wreaths of breath -
A dark river of blood, many boulders,
Balancing unspilled milk.
'Moon!' you cry suddenly, 'Moon! Moon!'

The moon has stepped back like an artist gazing amazed at a work
That points at him amazed.

 Ted Hughes, Full Moon and Little Frieda

    (a poem to his daughter)
The moon is a loyal companion. It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human. Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.

― Tahereh MafiShatter Me
I recognized the feet of the häxa walking shackled toward Bålberget. I smelled their moon hearts in ashes where they slumbered. When the moon came up and the coals sat damp, when the branding irons were silenced, I cut bodies down from scaffolds and spit away memories of children who'd sacrificed their mothers for a crust of bread. I levitated my palms over their words until magic burst from the opened veins and bled into the ether. For you cannot burn away complete a creature made for moving water. Her heart returns. And once you hear her sail-winds you can never rid your mind of her sea-witch lullaby.

― Kaitlin Hanger, The Depths of Superior Alchemy
The moon is in her chariot of pearl...

 Oscar Wilde, The Nightingale and the Rose
She creeps 
She picks up a horde of angry ghosts
On the soles of her syrup feet
She gathers noise 
In stone, in primitive vowels
She hoards velocity in speeds
Too small to deconstruct

She arrives at solstice
Round my time-lapsed life
Pinprick by pinhole
Straining toward the Sun
Arcing in the night
To become the Moon
And become the Sun
And become the Moon

And become the Moon.

For every rhythm ends
At some distant pole
Even the invisible dance of snails,
Even the unspoken screech-strain-
Sweat of the Snail Woman
As she wiggles
Through my epidermis
To alchemize the trail beneath me
Into this, a weathered box of words.

Kaitlin Hanger, Snail Woman
There was just one moon. That familiar, yellow, solitary moon. The same moon that silently floated over fields of pampas grass, the moon that rose - a gleaming, round saucer - over the calm surface of lakes, that tranquilly beamed down on the rooftops of fast-asleep houses. The same moon that brought the high tide to shore, that softly shone on the fur of animals and enveloped and protected travelers at night. The moon that, as a crescent, shaved slivers from the soul - or, as a new moon, silently bathed the earth in its own loneliness. THAT moon.”

― Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
More poems and prose about the moon can be enjoyed at: http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/moon

Access the Photos of Super Moon from around the globe:


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