Mortaine’s Blog

Burn Still the Bright Stars

In memory of the Space Shuttle Columbia and her crew of five men and two women, lost on February 1, 2003.

When I lay on my back to gaze at the stars
My dreams filled with silvered ships and men
I lay dreaming, imagining my space craft,
Other children beyond the next star, dreaming, awake.
The stars bright in my eyes, I never forgot
The red-gold blazing of my juvenile hope.

That long summertime of youth and new hope
Faded to dark night, kissing beneath the stars.
Oh! Our hearts blazed, our faces flushed to forget
Our minds and our breasts burned for the hands of men.
We lied, we loved, we slept; we pretended not to wake.
I turned my mind and efforts to. . . other crafts.

These hands that wash, cook, knit, sew, craft,
That hold an infant, brush the soft whispery locks of hope.
These hands lie still and soft until they wake.
These hands reach down to clasp those of my stars.
They open jars, turn gears and gaskets, as strong as most men.
These hands burn silent. They forget.

My hands burn silence, as I forget
Caught in crescendos of my sonorous craft.
Soul-filling thunder, high acclaims of men,
All the great golden voice of my sorrow and hope.
And I sing, my voice free, unto the stars–
My song blazing high, to dawn’s new waking.

Softer songs fill the dreary hall where a wake
Limps on. Teared faces try to forget
The lost, weak eyes, dull glass, darkened stars.
No man of medicine or science could save her, for all their craft.
In this room of sorrow and loss, the quieting of hope,
We come round together and hold close our grieving men.

I am an explorer, a woman among men.
My sex’s long dreams of flight now awake.
I, a pioneer, a teacher, a lover, a friend. I hope
To bring back dreams to our daughters, who shall not forget
That above this world is my hearth, my home, my craft–
My crew, my laughter, my family among the stars.

We wake today to a vision; we cannot forget
Hope. A blazing streak was one, fragile, spacecraft.
Dream still the young men and women. Burn still the bright stars.

Stephanie Cottrell Bryant, February 3, 2003

Copyright 2003, Stephanie Cottrell Bryant. Please contact the author for permission to republish this work. Permission is automatically granted to share this work with the family, friends, and colleagues of the Columbia crew.

This is a rough draft of a sestina that I’m writing to commemorate Saturday’s finale of the Columbia mission.

“Untitled”

When we lie on our backs to gaze at the stars
Our dreams are filled with silvered ships and men
We lie dreaming, drawing our space craft.
Children beyond the next star, dreaming awake.
The stars bright in our eyes, we never forget
The red-gold blazing of our juvenile hope.

The long summertime of new love and new hope
Fades to dark night, kissing beneath the stars.
Oh! Our hears blaze, our faces flush to forget
Our minds and breasts burn for the hands of men.
We lie, we love, we sleep; we pretend in the morning not to wake.
We turn our minds and hands to. . . other crafts.

These hands that wash, cook, knit, sew, craft–
That hold an infant, that brush, gently sweet, our hope,
These hands lie still and soft until I wake.
These hands reach down to clasp those of my stars.
They open jars, turn gears and gaskets, strong as any man.
Yet these hands burn silent, as they too forget.

My hands burn silence, as I forget
Caught in crescendos of my sonorous craft.
Soul-filling thunder, high acclaims of men,
All the great golden voice of my sorrow and hope.
And I sing, my voice free, unto the stars–
My song blazing high, to dawn’s new waking.

Soft song fills the hall where the dreay wake
Limps on, teared faces trying to forget
Aged, weakened eyes, dull glass, darkened stars.
No man of medicine could save him, for all his craft.
In this room of sorrow and loss, and the muting of hope,
We come round together and hold close our grieving men.

I am an explorer, a woman among men.
My sex’s long dreams of flight now awake.
I, a pioneer, a teacher, a lover, a friend. I hope
To bring dreams to our daughters, who shall not forget
That above this world is my hearth, my home, my craft–
My crew, my laughter, my family among the stars.

We wake today to a vision we cannot forget.
Hope, a blazing streak, once a fragile spacecraft.
Men and women yet dream and burn to reach our bright stars.

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What is a Sestina?
A sestina is a poetic form in which you have six stanzas of six lines each, switching around the ending word for each line according to a specific formula. There is no set rhythm to a sestina (so, no iambic pentameter to worry about here), but most poets use some form of rhythmic regularity. I haven’t in this one, except to try not to limp too much.

Sestina resources:
Sestina Page
sestina (poetic term)
The Sestina Page (on Geocities– has popups, and a list of links, some of which are dead).
Poetry Form: Sestina

John and I went camping and hiking this weekend to celebrate his birthday. On Saturday we car-camped at a site in Big Basin, having brought the dog. On Sunday, we had planned to take Hammer home and come back for a birthday party and day hike.

This is my log of our journey

4ish P.M.

We decided to go on this trip, despit the Columbia explosion, because it seemed right and appropriate to go out into the woods and love each other and the world and not be trapped into the CNN Breaking News cycle.

Hammer is doing fine– like a prince, in fact. His coat was a bit too cool, once he stopped moving around, so he now has an Indean blanket draped over him. John built a fire and claims that it’s making Hammer sleepy. He also made Hammer a little “dog run” so he could have some mobility.

I, in the meantime, am trying not to get too chilled, to keep an eye on the dog and his temperature, and to enjoy our sanctioned fire. Dinner tonight is pasta, red sauce, bread, wine, veggies, and a dessert of S’mores. Yum!

We already made the popcorn, which Hammer also enjoyed, adn it looks like John is starting dinner, so I’ll go make the appetizers. Mmmmm!

5:45 P.M. ish

John wants to make special note that being right next to the bathrooms means more noise, more people, and it will never get fully dark because of the outdoor lamp outside the bathrooms. And yet, somehow we always get put in campsites right next to the toilet. At least these flush.

Feb. 2, 10:45 A.M.

Hammer pooped inside the tent this morning at about 6:30 A.M. We jumped out of the tent at 6:35 or so, when we noticed, and began the cleanup and decontamination procedures.

Hammer continued his “gifts” by having diarrhea, so at just before 7:00 A.M., we decided to take him home for the day.

We threw dog, packs, and his soiled bedding into the van and went home, where we had our planned pancake, ham, and mocha breakfast. We have returned by 11 A.M. and have now broken camp. The guests arrive for cake at 12:30.

12:00 P.M.

Tinfoil We used tinfoil to make a little dipping boat last night for the bread and garlic oil. Note: when making a dipping plate, test for leaks before adding the vinegar.

2:48 P.M. Started the trail to Sempervirens Falls

7:30 P.M. ish

I twisted my right ankle about 20 minutes into the hike, and the trail was very demanding on my lungs and general wheeziness.

The waterfall was pleasant; we walked all the way down to the platform and decided to take the road partway to the ranger station, then cross back over to the trail for the return trip.

On the trail about 1/2 of the way back, my right foot caught on a root and I tripped and fell flat on my front. I fell fast and hard and seem to have bruised up my leg pretty bad, but at least my right ankle seems to be only strained, not sprained, as a hot shower did not result in swelling.

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Well, that was the trip. I am unbelievably sore today because of my own lack of fitness and the fall. It was pretty frightening– we were facing downhill, so I ended up falling an extra half a foot. My ankle is still sore– I am completely amazed that it didn’t sprain after all that abuse.

Oh, and please don’t advise me to buy boots with ankle support. I have boots with ankle support. They hurt my feet and make me cranky. I may have been bruised and abused yesterday, but I am glad I went on the trip, I wasn’t blaming anyone for my own clumsiness, even though John felt bad for making me go. As I rightly pointed out– I can fall just as easily at home (and have) as I can out in the great wide open.