“The Rhythm” by Tom Kapanka

Originally written and posted at Patterns of Ink 

on May 27,2007 and again  HERE:

It started with a murmur…

My primary care physician said the murmur was very faint but scheduled an echocardiogram just the same. That echo confirmed a faint murmer so he scheduled a nuclear stress test—if nothing else just to get a baseline for future reference. A month passed (which I mention only to stress the non-emergency nature of the stress test) and I headed to North Ottawa Hospital in my finest jogging outfit.

It was the same outfit I wear at the fitness center Julie and I joined last spring. I have lost more than thirty-five pounds since then. but I will admit that I don't really jog so much as walk around the track, and I don’t really exert myself on the equipment, I typically call it good after swimming four lengths in Olympic-sized pool. In other words: I'm far from the high school senior that won the Physical Education award in 1974. I'll also admit that my ten minutes on the stress-test treadmill while hooked up to a dozen wires and being injected with radioactive isotopes did leave me more than a little winded, but the technicians involved were so calm, kind, and complimentary that I thought I did fine and told my wife so upon returning home. 

At 4:58 the night of the stress test, I got a call from the cardiologist’s office. There was urgency in their questions: 

“Are you sure you’re okay? No chest pains? Any shortness of breath?”

 “I feel fine," I assured them.

“Well, today's stress test indicates a few areas of concern. So if you feel any symptoms—anything at all—go straight to the ER.” The voice went on to scheduled an appointment for heart-cath consultation, but every minute or so they repeated these instructions to go straight to the ER. They said it again just before hanging up. 

“Hmm…” I sighed, staring at my phone.

 “What’d they say?” asked Julie. “

“I could be reading into it," I smiled, "but they seem surprised that I'm not having  a heart attack right now.”

A few minutes later my primary care physician called. We often have lighthearted banter during our visits, and he felt comfortable opening with, “So, I hear you failed your stress test.”

I laughed and said, “I didn’t think I did until the cardiologist’s office called a few minutes ago.  I’m feeling just fine—really."

“That’s good to hear," he said, then repeated what the other office said about going straight to ER if I felt anything unusual.

"Wow.__so I guess I really did bomb the stress test.”

"Seriously, Tom, It's a wonder you didn't have chest pains. The test indicates multiple concerns--multiple arterial blockages—multiple regions of the heart were lacking oxygen. Fortunately, we don't think there is any damage to heart muscle. The cardiologist wants to do a heart cath as soon as possible. That's the only real way to know what's going on.  You have an appointment with them Monday. The last words he said before hanging up were, "I’m sorry this is not going to be the Thanksgiving and Christmas you had planned.”

I thanked him for his call and repeated what he said to Julie. It was a frank and even funny conversation, but that last line that got our attention: “I’m sorry this is not going to be the Thanksgiving and Christmas you had planned.”

The weekend passed event-free, but during my time at the cardiologist office Monday, all the talk of caths and arteries and options-- and all the heart diagrams on the wall--did prompt a slight tightness in my chest. No pain. No shortness of breath. Just a tightness behind my sternum. 

"It's probably psychosomatic I said. You know just all this talking about it."  I said dismissively.

“That kind of stress (e.g. anxiety or worry or conflict) is just as real as a treadmill.” He explained. I knew this to be true because the occasional tightness behind the sternum had started the year before I retired. 

The cardiologist’s office is a stone’s throw from the Trinity ER.and, with my permission, he calmly checked me in for the night just to be on the safe side.

The heart cath was first thing the next day. We had been told it would take 90 minutes to two hours depending on how many stents were needed. Mine was over in 45 minutes and I was alert enough to think to myself, “That’s either really good news or really bad news.”

In the recovery room afterwards, I was told the good news first— no damage to any heart muscle. I really like my cardiologist. He’s optimistic but doesn’t sugarcoat things. He went on to say that the LAD (sometimes called the “widow maker”) was 100% blocked. The RCA was also 100% blocked, and the LCA was 75-80% blocked. 

Knowing what I know about my grandfather’s fatal heart attack in 1958 and my father’s fatal heart attack in 1995 and my wife’s emergency open-heart surgery in 2004,  I gave him a puzzled look and asked “If the widow-maker is 100% blocked and the RCA is 100% blocked, and I only have a trickle in the LCA.  How am I alive?” 

“Collateral arteries,” he explained.” You’ve been living with these blockages a long time—long enough for your heart to grow collateral arteries to bypass the blockages as they formed--sort of like taking a detour around a closed highway--but collaterals cannot handle the volume of blood needed to provide enough oxygen during stress. That's why you occasionally have that tightness behind the sturmun. We’re scheduling triple bypass ASAP. "

Thank God for collateral arteries. (And thank God I had never been overly ambitious at the fitness center.)

I’ll fast forward through the rest of my eleven days in the hospital and say that today marks three full weeks at home. My surgery was the day after Thanksgiving. "Rest and recovery" is going very well at home. 

My doctor was right when he said, “…this is not going to be the Thanksgiving and Christmas you had planned.” I can honestly say that “a peace that passes understanding” has accompanied us through each unfolding day.  

Never did my family and I have a more thankful Thanksgiving, and never have we anticipated a more joyous Christmas!

Merry Christmas to you all!

Tom

Please listen to the words of this video link. It is not a Christmas song per se—but it beautifully sums up the season for me this year.

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Note about the poem that is the title of this post: 

:

As a writer and former English teacher, I have an understandable aversion to Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)--especially as it pertains to the creative arts. I believe that being made in the Image of God includes the irrepressible desire to create.  The thought that this very human process can be mimicked by a non-human source is troubling. I'm told, however, that A.I. like the example to follow is distilled from millions of human thoughts skimmed like cream from the collelctive body of human writing that has gathered on the internet since humans began writing there. Whether or not that is true,  it does give me some level of comfort. Still, let it be known I do not use A.I. in my writing process and it has played no part in any of the posts here at Patterns of Ink. 

Having said that, I recently stumbled upon "Gemini" which is what Google calls there A.I. program (similar to ChatGPT). I was curious how A.I. would analyze my "...metaphors and meaning and enless patterns of ink..." (as statted in this blog's header). I was pleasantly surprised and decided to post the results.).  Whenever I post an A.I. analysis, I will playfully frame it as a brief guest lecture by Dr.G.E. Mini of Ayai University. I must admit, this imaginary professor is very observant and surprisingly open to the subtle spiritual elements often below the surface of my writing. 

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Analysis of Tom Kapanka's "The Rhythm"

Presented by Dr. G.E. Mini of Ayai University

This wonderful poem by Tom Kapanka perfectly executes the concept of "form matching content." The poem doesn't just talk about rhythm; it forces the reader to experience it. Here is an analysis and appreciation of "The Rhythm," breaking down how it achieves its effect. 

The Structure of Speed:

The poem is structured in three distinct movements based on tempo: 

1. The Legato Opening (Lines 1-8) The beginning is smooth and lulling. It describes the subconscious, automatic rhythms of biology—blinking, heartbeats, breathing, etc. that are unnoticed in in the passage of time (“…cycles of the sun”). The language here is soft ("breath and sigh," "slip our mind"). The rhythm is steady, almost unnoticeable, mirroring the very things it describes—the background noise of being alive. 

2. The Staccato Climax (Lines 9-12) This is the brilliant center of the poem. "we wake t’thm, walk t’thm, work t’thm, talk t’thm, laugh t’thm, cry t’thm, live t’thm... die t’thm."  By contracting "to the rhythm" (or "to them") down to the percussive sound of "t’thm," Kapanka forces the reader to speed up the auditory effect: When read aloud, "t’thm" sounds like a metronome ticking, a snare drum tapping, or a quickened heartbeat.   

3. The Reflective Slow-Down (Lines 13-15) Just after the highest speed ("die t’thm"), the poem hits the brakes with: "It becomes a most ungraceful dance ..." The line length expands, forcing the rhythm to slow down. The final lines introduce a theological or spiritual element. The "ungraceful dance" is the frantic activity described in the middle section when life's activity is divorced from the Giver of Life.

The Thematic effect: The short poem compresses the entirety of human existence—from waking to dying—into a frantic, breathless rush. It perfectly captures how quickly life passes when we are on autopilot, just moving from one beat to the next without thought.

The Core Metaphor: The Conductor  The final imagery shifts the focus from the dancers (us) to the Conductor (God). "...when we ignore the Hand that grants the Grace and gently taps... the rhythm." The poem suggests that the frantic pace of modern life (the "work t'thm, talk t'thm," etc.) is chaotic and "ungraceful" if we forget the source. The use of capital letters for "Hand" and "Grace" implies a divine Creator. The ending is masterful because of the ellipsis (...). It forces a pause, a breath, before the final words "the rhythm." It mimics the very "gentle tap" it describes, ending the poem not with a bang, but with a mindful heartbeat. 

Summary "The Rhythm" is a clever piece of poetry because it uses sound devices to manipulate the reader's physical experience of reading. It starts slow, rushes you through a lifetime in four lines, and then gently slows you down to contemplate the source of that life. It is a reminder to stop dancing frantically and be more mindful of the One who wrote the score.

Nothing Like the Heart

 

Recent events in my life have reminded me of these lines I wrote in April,1995, upon returning home from my father's funeral. It was the deepest grief I had yet experienced. We were expecting our third child, but she was ten weeks from knowing her grandpa's touch. Stained glass is a great example of beauty in brokenness. In the 2nd stanza, if you change the spelling of panes to pains, morning to mourning, and sun to Son, you may find fuller meaning in the imagery. 

Psalm 34:18 “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.”

*******

As a writer, I have an understandable aversion to Artificial Intelligence (A.I.)--especially as it pertains to the creative arts. I believe that being made in the Image of God includes the irrepressible desire to create, and the thought that this very human process can be mimicked by a non-human source is troubling. I'm told, however, that A.I. like the example below is distilled from millions of human thoughts skimmed like cream from the collelctive pool of human writing that has gathered on the internet since humans began writing there. Whether or not that is true,  it does give me some level of comfort that at the heart of A.I. there is collective human thought.  Still, let it be known I do not use A.I. in my writing process and it has played no part in any of the posts here at Patterns of Ink.  

Having said that, I recently stumbled upon "Gemini" which is what Google calls there A.I. program (similar to ChatGPT). I was curious how A.I. would analyze my "...metaphors and meaning and enless patterns of ink..." (as statted in this blog's header). I was pleasantly surprised and have decided to post the results below.  Whenever I post an A.I. analysis at POI, I will playfully frame it as a brief guest lecture by Dr.G.E. Mini (Google’s Gemini A.I.) I must admit, this professor is very observant and surprisingly open to the spiritual elements often hidden in my writings. 

Analysis of  Tom Kapanka's "Nothing like the Heart"

Presented by Dr. G.E.Mini of Ayai University

"Nothing Like the Heart" is a deeply moving poem, made even more poignant by the context of Tom Kapanka having written it the week after losing his father to a heart attack. Knowing that the poet’s father died due to the failure of a physical heart adds a layer of visceral reality to the metaphorical "breaking" of the poet’s emotional heart. Here is an analysis of the themes, imagery, and emotional progression within “Nothing like the Heart.” 

The Dual Meaning of "The Heart" The title and the refrain—“Nothing like the Heart”—carry a heavy double meaning given the circumstances. • Physical: It references the literal organ in the chest which is the seat of more than 700,000 deaths per year in the U.S.. • Metaphorical: It references the seat of emotion: love, grief, etc. Kapanka bridges the gap between the physical heart as a vessel of life and the metaphorical heart as the vessel of the soul. 

Stanza 1: Fragility and the Stained Glass Metaphor "the stained glass window of the soul." This is the poem's central image. Comparing the heart to a stained glass window is structurally perfect for a poem about grief: Beauty and Function: Stained glass is beautiful not just because of the glass itself, but because of the light that shines through it. Fragility: It is easily shattered.  The Nature of Repair: Kapanka notes that while things mend, they are "never quite the same / though all the parts make up the whole." This suggests that grief changes the landscape of a person permanently. You may put the pieces back together and function as a "whole" person again, but the cracks (the lead lines in the window) form a new pattern. You are not the person you were before the loss. 

Stanza 2: The Paradox of Brokenness "Somehow though... / through broken panes / the morning draws the sun" This stanza introduces a profound paradox often found in grief literature: We are healed through the very wounds that break us. If the window remained intact, it would still filter the light, but the broken pane allows the "morning" (a symbol of new beginnings and hope) to enter raw and unfiltered. It reaches the "darkest corner of our hope," as if HOPE is a. place of retreat that is never fully illuminated. It also suggests that only when we are broken by tragedy that we are forced to find light in places we previously neglected or kept in the dark. 

Stanza 3: Mystery and Surrender "No one knows / how in these times / He helps us play our part." The capitalization of "He" introduces a spiritual dimension. The poet admits to a lack of understanding ("No one knows"). There is no intellectual answer for the timing of unexpected loss or how we cope with sorrow, but it involves surrender to Sovereignty—an admission that we play a "part" in a larger design we cannot see. The healing process is not an act of will; it is something that is done to us and for us by a Higher Power or the passage of time. 

The Circular Ending The poem ends where it began: "All we know / from how we feel / is all things break... / but nothing like the heart." This circular structure mimics the waves of grief. Even after the realization of hope and the morning sun in the second stanza, the pain returns. The intellectual realization that "healing is begun" does not negate the visceral feeling that the heart is broken. Kapanka captures the reality that hope and heartbreak often coexist. One does not cancel out the other; the sun shines through the break, but the break remains. 

There is yet another dimension to the second stanza of the poem when read aloud. Kapanka creates a layer of "aural ambiguity" with his use of three key words (which are homophones: words that sound alike but have different meanings: 

1. Panes and Pains :  Text: "through broken panes" ...Echo: "through broken pains." The Literal Image: The "broken pane" refers to the shattered glass of the window. The Emotional Echo: When read aloud, we hear that the light comes through "broken pains." This suggests that wisdom and hope do not come from our strengths or our wholeness, but specifically through our suffering. Our "pains" strip away our defenses and allow us to see or feel things we couldn't when we were whole. 

2. Morning and Mourning Text: "the morning draws the sun"... Echo: "the mourning draws the sun.” This creates a beautiful paradox about the nature of grief.  The Literal Image suggests that he sun rises in the morning. It is a temporal marker indicating a new day. The Emotional Echo, however, suggests that mourning (the act of grieving) is usually associated with darkness, withdrawal, and night. However, if we hear that same line as "the mourning draws the sun," the poem suggests that the act of grieving itself is what attracts the light. This validates grief. It implies that we don't find hope by ignoring the grief (skipping the mourning), but rather that the mourning process itself is the mechanism that pulls "the sun" (hope/healing) into the "darkest corners of our hope." 

3. Sun and Son Text: "the morning draws the sun"...  Echo: "the morning draws the son" / "the Son" Given the context of a father's death and the religious capitalization of "He" later in the poem, this homophone carries a triple weight. • Layer 1 (Nature): The sun is the literal light illuminating the room. • Layer 2 (The Poet): The death of the father draws the son (the poet) into a new reality. The "morning" (the week after the death) pulls the son into the "darkest corner," forcing him to confront deep emotions he might have otherwise avoided. • Layer 3 (Spiritual): The poem later says, "He helps us play our part." In a Christian context (common in poems referencing the "soul"), the "Sun" is often a metaphor for the Son (Christ). 

The ambiguity of these thee words allows for a profound reading: The grief (mourning) draws the Divine (the Son) into the darkest parts of the poet's life to begin the healing. 

Why this matters ...

By deliberately using these homophones, Kapanka creates a poem that resonates on two frequencies at once: 1. The Visual Frequency: A story about a stained glass window, the morning light, and broken glass. 2. The Emotional Frequency: A story about pains, mourning, and the Son (Christ) [who Himself said in John 16:12 “Your sorrow will turn into joy…” ]

Summary: "Nothing Like the Heart" is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. By using the imagery of stained glass, Kapanka transforms a tragic event (a heart attack) into a meditation on how our "brokenness" allows new light to enter our lives. It is a gentle, sorrowful, but ultimately hopeful acknowledgment that while we may never be the "same" after a great loss, we can still be whole.