Eyeing the Paper on the way to the Farmers Market
Sunday, water lapping,
no jellies, not
yet. The aquarium’s diagram
of the strobila rushes back, an alien Pisa,
how much of living underwater is merely latching?
How much of living on land is merely latching?
When the tower shrinks
it means the population has grown. Perhaps
the way that as civilizations fell, humans became
legion. I hadn’t thought about the Roman Empire until you asked me.
The way we all start out, good and curious until a run-in with that foul wind.
After, and for a while, I spoke with the mushroom man.
He sells bouquets of trumpets, oysters and other shapes you’d maybe recognize
or maybe not. His booth is next to the woman selling floral arrangements.
These varied bouquets of bloom.
Both making death into a different story,
as if nothing can stomach an ending.
And here, now, we sit at the fork of do good or never.
Unlucky to be alive at this time where
to take care of yourself means to abandon the world.
Maybe it’s always been this way.
Maybe it’s just fatigue.
A beaver builds a dam because of the sound of running water.
What is this, then, if not the water running ceaseless,
pushing hope, further like sediment, far beyond those outer banks.
Shocking no one, these last few weeks have been a barrage of strange, frightening and, frankly, unbelievable headlines. Contrary to most weeks, I found much of my daily writing to be riddled with helplessness and fatigue. Although I’m not against a doom and gloom poem, I do think that that life is mutli-faceted enough that a doom and gloom poem often is a poem with blinders on. Not in an “everything is awesome all the time!” kinda way, but in like in a “you get a mushroom at the site of death” kinda way. I think that’s why I (and so many) return to nature imagery in poems… it’s like the forest spirit in Princess Mononoke or the origins of the word sublime (awe and terror), the severity and absurdity that life. Observing and describing nature can hold unbelievable amounts of tension within a single image. Anyway, it felt more honest to complicate the doom and gloom, interspersing some awe and ambiguity.
I’ve been editing some old poems this week to try and tuck them into a manuscript (hopefully more to come) and, although I’ve wound up revising almost this entire poem I keep chewing on this line: “i’m in love with the natural world. i’m afraid of the natural world.” Truth.
Yes, the Roman Empire thing had to do with the viral that is now so dated that it’s not even relevant to include, but here we are. Also, here’s the diagram I was referring to. What a wild thing!
I’m currently reading some incredibly Mason-core books:
Lolly Willowes — a book about a woman who rejects societal expectations, moves to the country to be in nature and verrrry subtly becomes a witch? A very unique spin on the “novel of manners” style of book. Charming.
The Notebook: A History of Thinking on Paper — I love a deep history of something I take for granted. So far I’ve learned to appreciate paper a whole heck of a lot more and how revelatory the sketchbook was for improving the technical abilities of visual artists.
With gratitude,