"The squirrel with no tail / that loves to eat pumpkins / from the inside out / starts to get very excited / this time of every year." I'm ready for the picture book, please!!
I adore the metaphor of chicory being a roadside sign-twirler! And what a beautiful ending . . . "but for the portal contained / in that lavendar-blue."
The moniker she gave you, "fairywinkle" delighted me to no end :)) I love the rich descriptors, so evocative. "Her flowers small bits of amethyst/winking out of the green" - these words delight me nearly as much as her name.
Oh, this is so special, Rebekah! I agree with Lisa and Keith, what sprakling imagery and evocation your poem brings. "Roadside sign-twirler," :"She introduces herself as fairywinkle," 'Winking out of the green," ripp;ed by any breeze off the mountain," "but for the portal contained in that laender blue." Your poems so often come from other dimensions and consciousness so hard for most of us to find. Your writing is so beautiful!
Oh, Lisa. Breathtaking. I have a few memory trails, myself. One I used to walk daily through a place called The Garden of Ideas. A stunning private (but open to neighbors) two acre refuge of woodlands, marshes, gardens, poetry and sculpture. Though I am far from Catholic, I came to think of it as a bit of Stations of the Cross - different spots where I would ritualistically hope for this, wish for that, marvel at the other, touch this for good luck. Though it is no longer available to me (or anyone else) I can still walk the paths in my mind, marveling at the good luck of it all.
Oh I love this! And I love the notion of ritualistically hoping something. I was feeling sort of witchy energy on my walk, so I kept picking up interesting little things I found (acorns, leaves, flowers, rocks, etc), then arranging them artfully along the trail and imbuing them with wishes (good ones!) for whomever came upon them.
"Leaves fall like footsteps" - such a lovely, lyrical line (and a lovely, lyrical poem). Your prompt, along with a workshop I recently attended called "Listening to the Land, Healing the Colonizer Mind" led to the following:
"Unable to end the power trip / that drove them here." Yes and ouch! What a beautiful ending - "we would rather just be." I suspect you would love Priscilla's blog post, that she shared in an earlier comment - https://priscillastuckey.com/nature-spirit/a-togetherness-of-beings/
Keith, this is a remarkable and powerful poem. It reminded me of a tremendous Ziggy Marley song called "Dragonfly." Your poem tells a story of such poignant pain, honestly and with love. I often wonder what the beings and organisms of th eplanet would say to us if we knew their language, would their words be as wise and real as those "the ones I know as trees" speak. Thank you for this poem, so tender, so challenging and so true.
Thank you, Larry. I really appreciate this feedback. I just read the lyrics and listened to Dragonfly. It seems to me Ziggy must have been listening to creation and heeding their call to write that beautiful song. The workshop I attended last Sunday really impacted me (and gave rise to my poem). It was based on this book by Louise Dunlap: https://nyupress.org/9781613321706/inherited-silence/. Thank you for caring about these things, Larry.
Do you have any more info or links to the workshop, Keith? I'll look up the book, but this path - language activism - seems pre-woven for me, and all I can do is climb deeper into the vines. The timing is doing that resonating thing, too, so I'm going out on one of the green bendy limbs I'm listening from and reaching out. With huge gratitude for what you've contributed here. I'll linger a while as I get over the warm shock of finding such a beautiful sharing space, and all the wonderful sharees. Thanks Lisa and Co.
Such fun. Names, names, names. My first language was German, then English at four. Then Greek at 6. Later Dutch at 13 and French at 16. All of them have names for the same thing, some similar, some not. Always a fascination as a boy and now as well.
Wow, what an way to come into the world - so many languages all in childhood! I imagine that must give you such a unique lens on things (or rather, multiple lenses on things). Do you still speak German? I do . . . aber ich habe selten die Geleigenheit es zu sprechen and habe es deswegen teilweise verlernt!
Lisa, this is a tremendous poem! You connect me right at the beginning "I toss consonants
to a cauldron of air." Goodness. And the journey you take us on is truly a gift, the eyes and heart of a forest bather who knows from the center of their spirit our place in the world and the interconnectedness of all things. Your prompt and the conversation about names resonated so clearly with me, and had me thinking of Thinch Nhat Nanh's beautiful poem "Call Me By My True Names." https://www.awakin.org/v2/read/view.php?tid=2088. Listening to a beautiful instrumental version by Paul McCandless and Oregon of "The Water is Wide" wove together with your lovely words in a magical mix of joy and wonder. Thank you! https://youtu.be/nHVYj2ioHlE?si=HZMdtCWUvGpkycT_
Thank you so much, Larry! And I'm so glad you shared the poem from Thich Nhat Hanh. I've read it before, but it's been a long time, and I had forgotten just how beautiful it is. It's the perfect poem for such a divided time.
That pops!!! I love having seen the transformation. You have done it! Though I look out on fertile fields, with this poem I see the distant woods much more in focus. Beautiful!
I love the matter-of-factness of "our sillness as we watch them eat lunch" and the music of "parsing the water with your voracious appetite!" This is lovely, Larry. I certainly know the feeling of stumbling through several errant attempts before finding my way into a poem . . . I'm so glad you hung in there and found this one!
Just read the poem. Tired from traveling all day and checked into my room. I’ll read again tomorrow and absorb it more. However, even with my very tired spirit I can tell I like much of the imagery and metaphor.
I am in Bangkok where the time is 10 hours difference from my home. Always an adjustment. I’m taking a notebook with me today just in case I get any ideas.
Oh, my goodness, Lisa, you just conjured up John Fowles and his tiny gem of a book, THE TREE, where he talks about naming the things of nature. And how the process of naming turns them into things, putting them immediately in the past. “Thing and then attract each other.” If you want to know more, I wrote a blog post on the book when I read it: https://priscillastuckey.com/nature-spirit/a-togetherness-of-beings/. I love him for emphasizing, just as you do here, the connecting. Bringing all of ourselves, all of our imagination, to meeting the flowers or the woods.
Priscilla, I just read your beautiful blog post. Now all I have to do is decide whether to buy John Fowles's book or request it via interlibrary loan! You words - "nature is above all social. Nature is togetherness" - will stay with me. As will Fowles's evocative alternative to the word ecosystem: "a togetherness of beings."
Language is such a tricky thing. Trying to hold anything in place or pin it down or package it in words is not only an impossible task but, if we aren't mindful about its limitations, then it's a dangerous task. We think we've succeeded, when in fact, all we've done is reduced something big and round and living to something narrow, flat, and frozen in time.
That pops!!! I love having seen the transformation. You have done it! Though I look out on fertile fields, with this poem I see the distant woods much more in focus. Beautiful!
That pops!!! I love having seen the transformation. You have done it! Though I look out on fertile fields, with this poem I see the distant woods much more in focus. Beautiful!
Looks like a little bunny
but doesn't hop like one.
Skittering up a tree
was the giveaway.
We call him "Stumpy".
Or maybe it's a her.
The squirrel with no tail
that loves to eat pumpkins
from the inside out
starts to get very excited
this time of every year.
"The squirrel with no tail / that loves to eat pumpkins / from the inside out / starts to get very excited / this time of every year." I'm ready for the picture book, please!!
Chuck, I agree with Lisa! Ready for the wodnerful book this poem opens up!
This is a beautiful poem and fun prompt! As luck would have it, I met a new-to-me flower that got a mention in your post, common chicory.
.
She introduces herself as fairywinkle --
as if I’ve found her in an alpine meadow,
her flowers small bits of amethyst
winking out of the green,
her stems tender, rippled
by any breeze off the mountain,
her nectar a kind of magic
for the prayerful.
.
In real life she is a roadside sign-twirler,
stout and splayed, her blooms
high-stepping up stubborn stalks
stumped off by deer.
She is still food in September --
far from ephemeral,
far from special,
.
but for the portal contained
in that lavender-blue.
I adore the metaphor of chicory being a roadside sign-twirler! And what a beautiful ending . . . "but for the portal contained / in that lavendar-blue."
The moniker she gave you, "fairywinkle" delighted me to no end :)) I love the rich descriptors, so evocative. "Her flowers small bits of amethyst/winking out of the green" - these words delight me nearly as much as her name.
I couldn't stop smiling after "fairywinkle"
Oh, this is so special, Rebekah! I agree with Lisa and Keith, what sprakling imagery and evocation your poem brings. "Roadside sign-twirler," :"She introduces herself as fairywinkle," 'Winking out of the green," ripp;ed by any breeze off the mountain," "but for the portal contained in that laender blue." Your poems so often come from other dimensions and consciousness so hard for most of us to find. Your writing is so beautiful!
Oh, Lisa. Breathtaking. I have a few memory trails, myself. One I used to walk daily through a place called The Garden of Ideas. A stunning private (but open to neighbors) two acre refuge of woodlands, marshes, gardens, poetry and sculpture. Though I am far from Catholic, I came to think of it as a bit of Stations of the Cross - different spots where I would ritualistically hope for this, wish for that, marvel at the other, touch this for good luck. Though it is no longer available to me (or anyone else) I can still walk the paths in my mind, marveling at the good luck of it all.
Oh I love this! And I love the notion of ritualistically hoping something. I was feeling sort of witchy energy on my walk, so I kept picking up interesting little things I found (acorns, leaves, flowers, rocks, etc), then arranging them artfully along the trail and imbuing them with wishes (good ones!) for whomever came upon them.
I like this analogy, Rebecca.
"Leaves fall like footsteps" - such a lovely, lyrical line (and a lovely, lyrical poem). Your prompt, along with a workshop I recently attended called "Listening to the Land, Healing the Colonizer Mind" led to the following:
***
I asked the ones I know as trees
what word it is they wish to be
called and they sighed.
“The language you speak
is not language at all.
Just another tool
in the colonizer’s kit.
A means to describe chattel
and facilitate commodification.
we know *you* don’t mean to
use it as such,
but still.
For thousands of years,
human kin recognized us
rhapsodically, regarded us respectfully.
We answered their call warmly,
in mutual adoration.
Then your people landed and
unable to end the power trip
that drove them here,
commenced exploitation.
So, dear one, until
you have learned to weave words
with fibers of humility, reciprocity
and heartfelt generosity,
we would rather just
be."
"Unable to end the power trip / that drove them here." Yes and ouch! What a beautiful ending - "we would rather just be." I suspect you would love Priscilla's blog post, that she shared in an earlier comment - https://priscillastuckey.com/nature-spirit/a-togetherness-of-beings/
This is so beautiful, Keith.
Keith, this is a remarkable and powerful poem. It reminded me of a tremendous Ziggy Marley song called "Dragonfly." Your poem tells a story of such poignant pain, honestly and with love. I often wonder what the beings and organisms of th eplanet would say to us if we knew their language, would their words be as wise and real as those "the ones I know as trees" speak. Thank you for this poem, so tender, so challenging and so true.
Thank you, Larry. I really appreciate this feedback. I just read the lyrics and listened to Dragonfly. It seems to me Ziggy must have been listening to creation and heeding their call to write that beautiful song. The workshop I attended last Sunday really impacted me (and gave rise to my poem). It was based on this book by Louise Dunlap: https://nyupress.org/9781613321706/inherited-silence/. Thank you for caring about these things, Larry.
Do you have any more info or links to the workshop, Keith? I'll look up the book, but this path - language activism - seems pre-woven for me, and all I can do is climb deeper into the vines. The timing is doing that resonating thing, too, so I'm going out on one of the green bendy limbs I'm listening from and reaching out. With huge gratitude for what you've contributed here. I'll linger a while as I get over the warm shock of finding such a beautiful sharing space, and all the wonderful sharees. Thanks Lisa and Co.
I’m so glad you’re here, Peter! And @Keith Aron I’m tagging you to make sure you see this.
Thank you Keith. The books look quite wonderful. Keep on shining, friend!
Such fun. Names, names, names. My first language was German, then English at four. Then Greek at 6. Later Dutch at 13 and French at 16. All of them have names for the same thing, some similar, some not. Always a fascination as a boy and now as well.
Wow, what an way to come into the world - so many languages all in childhood! I imagine that must give you such a unique lens on things (or rather, multiple lenses on things). Do you still speak German? I do . . . aber ich habe selten die Geleigenheit es zu sprechen and habe es deswegen teilweise verlernt!
That's so cool. How did you learn it? I have forgotten almost all of mine as well as Greek but French and Spanish are ok.
Lisa, this is a tremendous poem! You connect me right at the beginning "I toss consonants
to a cauldron of air." Goodness. And the journey you take us on is truly a gift, the eyes and heart of a forest bather who knows from the center of their spirit our place in the world and the interconnectedness of all things. Your prompt and the conversation about names resonated so clearly with me, and had me thinking of Thinch Nhat Nanh's beautiful poem "Call Me By My True Names." https://www.awakin.org/v2/read/view.php?tid=2088. Listening to a beautiful instrumental version by Paul McCandless and Oregon of "The Water is Wide" wove together with your lovely words in a magical mix of joy and wonder. Thank you! https://youtu.be/nHVYj2ioHlE?si=HZMdtCWUvGpkycT_
Thank you so much, Larry! And I'm so glad you shared the poem from Thich Nhat Hanh. I've read it before, but it's been a long time, and I had forgotten just how beautiful it is. It's the perfect poem for such a divided time.
That pops!!! I love having seen the transformation. You have done it! Though I look out on fertile fields, with this poem I see the distant woods much more in focus. Beautiful!
Thank you so much! I really appreciated your feedback on it and found it so helpful.
After stumbling through several errant attempts, this came to the surface.
Whale Song
^
The sea rips open out there,
just past the breakers and paddling lanes,
large being, crusted barnacles and ancient hide
feasting on whatever sea creatures are swimming
Perhaps unaware of the living shovel about to swallow.
Gulls circle, ready for scraps,
beachgoers flock to the shoreline,
camera phones at the ready, fingers pointing,
shrieks of wonder, joy and
just a little bit of fear and awe.
I wonder if whales have names.
What might they think of our gawking?
Our silliness as we watch them eat lunch,
our species so complete in our disconnection
from nature, we explode when its beauty
collides with our daily dallying dance;
Even the most absorbed of us stop and stare
In wonder.
May your journey be safe and strong,
sacred creature of the sea.
May your song reach us in time that we may hear
your cries for the earth we desecrate with our lives.
May we see our connection and hold in respect
your ancient rhythms played in seas
clean and defiled.
May we see ourselves in you,
gentle creatures of the deep,
parsing the water with your voracious appetite,
inviting us to find our own place in the circle,
our songs waiting to be sung,
our kindreds waiting to be healed.
I love the matter-of-factness of "our sillness as we watch them eat lunch" and the music of "parsing the water with your voracious appetite!" This is lovely, Larry. I certainly know the feeling of stumbling through several errant attempts before finding my way into a poem . . . I'm so glad you hung in there and found this one!
Thank you Coach! You motivate me and us to keep trying!
Oh, I love this poem. Even the list of names at the beginning is magical. And such a cool prompt.
Thank you so much, my ever generous Internet friend!
Just read the poem. Tired from traveling all day and checked into my room. I’ll read again tomorrow and absorb it more. However, even with my very tired spirit I can tell I like much of the imagery and metaphor.
I hope you got all the rest you need, Jim, and that you're feeling a bit springier now!
Much better now.
I am in Bangkok where the time is 10 hours difference from my home. Always an adjustment. I’m taking a notebook with me today just in case I get any ideas.
Fantastic
Thank you, Elaine!
Oh, my goodness, Lisa, you just conjured up John Fowles and his tiny gem of a book, THE TREE, where he talks about naming the things of nature. And how the process of naming turns them into things, putting them immediately in the past. “Thing and then attract each other.” If you want to know more, I wrote a blog post on the book when I read it: https://priscillastuckey.com/nature-spirit/a-togetherness-of-beings/. I love him for emphasizing, just as you do here, the connecting. Bringing all of ourselves, all of our imagination, to meeting the flowers or the woods.
Priscilla, I just read your beautiful blog post. Now all I have to do is decide whether to buy John Fowles's book or request it via interlibrary loan! You words - "nature is above all social. Nature is togetherness" - will stay with me. As will Fowles's evocative alternative to the word ecosystem: "a togetherness of beings."
Language is such a tricky thing. Trying to hold anything in place or pin it down or package it in words is not only an impossible task but, if we aren't mindful about its limitations, then it's a dangerous task. We think we've succeeded, when in fact, all we've done is reduced something big and round and living to something narrow, flat, and frozen in time.
Yes, yes, yes! Thanks for reading, Lisa.
That pops!!! I love having seen the transformation. You have done it! Though I look out on fertile fields, with this poem I see the distant woods much more in focus. Beautiful!
That pops!!! I love having seen the transformation. You have done it! Though I look out on fertile fields, with this poem I see the distant woods much more in focus. Beautiful!