fruit & thought, blosson & pit. (or, everything is related to everything else, really.)

rosehips by the n.sask river, september 2008

more river valley rosehips, september 2008

Over the last while, I've been realizing that something that I am consistently fascinated with in my writing is this idea of the space between -- the inherent separation between everyone & everything, e.g. the space between people, between people & land, between people & their personal conceptions of some divine (& unifying) force, etc. & I am fascinated by the way we try to bridge those spaces, those gaps between. I think my deep interest in language & translation is definitely rooted in my fascination with these spaces.


What I'm writing focuses partially on language (spoken, signed, written, visualized) as a major connector, & the poem itself as the vehicle of connection. Here, I'm very much inspired by Simone Weil's thoughts on the naturalness of poetry, & its role in direct, profound connection between people, a vehicle for conveying internal experience & feeling. As well, I am ever fascinated by the paradox of metaxu, what Weil describes as 'every separation being a link' -- if we were not so separate, there would be no reason for connection, for communication. We cannot bridge without that space, & so as painful as the gaps between our little beings are, it is the lacuna that makes language -- & all the transcendent things it can do -- necessary & possible.


& what I love most about this space between is that it is the very fact that there are spaces between absolutely everything. (Lately, my favourite distraction from my work is reading about the Large Hadron Collider & the philosophy of the particle physics behind it.) We are made of collections, aggregations of spaces, all these spaces between spaces at the atomic, & then subatomic level, held together mysteriously & delicately. & this, to me, is wondrous. Though there are spaces between us, & spaces within us, we are still united, as we are intrinsically connected to everything else in the universe by whatever it is (the Higgs field, say some physicists) keeps everything from flying apart.



So I'm writing a cycle of poems based upon Ukrainian holidays, the elemental feasts of the seasons. These holidays are elaborate syncretic constructions, their pagan integrity still intact under layers of Christian influence; fertility rites involving fire & water & ritual purification persist on a midsummer holiday now consecrated to John the Baptist; the Feast of the Transfiguration still involves the offering of the summer's first fruits back to the earth that provided them. Despite the Orthodox theological overlay, at their roots all of thse ritual celebrations basically serve the purpose of reuniting those who observe them with three elements -- the earth, one's ancestors, & some sort of universal presence (be it a deity, or the Higgs boson, etc) -- as well as with each other. They are simply attempts to bridge the spaces between all things, a recognition that everything is related to everything else. Through these poems, I've been trying to convey the endlessness of return & transformation, the perpetual cycles of separation & reunification, and how we try to connect with everything else (as well as ourselves) through these processes.



This is the third part of 'first fruits', the poem for the feast of Transfiguration, which is very much akin to thanksgiving, so it's also rather timely. See here for the first part & here for the second.

three)

(чорні черешнi при бiлiй хатi)
there are dark cherries hanging
above the river autumnal, echoing
round the doppler-throated swoop
of a swallow, downy feathers in the sun
splitting into vast white houses of light.

wind washes over the sky,
clouds like heavenly ribstones rippled,
a muddy bank sucks heartfuls;
we eat of the earth, ourselves, our
little birdmouths seeking sightless,
following the skirring of wings.

(ходи, дiвчино, черешнi рвати)
i have an armful of sun-darkened
cherries & i’m going to feed you
these first fruits: the poems that
gnaw sweetly away at our bones
leave us nourished & wanting

as the whole body
aches with such separation:
we are made of spaces between
spaces, the singing of shifting silt,
tiny sandgrains within
the indivisibility of wind –

(черешнi рвати, черешнi їсти)
but watch the nettle & thistle
crumble & slump back down
the fallen bank to the waiting river,
watch our hands slip cherries from
the branches onto hungry tongues

& someday, you know, there will be
no difference, nothing between
hand & mouth & fruit & thought
& blossom & pit; oh but now,
(так солодко, так швидко!) so sweet so swift –
rejoice in it.

* the Ukrainian bits are from a rather sensuous folk song about a girl picking nice dark cherries growing in abundance around a little white cottage, picking them & devouring them, as the narrator of the song implores her to share.

Also, returning to the Large Hadron Collider, this very educational little song makes me rather happy.