Monday, September 28, 2009

every separation (a link): poem book

golden sunset light on the river-water, the north saskatchewan, august 2009

golden-light on my skirt, photo-mishap, my yard, august 2009

In my posting absence, I've made this; it's a chapbook of poetry called every separation (a link). It was intended to be distributed in collaged & photocopied form, but alas, mishaps with my free photocopying source meant that it was not to be, right now. I left for Scotland and so further attempts at the paper incarnation will have to wait until Christmas time, I think. Meanwhile, I really really want these poems to be enjoyed, so please do download the pdf version, and let me know what you think. (The link will be available for just 2 weeks, so if you try to download it and it has already disappeared, please email me -- jenanne dot f at gmail dot com -- & I can send you the pdf instead).

This cycle of poems has been emerging for over a year. For a little more light shed upon their creation, this is the preface to the collection:

A little over a year ago, I was struck by a certain theme that kept recurring in my words. Within the poems I was writing, I noticed a consistent fascination with the space in between -- the inherent separation between everyone & everything else.

It was the space between people; between people & other beings; between people & the land they dwell within; between people & conceptions of some unifying force or element. It was the fascination with the paradox that matter is made up primarily of spaces between particles that mysteriously & delicately keep everything from flying apart.

I realized this fascination with those spaces between also dwelt at the root of my interest in language and translation. I am captivated by the way we constantly attempt to bridge the spaces between ourselves through language; language – be it spoken, signed, written, sensed, embodied or visualized – is perhaps really all we have to connect our separate beings with anything else that exists.

Simone Weil wrote in Criteria of Wisdom (‘Metaxu’, from Gravity and Grace):
“The essence of created things is to be intermediaries. They are intermediaries leading from one to the other, and there is no end to this […] We have to experience them as such”. In this book, poems are the vehicles of connection. Weil believed that poetry was something natural and inherent to human communication, and helped to establish a direct, profound connection between people through its conveyance of internal experience and feeling. For Weil, as created things like poems pass through those spaces between us, they allow the barrier of space to become a connection; an absence becomes a presence. This is the paradox of metaxu:

“The world is the closed door. It is a barrier. And at the same time, it is the way through […] Two prisoners whose cells adjoin communicate with each other by knocking on the wall. The wall is the thing which separates them but it is also their means of communication […] Every separation is a link.”

If we were not so separate, there would be no reason for connection, for communication. We cannot make bridges without that space to build them in. As painful as these gaps between our solitary little beings are, it is this lacuna that makes language -- & all the transcendent things it can do -- necessary & possible.

This books is a cycle of poems: a collection of little songs inspired by folk songs and dedicated to holidays traditionally celebrated by Ukrainians. At their very centre, these holidays are all elemental feasts, marking changes in the earth. Though over the last thousand years they have become elaborate syncretic constructions, their pagan integrity remains intact under layers of Christian influence. Fertility rites involving fire & water & ritual purification persist on a midsummer holiday now consecrated to John the Baptist, Ivana Kupala; Spas’, 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 these ritual celebrations basically serve the purpose of reuniting those who observe them with a trinity of elements -- the whole earth, all one's ancestors, & some sort of universal presence or animating force -- as well as with each other. Every feast gathers people together, allows them to confront their singularity & separation and then unify, by focusing their energy on some common purpose.

These celebrations commemorate return & transformation, separation & reunification. These poems are little bridges across metaxu, flying in the spaces between all things that brought them here.

August 2009

Edmonton

3 comments:

Jason Treit said...

Loved and missed one,

Your prelude rides on an absorbing thought. What conducts through the space between everything amounts to everything we know, all feelings, all messages; all that we touch remains yet-to-be-touched, and touch itself entails vast voids, even uses them as its means. Barriers as ways through. I find deeply comforting this premise that your poems never abandon, even as you laid unwoven the early fragments that turned into series and cycles.

Absorbing pictures too. I do hope to see to a limited photocopied-wool edition this winter, take out a magnifying glass, and follow the speckled spaces between black typeface that breathe the refrain, "a soul gone bone-white / & blown clean / for dreaming."

P.S.
There are sparrows everywhere.

jenanne said...

thank you so much.

it makes me so happy to know that you too find the premise of the space between to be a comfort. it fills me with awe, this idea, & i do not think i am finished writing about it quite yet...

indeed, i do hope over christmastime to make a collaged edition. hopefully i will get a chance...

love,
jenanne.

ps: sparrows! delight! i hope they are not too cold & confused by the early frost. are they all poufed up?

Jason Treit said...

No, the sparrows gathered all about in huddling flocks before the first snow. They sensed it before we. So many, so tiny – I wanted to put them in my pocketses.