Pulled by the sky's gravitation
Smoke falls upwards;
The monkey-spider floats, in perfect balance;
And a child on shaky limbs
Drops into its mother's arms,
Or falls light - no need to fear the fall
When earth is near and motherly.
But no maternal arms
Reach out to save those on shaky limbs
Who fall in second childhood.
The earth is hard and far away beneath them
The bones are brittle
And every fall brings pain or injury -
Until, at last, light
As smoke, they feel once more
The gravity of the sky
And learn to fall upwards.
- from Apollo, an anthology of poems by doctor poets (ed E. Lowbury, pub. 1990).
This is a book that's been in my possession for a while, but I wasn't until I went on my latest medical working trip to Greymouth that I took it out. Lowbury, a pathologist, includes two of his own poems in this anthology that samples widely from modern poets to the poet-physicians of antiquity (when indeed art and medicine were viewed as the same thing - Apollo was the winged god of poetry, medicine and music.)
What I love most of all about this poem is the surprise of the last line, a truly surprising and revelatory moment but one which the poem, with deceptive simplicity, builds up to. It's one finely poised between emotion and observation too - an edge which, as all doctors know, is a difficult one to walk. Although it's never mentioned, I have a sense that Lowbury is not just referring to his patients, but to some personal experience of the "shaky limbs" and the hardness of the world in a "second childhood".
In the introduction to his book, Lowbury observes: "With his wide experience of humanity a doctor should be able to view the world more objectively and with more empathy than most people; if he is poet this should broaden the scope of his writing, not only in the depiction of, or in imagery derived from, personal experience. Indeed, it is in their response to a wider range of human experience... that doctor poets have made their most widely valued contribution to poetic literature."
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Tuesday Poem: Will you dance with me
Will you dance with me
hold my hands lightly
as we learn to stand together,
learn to breathe and walk
as though we were doing it
the first time
Will you dance with me
work out each new step
laugh at our mistakes
find out how by pushing
at the spaces between us
we can find balance
Will you dance with me
through the long night
as violins fade
to something more real
as light cracks the sky
and dark becomes dawn
Dance with me when we’re at the beach.
Dance with me in front of family.
Dance with me and my friends.
Dance with me in the cobbled streets of Valparaiso,
wearing kimono in Tokushima, walking the Great Wall
at Badaling,
in Paris and in London
then come to dance with me at home.
Dance with me
again and again
dance through the tight places,
the hard places, the forbidden places
the soft places, the places
where we’ll find each other
Will you dance with me
this first dance til the last dance
the many dances in between,
will you dance with me.
This was the poem I read to Mark just before we stepped out for our first wedding dance, a tango.
hold my hands lightly
as we learn to stand together,
learn to breathe and walk
as though we were doing it
the first time
Will you dance with me
work out each new step
laugh at our mistakes
find out how by pushing
at the spaces between us
we can find balance
Will you dance with me
through the long night
as violins fade
to something more real
as light cracks the sky
and dark becomes dawn
Dance with me when we’re at the beach.
Dance with me in front of family.
Dance with me and my friends.
Dance with me in the cobbled streets of Valparaiso,
wearing kimono in Tokushima, walking the Great Wall
at Badaling,
in Paris and in London
then come to dance with me at home.
Dance with me
again and again
dance through the tight places,
the hard places, the forbidden places
the soft places, the places
where we’ll find each other
Will you dance with me
this first dance til the last dance
the many dances in between,
will you dance with me.
This was the poem I read to Mark just before we stepped out for our first wedding dance, a tango.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tuesday Poem: Blessing, by Greg O'Connell
Today when silver ferns uncoil
Today when dolphins polish their beaks on the sea
Today when the seal chaperones its pups
Today when palms put on their red beads
Today when waves keep their promise to return
Today when night keeps its oath to sleep
Today when someone you love has gone
and someone wombed has been safely born
Today when mountains listen to the silence of the broken
and sunlight whispers to the waiting seeds
Today when someone arranges old age, long as a cloud
Today when someone inhales the blossom of a first kiss
Today let this hour bless you
With the smiles of friends let it bless you
With ocean-tang and manuka bless you
Let the vow of this day arc wide and high
Let its freedom and shelter hold you
Let its truth be boundless as the sky
This poem was read ten days ago at our wedding. It's by Greymouth poet Greg O'Connell, and written for his own recent nuptials. It was very generous of Greg and his wife Zoe to let us use this lovely work and add our own meaning to his images. The poem spoke to me, and continues speaking to me, because it acknowledges the fact that marriage is just one step in a cycle, but a significant one. I love the juxtaposition of the images "when someone arranges old age, long as a cloud" and "when someone inhales the blossom of a first kiss". We got married in a garden that Mark's grandparents had sown and that many family members at the wedding could remember playing in as children - very apt.
PS. For more Tuesday poems (yes, some are up early!), click on the feather top right.
Today when dolphins polish their beaks on the sea
Today when the seal chaperones its pups
Today when palms put on their red beads
Today when waves keep their promise to return
Today when night keeps its oath to sleep
Today when someone you love has gone
and someone wombed has been safely born
Today when mountains listen to the silence of the broken
and sunlight whispers to the waiting seeds
Today when someone arranges old age, long as a cloud
Today when someone inhales the blossom of a first kiss
Today let this hour bless you
With the smiles of friends let it bless you
With ocean-tang and manuka bless you
Let the vow of this day arc wide and high
Let its freedom and shelter hold you
Let its truth be boundless as the sky
This poem was read ten days ago at our wedding. It's by Greymouth poet Greg O'Connell, and written for his own recent nuptials. It was very generous of Greg and his wife Zoe to let us use this lovely work and add our own meaning to his images. The poem spoke to me, and continues speaking to me, because it acknowledges the fact that marriage is just one step in a cycle, but a significant one. I love the juxtaposition of the images "when someone arranges old age, long as a cloud" and "when someone inhales the blossom of a first kiss". We got married in a garden that Mark's grandparents had sown and that many family members at the wedding could remember playing in as children - very apt.
PS. For more Tuesday poems (yes, some are up early!), click on the feather top right.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Things I am not allowed to eat at Christmas
Garlic prawns and flambé scallops
a turkey roast fit for a palace
a ham that’s soaked in marinade
then slowly cooked for a whole day
and sirloin beef that’s tender-smoked
all smothered in a honeyed coat
soft-boiled eggs and panfried bacon
drizzled with an oil libation
and rolls of icecream, rich and pure
I do not touch – I do not dare
Camembert, a waxy crust
with creamy magma I do lust
and brandy snaps with farm-fresh cream
served with strawberries, pav and steamed
Christmas raisin pudding – a tiny piece
perhaps I can afford to eat?
It’s after all a special day
but if I do, I’ll surely pay.
Really I should not sit down
or I won’t fit my custom gown
for silk shows every belly bulge
and I’ll regret if I indulge
but all the family’s lining up
to load their plates – I can’t miss out…
The deed is done – the die is cast
I really can’t let Christmas pass
without the usual homage paid
to all things good, and rich, and baked.
I know that Wednesday, my dressmaker
will measure guilt in millimetres
Her tape is vastly unforgiving
the shape I’ve worked on - lost - to sin.
But what the hell, tomorrow morning
I’ll get up early and go running
or that’s the plan….. for now I reckon
I’ll take my empty plate for seconds.
a turkey roast fit for a palace
a ham that’s soaked in marinade
then slowly cooked for a whole day
and sirloin beef that’s tender-smoked
all smothered in a honeyed coat
soft-boiled eggs and panfried bacon
drizzled with an oil libation
and rolls of icecream, rich and pure
I do not touch – I do not dare
Camembert, a waxy crust
with creamy magma I do lust
and brandy snaps with farm-fresh cream
served with strawberries, pav and steamed
Christmas raisin pudding – a tiny piece
perhaps I can afford to eat?
It’s after all a special day
but if I do, I’ll surely pay.
Really I should not sit down
or I won’t fit my custom gown
for silk shows every belly bulge
and I’ll regret if I indulge
but all the family’s lining up
to load their plates – I can’t miss out…
The deed is done – the die is cast
I really can’t let Christmas pass
without the usual homage paid
to all things good, and rich, and baked.
I know that Wednesday, my dressmaker
will measure guilt in millimetres
Her tape is vastly unforgiving
the shape I’ve worked on - lost - to sin.
But what the hell, tomorrow morning
I’ll get up early and go running
or that’s the plan….. for now I reckon
I’ll take my empty plate for seconds.
Monday, December 27, 2010
Tuesday poem: House
the new carpet
smells like warm ewe
you take my hand
lead me over its spine
to our bed moored
in the small
of the back
now we are riding a raft
the sky is golden cream
the sheep gently arches
outside the buses
arrive, unload, reload, depart
there’s light rain
inside we make our own weather
smells like warm ewe
you take my hand
lead me over its spine
to our bed moored
in the small
of the back
now we are riding a raft
the sky is golden cream
the sheep gently arches
outside the buses
arrive, unload, reload, depart
there’s light rain
inside we make our own weather
Monday, December 20, 2010
Tuesday Poem: Xmas by Susan Landry
Susan and I are swapping poems as part of the Tuesday Poets "Secret Santa". Susan hails from Portland, Maine - so I'm very excited to be gifting poems across the other side of the world! Her poem is deceptively simple, and paints an innocent picture on the surface. But I love the way the dark and narrow "base" reveals itself to us as we read, jerking us back and then forward in time. You can read more about Susan (she does many more things than just poetry!) on her blog here. Which is also where you can find my poem, posted on her page!
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Tuesday Poem: Two Minutes
Two minutes
tick tock tick tock
so short a time
to remember 29 lives.
Two seconds
tick tick
five days of hope
stretching longer and longer
thinner and thinner
until
snap
And now we stand here
in the street
beside our cars
listening to birdsong
Two minutes of our lives to consider
years that others have lost
words stopped mid sentence/mid larynx/mid thought
by the sudden sharp cough of methane
No more than the earth's reflex
as we, like Maui
climb steadily along the innards
of Hine-Nui-Te-Po
seeking the black richness of her intestines
grinding out her insides
rolling in the dark muck
while some outside
chuckle over their billions
and poor people in China
wait for coal.
But to ask why
and for what
and to where
is for another day.
Today I give you two minutes of my words
to remember all those you have lost.
It was declared that today the nation would observe two minutes of silence to commemorate those lost in the Pike River explosion. I was painting the house when the radio fell silent. It seemed too short for two minutes, and soon after RadioNZ Concert announced "a return to normal programming" which included a moving clarinet concerto and a news item about how the traffic in Napier (Napier?) stopped and you could hear the birdsong. Somehow all this mixed in my head and this is the result. I performed it tonight, on K Rd, under a smooth grey sky and to the rhythm of an electric guitar and some drums.
As a matter of interest, I'm not the only one writing poems about Pike River - this effort has reached $315 on Trademe so far. Just goes to show how people still reach for poetry when it comes to expressing extreme grief or joy.
tick tock tick tock
so short a time
to remember 29 lives.
Two seconds
tick tick
five days of hope
stretching longer and longer
thinner and thinner
until
snap
And now we stand here
in the street
beside our cars
listening to birdsong
Two minutes of our lives to consider
years that others have lost
words stopped mid sentence/mid larynx/mid thought
by the sudden sharp cough of methane
No more than the earth's reflex
as we, like Maui
climb steadily along the innards
of Hine-Nui-Te-Po
seeking the black richness of her intestines
grinding out her insides
rolling in the dark muck
while some outside
chuckle over their billions
and poor people in China
wait for coal.
But to ask why
and for what
and to where
is for another day.
Today I give you two minutes of my words
to remember all those you have lost.
It was declared that today the nation would observe two minutes of silence to commemorate those lost in the Pike River explosion. I was painting the house when the radio fell silent. It seemed too short for two minutes, and soon after RadioNZ Concert announced "a return to normal programming" which included a moving clarinet concerto and a news item about how the traffic in Napier (Napier?) stopped and you could hear the birdsong. Somehow all this mixed in my head and this is the result. I performed it tonight, on K Rd, under a smooth grey sky and to the rhythm of an electric guitar and some drums.
As a matter of interest, I'm not the only one writing poems about Pike River - this effort has reached $315 on Trademe so far. Just goes to show how people still reach for poetry when it comes to expressing extreme grief or joy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)