{or .. winds of change OR HALT! you are under a (for) rest}
- calling a written work of any length a “piece” is apt - at least, that’s the word i usually use, rather than poem, essay, … etc length doesn’t matter- it’s never more than a piece, even if it’s a six inch thick tome - from Ulysses to the word “is” - in the grander scheme, it’s all haiku. even war and peace is just a piece, always relatively small - and incomplete…yet even still, precious - important- to be treasured. that said,
i nearly gave up more than once and deleted that last “piece “ -more than once - quagmire… that became my term of endearment for it… it sat in drafts file- we waited for each other in different ways - for months.
so complicated in its way, because it was so stubbornly homogeneous and complete - a seamless entity; i felt it as a whole- very like a tree itself within its forest amidst Sagan’s billions and billions of… ahem. yes (see the onomatopoeia piece from 1/26/24).
the world presents itself to me thusly, and so simply - breaking it down to one word
at a time is …
rather daunting - patience more than anything else-but that’s largely what human language is and does- breaks it down to one word at a time- our version of language with symbols heard and seen… felt first and ever beyond their actuality or implication -, other versions of language abound and surround, just beyond apprehension- i believe this because i feel/sense them “out there “ but words are what i land in/on -
strange to love poetry and prose (and how i so do) whilst also holding such stark awareness of how short they fall in many many ways - particularly and ironically, this includes clearly communicating … much at all … (filling in the blanks with blanks, because words ultimately fail and in the stark reality of my own life, in many areas, i finally have nothing left to say, in a tandem existence with so much i wish i could effectively share).
and we’re off on another roll now aren’t we? which brings me to
“fragments”-
instead of branches connecting and spreading exponentially - each pair multiplied indefinitely - paring back and down, going out on the singular l.i.m. (less is more). just a limber twig appraised, appreciated and treated as the entirety in all its incompleteness- something so true about this.
. .. feel compelled to go there for a while or two…and hopefully, as well, along the lines of lineage and limber limbs (nice segue way), there’s more to be expressed/explored regarding poetry in motion- gestures rather than words. whispering bodily wisdom and lithe linguistics that question - redefine the “norm.”
as for the long awaited epilogue:
the signature scrawled by the storm was the striking number of trees that fell- all but yanked up and away by its gusty gutsy grip- telephone poles too -for awhile afterwards, trucks and equipment all about and busy with clearing away - the forest service and/or parks and recreation guys broke the fallen trees down into reasonably movable logs and were swift about it.
but there was one- i have pictures, but don’t think i managed to get a photo that did her situation justice. even being in 3 dimensional space with her, she can be easy to miss.
apologies, because i realize it is odd to assign a gender… for the record, i am referring to a tree…. (now in particular, because it feels impersonal and wrong to call it an “it” or “the tree”- so…). i saw her a couple days after the storm. completely blown over but about a third of her roots were still sound and solid in the earth- behind the zoo on that favorite route through the “private property.” i wondered and worried what the department decision would be about this case during the removal of casualties (which never never are at all casual). Sheldan and i checked on her often, and by grace, the parks service came to such a touching decision:
they let her be, and now a year and a half later:
if you didn’t know to look for her, it’s pretty easy to pass right by- just a dirt pile and some bushes…
she is subtly quite upstanding - we have seen birds in her branches, but also bunnies …once, a little fox.depends on the day…
limb it less - yes. poetry in motion can be elusive- one might not even notice its movement- it’s not always graceful- ranges from angry mama bear endeavoring to protect her cubs, to furtive fecundity of poet trees, to … countless examples - hope to find a few and suitably, fragmentarily share via letting them speak
speechlessly
for themselves, toppling any and all conventional definitions of stability onto their sides.
