Friday, November 2, 2012

The Wind


Sounds like wing feathers
brushing screens and eaves,
and then a single cello note
spidering through the casement

on this gray dress of a day, full skirted,
embroidered with blowing leaves,
crisp-crinolined with dry corn stalks.

I love a storm, I love a storm, I love a storm.
But not for the grief torn through a far-off house—
       violent, stubborn, deranged.

I love it when I forget—seduced
by a smoking, rolled up sky,
black leather trees bending
in whispers and cracks,

humming suggestions just bass enough
to believe that another poor soul
might be abused by this power,
but not me, surely not me. Not today.

21 comments:

  1. Ah, you were with me watching the storm the other night. The mesmerizing wonder that obliterates all reason. Pitch-perfect rendition! Love the pun on "bass" as well.

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    1. Thanks, dear DS. I'm so glad you finally got power back and did not suffer any harm in the storm. My heart goes out to those who are still without power and who suffered damage.

      Thanks for catching the pun with "bass." I'm not sure if I was able to do what I was feeling when I wrote this poem. My sisters and I have always loved storms. We go and sit outside if we can and let the wind whip around us. Of course one has to have a healthy respect and not be naive about storms, as many found out this week, thinking they could ride out Sandy, which was worse than they could imagine. Like so many dangers, we don't think the worst will happen to us, and we kid ourselves. It reminded me of women who like "bad boys" and are somehow drawn to that characteristic because it's exciting. I guess that might be apparent, but it could probably use some work. Thank you.

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    2. I think knowing the danger is part of the thrill (like those bad boy), but it is also much easier when we know deep down that we are safe (perhaps secure is the better word??)...
      The Beast--that untamed, natural wild part of us--exults in such weather even as our logical minds are racing: how many candles? who is where? are there enough batteries? will x y z p q be all right?? What if--
      I am still trying to sort this out.
      Beyond grateful am I to have gotten through Sandy and her immediate aftermath unscathed. My heart is with all of those who have lost so much, who feared (and may still fear) for loved ones, who are cold, hungry, and so so tired...
      "It can't happen here." But it can. And does. And will. Nature has always had the upper hand. And the part of us that is still attached to her knows this...

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    3. Yes. I often think of the middle class in these modern times, now used to our comfort and ease, oblivious to the origins of what sustains us.

      If you haven't seen the 1978 series "Connections" by James Burke, it is fascinating. He goes back to various inventions and innovations to see how and why they came about. He begins in a wheat field and asks about our technological dependence, and the power blackout in NYC in 1965. If "civilization" were removed, how would we fare? Would we know what to do? How to harvest grain, mill it, make bread?

      http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/james-burke-connections/

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    1. Yes, we need to be smart and not naively brave. As devastating as Sandy was, I'm grateful that the majority of her victims escaped mortal harm. I still feel for those in the Caribbean recovering, because they have fewer resources.

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  3. with the greatest respect i don't think we need to be any smarter in these terms. oh, how i wish for no one pain or hardship, how i wish for no one loss, but we can not always be safe. i commend you, ruth, on being brave enough to post such a poem. truly. it is rather dangerous and i feel a flutter of elation for your daring. we must, yes, keep in mind safety, preservation of the body but hold the hand of our own bravery and delight. in other words, we must always dare to live.

    your poem's language is so damned wonderful. how it changes upon the enchantment in repetition, the spirit delighting, I love a storm, I love a storm, I love a storm. indeed, the bad boys then arise with the seduction, the smoking sky, the black leather bending trees! (ha! i love those trees in this poem!) i think we have no choice, ruth, but to always think, not me, not me. it will after all always be me, us, one day or another but to truly live we must momentarily forget this, or remember it and delight in the life beneath the threat - always, always, always.

    xo
    erin

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    1. Thank you, Erin. I hope I don't offend anyone with what I've written. I mean no diminishment of the tragedy and loss. I simply want to face my life, my fear, my distance from another's reality and pain. I acknowledge what I can't bridge, no matter how much I donate to Red Cross, One of the most helpful moments for me after Sandy hit was reading the hour by hour account of the "mundane" details of Elizabeth's living in NY. What can we do but face our existence in its joys and sorrows and the ways we survive and love.

      Thank you for your generosity to me, to everyone as the unique and precious individuals who make up this wild world. xoxo

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    2. Here is Elizabeth's blog where she posts about recovery after Sandy:

      http://elizabeth-aboutnewyork.blogspot.com/

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  4. This is my fourth visit to this poem, Ruth, but I still find myself a bit tongue-tied in trying to articulate my response. One the one hand, I like the artistry and creative strength of the poem. On the other hand, having spent my youth on the Gulf Coast and having seen it destroyed on more than one occasion (Camille and Katrina, e.g.), I must confess that it is largely impossible for me to experience anything approaching love when it comes to storms, especially massive hurricanes. I suppose this is an area in which my general love of nature is hobbled by a few bad experiences.

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    1. Hi, George. Thank you for persevering and finding a way to articulate what you feel in response to this poem. That means a lot to me. I can't help but recognize now that what for me is a love of storms must be unique to having grown up with them in Michigan. I just heard this week that Michigan has had the easiest time of it in recent years with Nature's furies. The worst we get are thunderstorms, wind storms, tornadoes, but nothing close to the cyclones or hurricanes found at the coasts. This is a poem by a girl protected from any personal knowledge of the kind of storm you experienced this week, and in the past. I don't take those storms lightly, and yet I have only experienced storms that are light in comparison. Growing up loving the storms that came through our community, very rarely doing any damage, is my reality. I do not love hurricanes, I do not know them personally, and to compare them to what I love is not fair, and feels quite insensitive now. I'm so sorry.

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  5. Monday night we spent a few hours with neighbors, jazz, pizza... Then the wind

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    1. Stratoz, neighbors, jazz, pizza... waiting together, then watching and comforting each other. I'm glad you were safe.

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    2. sending them into the nastiest of the storm, for even half a block walk, was a bit unnerving. Was glad to know they made that walk safely

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    3. Such intense and immediate danger!

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  6. i love your perfect judgment in the language of this poem ... the "full-skirted ... embroidered ... crisp-crinolined" day, that yields (with some welcome) to "seduced ... smoking ... black leather ... humming suggestions just bass enough" ... and many other beautiful things: the "single cello note / spidering through the casement" (spidering!!), the modulations of tone and revelation in "I love a storm, I love a storm, I love a storm" ...

    we always live in the presence of danger, and someday the storm (whatever the "storm" is in our particular case) will lift us into the sky and smash us on the rocks ... but what a relief it is, in the meantime, to recognize the danger and live ...

    (and this does nothing at all, i think, to reduce the seriousness of others' experience ... but nor does their experience invalidate yours ...)

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    1. James, ... but what a relief it is, in the meantime, to recognize the danger and LIVE ... Yes. There have been many novels and movies on this theme. I think of The Hunger Games recently. Yet we are afraid to admit that we are relieved when others suffer. These are difficult things to talk about.

      Yesterday, after two weeks helping baby James's parents get through a tough teething time, it was almost time for me to leave. He cruised toward his daddy's Macbook and I quickly shut it ... right on his right middle finger. A terrible pinch! And then we saw that his tiny finger was bleeding, that the edge of the laptop had cut his tender skin. As we three hovered, washed, prepared the bandaid (he had already been comforted by mama's milk and was not crying, but mama and I were) all the terrible possibilities ran through my head about his fragility. Having raised kids I know that these fears abate somewhat as they survive more dangers. And yet, we are all very fragile, and we must remember and balance this knowledge with boldness, gracefully to live.

      Many thanks for such kind and generous things said.

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  7. I absolutely LOVE LOVE LOVE storms, too, Ruth (do all we 4 sisters?). While in the midst of them, I'm always believing I'm safe from danger...even though we lived close to many tornadoes while living in Wisconsin. I have lived through my home burning down and I thought about that recently...if I could choose between that or flooding. Maybe more can be salvaged from flooding but the fire is so final. You HAVE to rebuild. Nothing wishy-washy about the choices.

    I know where you're coming from. I know you would never diminish anyone else's suffering....

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    1. Yes we all love it, Boots. Maybe Mom did too? I remember your story, though, from when you were a girl, afraid of a storm at a friend's house. And her mother came and stood behind you, facing out through the window, steadying your fear with her hands on your shoulders. This is the image to maintain: face it, with respect, but hopefully without debilitating fear.

      I think no one who has not lost everything in this kind of tragedy can understand it. You're right, fire is unforgiving. As a child I had deep fears of house fires.

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  8. I do not think you need to worry about offending anyone with your beautiful words Ruth! I feel one can love a storm but not its destruction...I know I do. That feeling of power and helplessness at the same time...it is immense! And that feeling of "not me". I am sure that if we are being truthful we all feel this while watching the news in the aftermath.

    We were prepared for the worst here but escaped with only minor inconveniences. How lucky we were!

    I have often wanted a dress the color of a stormy sky:)

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    1. Thank you, GailO. But I do worry, I worry much about such things. :)

      Oh the human experience is profoundly variable and it must be documented!

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All responses are welcome.