Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Anguish in the garden

Sometimes when you want to cry, you just have to laugh. Events both universal and personal coalesce in a week of distressing times. I am seeking peace and openness, or hoping for it at least, when my will is weak. Some days peace hides, until unexpected messengers break it open in spite of themselves, and me.

* * *

Anguish in the garden

Away from the house's story
peopled with damp fears

I am looking for quiet in the sun
among the blooming chives

when there erupts the relentless clucking wail
of a chicken trapped

behind the wheelbarrow in the barn
and an echoing spastic cry

of another from the coop below 
which ignites yet a third from the hydrangea—

a trio of irritating sirens
screaming the three alarm fire in my head

and we all burst into flame
of charismatic confusion

burning hot and quick until over and out
we move on in hulked silence 


16 comments:

  1. It's probably good, or at least a relief, to be able to laugh when even the chickens mirror distress. But I'm sorry you're dealing with personal distress. I'll hope for your peace. On a mundane note, I just found out that chives bloom when mine did- lovely purple blooms (are they always purple?) which surprised and delighted me. Peace, friend.

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    1. Mary, it is a relief to listen to the chickens cackle their angst, and to laugh. Thank you. Chive flowers are one of my favorites. They usually bring swallowtails, but they seem scarce this year, which causes me concern, after the bees disappeared. They are scarce too.

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  2. Oh how I love this poem Ruth... So rich, full and expressive despite your life circumstances, or maybe because of them... And such a gift to be able to put it into words like this. Such metaphors are priceless. I especially liked "...the relentless clucking wail of a chicken trapped" - echoing the scream in your head. And "...burst into flame of charismatic confusion" - what delightful rich imagery! I have always loved the notion of "unexpected messengers." Life does seem to offer them, even in the form of chickens (which I had to laugh at the scene) or a fence between neighbors, that I recently dealt with. Something comes to bring us back, to refocus our awareness, to open us up and help us look beyond. Heart Hugs to you for the inspiration you bring, even in distressing times...

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    1. Dear MM, your message comes in perfect timing for my regret for putting this "out there." I thought it might send negative energy out to those who read, and that is the last thing I wish. You've said just the right thing to reassure me that we can honestly share when our hearts are heavy, and that finding expression through these feathered ladies relieves the pressure, as do loving friends. Thank you so much for your heart hugs.

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  3. From "charismatic confusion" to "hulked silence," then back again to the confusion. It seems to be a well-trodden circuit for many of us, including the those chicken friends of yours. Well done, and as you can imagine, I was captivated from the very first line about being "away from the house's story."

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    1. Thank you, George. As sorry as I am that any of us goes through tough times, there is comfort knowing others share our experience, in some kind. This is life, it seems.

      I rewatched "Mindwalk" yesterday, after 20+ years. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. You can find it full length on YouTube (though not a good copy). I don't know why it comes to me now, but the physicist's (played by Liv Ullman) descriptions of the atom, and all the empty space each one contains strikes me as nature's call to us also to find empty space as we can.

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  4. oh, that "mad hen in the corner of the dark" (I think of roethke), forcing smiles, allowing the flames to escape "Away from the house's story." Laughter & tears: how often they come together in life, how beautifully you bring them together here. I am sorry for your personal anguish and hope that you find some true relief--true peace--soon. xo

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    1. DS, thank you for pulling me back to Roethke. What a poem this is. I cannot find it whole on the Internet, but I must read all of it. I'll keep looking. I've found pieces, and oh, this speaks to me. How can I thank you?

      Already I have found relief and peace. I thank you for the care you give me. This does so much in my being.

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    2. I ordered this collection and instantly it is on my Kindle. Now I can read "Her becoming" entire. Ahhh.

      And of course the other gifts in store in that collection.

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    3. I'm so glad you found it. I am reading it again (and again and again) for the first time. "The wild disordered language of the heart"--yet we insist on imposing order on it, and it resists. The source of all true (poetic) tension, perhaps?

      Ahhhh, indeed.

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  5. you watched mindwalk:)))))))

    your language is so alive, ripe, ready to burst into flame itself. don't ever feel moved to apologize for language that wrings you around the neck as yours does, and should! shouldn't we be snapped awake with anguish? how else might we recognize peace when we are received into her ample soft arms?

    and ruth, we take solace that we are not alone in anguish. we are rungs in the ladder in this way for one another. your pain informs me that i too can endure.

    that all said, i hope the chickens are ok. today i carried what was probably a maimed dragonfly for a while, and later james and i saw a bear with a hurt hindquarter sit by the road. that's enough anguish for one day:) (it goes without saying that i hope you have found your way through the dark place.)

    xo
    erin

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    1. Erin, I loved Mindwalk, again. I had forgotten the ideas, and so it was like seeing it for the first time.

      I know you are right about expressing anguish, and how we are interconnected. It is truly important. Yet the voices of the world gather around, causing doubt.

      Yes, I have found my way through the darkest day. The hens helped, the writing helped, you helped, others here helped, and then the source of grief itself softened. I am well, my family is well, but there is a heavy burden one of us must bear. It will pass, and I believe the walk through it will be full of joy and beauty. We just must not become crushed by it as it passes over us. I am reminded that it is not our circumstances that matter, it is what we do with them.

      The chickens seem fine, thank you. Yesterday as I drove, ahead of me I saw something waddle off. It looked like a fox, and the cars ahead of me had slowed. I'm afraid one of them might have hit it, as I think it was limping as it disappeared into the brush. Poor bear, poor fox, poor creatures, all of us.

      xoxo

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  6. I so know that feeling of wanting to cry...and choosing to laugh! Your poetry evokes those feelings and emotions so beautifully!

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    1. Oh Marcie, the human mind! It is a gift and a curse, various in response to the times. I am glad you found that the poem connected with your own sense of this, thank you.

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  7. I know this heaviness, Ruth, and carry it with you. I'd like to believe something really beautiful will come...and maybe even some belly laughs along the way. Wouldn't that be a surprise.

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  8. Imaging humans being more free to express ourselves like those three chickens.

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All responses are welcome.