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Down to the river It's not quite an odour, In and around our far-pitched tent, Of city and mothballed innocence Of stale things, bread, sausages and cordial, But some unredeemed ambience. We bring A sacred wish to leave all things behind. We are not yet ourselves, even here. But we are, unknowing, wise, we spores, Waiting on a wind to fling us To cling where we can grow. This man and boy and girl Makers of holy days from dirt and fire and smoke Can no more unleash our independence Than cease the river’s wash of rock. We are our chains, and we must bless them. We will bless them here. So, down, we take the footpath, Watchful, through the other uncircumcised tents Where heavy metal rents empty rooms behind Eyes wild without recognition Of any sacred ground. From our strangeness in this strangest land I dig out one vast question: To whom should I say "I love you"? Should I choose the air that cleans the stars, Or the light that makes diamonds of the sand, Or the chill waters my son and daughter baptise me in, My head and feet aflame with cold To walk newborn upon the newborn earth? My children wash their stones and feet, Laughing into their eternity, Laughing in their scent of innocence, Laughing till they break my heart, Brooking no denial, And I, the father, am made clean. |
This Poem was Critiqued By: Elaine Marie Phalen On Date: 2004-05-07 20:30:55
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.85714
Mark, this is a rare and moving poem. I can't really critique it because my mom - who has lived with me for almost 18 years - has just been hospitalized and I'm too weary to make much sense! But it's a worthy tribute to the legacies upon which we all draw, and then leave in our own turn: the children, the histories, the bonds with kin and clan and the land itself. The "sacred wish to leave all things behind" is almost like a desire to be reincarnated as other beings, spores into seedlings. The baptismal waters allow us to be remade, and the young shall lead us into new insight. Yes, we do become our own chains. Release is impossible unless it comes from within. But we can be led into it by those with fresher insights and more eager embrace of whatever may lie ahead.
There's a Psalm-like cadence to the piece, and the diction complements it. The end result is one of eloquence and a resonant joy. This is an affirmation. If we learn, not only how to love but whom, we are the richer for it. Indeed, our children may well show us how to live more fully and gladly. They possess what we believe we have lost but can still imagine, still understand, and still recapture.
The river flows through and around us all. It's a huge metaphor, not only for time and life but for the cleansing process that allows us to progress spiritually. This implies a karmic dimension that each new generation must accept, as the old go to seek renewal and enlightenment.
"Uncircumcised tents" - great use of metonymy! [I think of Othello's "uncircumcised dog"]. It is as if the ancient ritual reaffirms our place in the chain that stretches from Abraham himself. "The air that cleans the stars" is amazing. "Unknowing, wise" is an oxymoron that so fittingly describes the human soul itself. Perhaps we do know more than we understand.
Sorry this is so disjointed. I could not let the poem itself pass unacknowledged.
Brenda