You can’t solve being human. We will have this affliction till the day we die.
—Jeannie Zandi
I tried to know it,
catch it, show it,
to splay its wings
and pin them—
to chart it, graph it,
plot it, map it,
quantify and reckon,
I tried to stuff it,
box it, pack it,
leash it to a pole,
I wanted answers,
wanted keys,
I wanted oracles,
and in came tamarisk,
rodents, dust,
whole rooms
of I don’t know,
a screaming child,
my milk dried up,
my fear devoured me whole.
Splintered, rumpled,
rankled, crumpled,
my all collapsed,
unplastered.
Undone, released,
exposed, relieved,
I flowered
utterly mastered.
I’m having a bit of trouble, R, with this one, nailing down that “it” that you rail against as the poem opens. The Zandi quote tells me maybe it’s “being human” but that’s not what you see, I don’t think. That seems too easy, too generic. I’ve read it five times, drat. Still wondering. Maybe the title could hint at the it. Of course, I’m on the road, and perhaps I’m traveling with my poetry dunce hat.
Typically, anon beats me to the punch, re: your posts. Here, though, I’m seeing “it” in a more general than specific sense, and hence not troubled by not knowing what it is. (Which, btw, it dawns on me, precisely addresses much of the poem: knowing v not-knowing. Which, also, ties wondrously into your “interview” on The Nervous Breakdown’s webpage.)
“…I wanted answers,/…and in came…whole rooms/of I don’t know…” concluding with being “Undone” yet “flowered”. Hmmm…there’s a lesson there.
I think the entire idea is that the “it” is not to be known. This is brilliant! And dare I say I sense a bit of Wendy Videlock’s companionship? (I love it when she blows on my pen from afar).
thanks uche! it does have a videlock ring to it, doesn’t it! that it is so unknown, and oh how we want to know it …
This poem touches me deeply, It’s how I feel about the lightness and joy I experience… and then… ;}
Thank you Rosemerry ~
Thank you for your feedback! I appreciate you sharing how you feel it, too …