Sentenced to Life

This year I have found myself becoming, ever so slowly, more and more interested in poetry. A few poetry readings have been instrumental in this increasing interest, including this one by Clive James called Sentenced to Life, which I heard the other day on NPR (originally published on BBC Radio 4 - Today on May 26th, 2014).

As I listen to Clive read his poem I find myself reflecting on the totality of life--past, present, and future--and observing how circular life can be, the way it ebbs and flows, the way it changes, but how, when you really take the whole thing in, it remains much the same.

Notes: Haiku Economics

Will our successors, perhaps hundreds of years from now, better understand the link between art, life, emotion, and economics? This article on money, metaphor, and the invisible hand offers a hint at that possibility.

"If you were to trace the separation of art from life historically," says the poet Etheridge Knight in an interview, "you would trace it back to the Greeks when Plato and others made the 'head thing' the ideal... There was a separation between reason and emotion."

[...]

"Generally speaking, a people’s metaphors and figures of speech will come out of their basic economy," Knight continues:

"If somebody lives near the ocean and they fish, their language will be full of those metaphors. If people are farmers, they will use that kind of figure of speech. Metaphors are alive. When they come into being, they are informed by the politics and the sociology and the economy of now. That’s how language is."

That's how economic language is, too, but with a surprising difference. And this is where poets can help to fix the economy. It turns out that economic theory is overly dependent on fictional devices, whereas poetry, as Knight shows, trucks in the real.

BEING HUMAN by Naima

I wonder if the sun debates dawn
some mornings
not wanting to rise
out of bed
from under the down-feather horizon

If the sky grows tired
of being everywhere at once
adapting to the mood swings of the weather

If the clouds drift off
trying to hold themselves together
make deals with gravity
to loiter a little longer

I wonder if rain is scared
of falling
if it has trouble letting go

If snow flakes get sick
of being perfect all the time
each one trying to be one-of-a-kind

I wonder if stars wish
upon themselves before the die
if they need to teach their young to shine

I wonder if shadows long
to once feel the sun
if they get lost in the shuffle
not knowing where they’re from

I wonder if sunrise and sunset
respect each other
even though they’ve never met

If volcanoes get stressed
If storms have regrets
If compost believes in life after death

I wonder if breath ever thinks
about suicide
I wonder if the wind just wants to sit
still sometimes
and watch the world pass by

If smoke was born knowing how to rise
If rainbows get shy back stage
not sure if their colors match right

I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock
to know when to crack
If rivers ever stop
and think of turning back

If streams meet the wrong sea
and their whole lives run off-track
I wonder if the snow wants to be black

If the soil thinks she’s too dark
If butterflies want to cover up their marks
If rocks are self-conscious of their weight
If mountains are insecure of their strength

I wonder if waves get discouraged
crawling up the sand
only to be pulled back again
to where they began

I wonder if land feels stepped upon
If sand feels insignificant
If trees need to question their lovers
to know where they stand

If branches waver in the crossroads
unsure of which way to grow
If the leaves understand they’re replaceable
and still dance when the wind blows

I wonder where the moon goes
when she is hiding
I want to find her there
and watch the ocean
spin from a distance
Listen to her
stir in her sleep

effort give way to existence

This is an amazing poem. It makes me feel as though complaining about anything in life is not only a complete waste of time, but also an extremely selfish thing to do.

Check out the author's website for more amazing stuff.

Atrophy

I wish I was sweating, thighs aching, looking up a trail not knowing how much further I have to climb. Rationing my water for fear of not having enough for the way back down, while worrying about, with every step, spraining my ankle.

Instead, I'm sitting slouched in a chair in a room without windows, breathing stale used air and staring at a radiation emitting screen, feeling my leg muscles slowly atrophy.

I may as well be sitting in a wheelchair, watching TV, waiting for death.

Spring

Warm breeze,
Sweet smell of blooming flowers,
Birds chirping,
Warm sun,
Clear blue roof,
Random pairs of white, soaring wings.