Perception

Jan 11 2018

Why is the sky blue

when we really mean how;

the size of molecules

the scattering of light.

Because to ask why

is too metaphysical for science.

It implies that we

are at the centre  –

         that there is intention;

               that the sky is meant for us;

                     that our perception of colour

                     is absolute.

And so many shades of blue,

not to mention the leaden skies

the twilight greys

the milky light of dawn.

How it changes, as I watch.

And how, at night

the warm blanket of air

       –  eggshell thin

   around an embryonic earth   –

becomes invisible

clear out to the stars

as fast as light can go.

Transparent air

on which birds seem to levitate,

buoyant, and hollow-boned.

Too far for us to see

the powerful wings

clawing them higher,

the strain of muscles

flushed with blood,

enormous lungs

like glistening bellows

pumping deeply in-and-out.

All we see

are their slowly circling forms;

wings extended

spiralling-up

on thermals of sun-warmed air.

From where they look down on earth

oblivious to us;

who are too small to notice,

too incidental

to the fugitive life of birds.

This poem touches on so many familiar tropes, I feel I'm becoming tiresome, repetitive, boring. There are animals, of course. There is insignificant man, set against the magnificence of nature. There is close observation and microcosm. And there is also imagery I seem to return to again and again: the image of the earth's atmosphere, the transparent night sky, the telescoping and sudden reversal of perspective.

On the other hand, I think this poem puts all my old tricks to use in a new and interesting way. And I'm pleased with the distillation and compression; especially the opening, where a relatively complex philosophical idea – one that could easily merit an entire essay – is neatly encapsulated in a few lines.

I'm generally reluctant to take on a poem like this: a poem of ideas; a poem with no narrative structure; and poem that is more intellectual than visceral, more detached than personal. It's hard to make that kind of poem work. Mostly because there isn't enough emotion or sensation to grip the reader. So I hope I rose to the challenge here.