Higher Ground

July 16 2013


You occupy the high ground.
The commanding heights
from which armies rush,
standing in stirrups

in clouds of dust;

hooves, thundering.

Up Olympus, a lesser god,

who toys with us, tests our trust

sneering down

yet craves our love.

A deity, in our own image,

hurtling lightning bolts

seducing our women,

cursed
by jealousy, lust

conviction.

The invincible view

that confirms your omniscience.
And gravity
the castle moat
protecting you,

your sheer fortress of rock.

You are a grizzled old man

on the mountain top

just as we expected.

The long beard, the humble rags

sitting

with your legs crossed.
But you never possessed
the meaning of life
the answer to death,
the shibboleths
we question.

In the rarefied air
of altitude,

cold and wet

and short of breath

and no one left

but you.

Too weary to descend
to the valley
you barely recall,
lush, with rushing streams
and soft warm sun.
Where people stop
and idly talk
about the weather, their children
and nothing much,
catching-up with gossip.

Who rarely look up,
pay no mind to gods.


I suppose a poem about narcissism, self-aggrandizing delusion, the preoccupations of power, and the fallibility of ambition.

I say "suppose" because I let the poem take me by the hand and guide me, blindfolded. Actually, most poem start like this. Because setting down the first line is always an act of faith: in being receptive; in suspending the self-criticism that fears failure or embarrassment. And then, after the opening line, they continue that way: where writing feels like channelling more than it does artfully composing something fully my own.

This one began when I kept encountering this idea of "the high ground": the place where generals want to be; where we situate our gods; where we find our prized real estate with those grand exalted views; and where we sit in self-righteous moral certainty. I think of the trope of that classic New Yorker cartoon: with the wise old man sitting serenely at the top of the mountain; and where the punch line is the cleverly inevitable disappointment of the seeker, having painfully clawed his way up seeking the meaning of life. Most directly, it was all the recent flooding that had me thinking of the "commanding heights": the folly of building on flood plains, and how well this illustrates our disconnection from nature, where waterways disappear under concrete -- out of sight, out of mind. I thought of my own unfortunate experience with flooding (4' in the basement!), and how smug I feel now, occupying the high ground -- on top of a hill hundreds of feet up.

I was most pleased when I came up with "shibboleth". Because it fits perfectly in terms of rhythm and rhyme. And because it's much more than simply a filler word: not only in its Biblical resonance, which works nicely with the pagan god; but in its meaning, a code word that allows you to cross a border -- in this case, the border into enlightenment.

"Sheer" is also a useful word, with the inherent tension of contradiction. Because it's not only steep and absolute, but gossamer and vaporous. A poet must repeatedly give thanks to English, in which words can mean almost their exact opposite!

I like "conviction" just as well. Not only because it gave me the gift of a nice rhyme, which was actually closer to what I meant to say (I originally had "vantage point" and "commanding view", before it became "invincible view" and "omniscience"); but because I think conviction is the root cause of much that is wrong with the world: the absolute conviction that underpins religious faith, moral certainty, ideological truth.

And while I'm getting my usual barb in at religion, I might as well comment of the line "craves our love". Because I always wonder about this omnipotent and imperious God who can also be so darn needy, in such constant need of validation: that we worship Him, that we constantly pay obeisance, that we have no other gods before Him. And who, when we fail to pay sufficient attention, flies into a rage. Of course, I fully understand this teaching if it's taken -- as it properly should -- as literary and allegorical: where the "other gods" are things like pride or possessions. But that's not the kind of religiosity I despise. It's the literalist, fundamentalist, dogmatic version I find not only intellectually repugnant, but dangerous.

Who wouldn't want to occupy the high ground? But sometimes, grandiose ideas and pretentious philosophy have less to offer than the simple pleasures; than the home truths and practical wisdom of everyday life. And as it turns out, compared to the top of the mountain, the lowly valley is a much more pleasant place to be! Which is why "pay no mind" works so well: so cogently dismissive; so confidently plain-spoken.