Myths About the Moon - Dec 2 2020

 

Myths About the Moon

Dec 2 2020

It felt so much colder

under the clear night sky.

And the myths about the moon,

the lunacy

and human tides

and countless ancient goddesses,

began to seem real

when it was full,

its silvered light

enveloping the world.

One foot followed the other,

the regularity

of muscle memory

propelling me unconsciously on.

Dry snow crunched underfoot.

When it's even colder

the snow will make a high-pitched creak,

like a broken-down gate

leaning on a rusty hinge

swinging in the wind.

The sound was almost hypnotic,

carrying on the dense still air

clearly and precisely,

a fine-grained sound

that was unexpectedly loud

in the absolute silence.

In the purifying cold

and distilled light

that night the moon was full

it seemed almost mythological;

Luna

riding her chariot

to her secret lover's lair,

the aliens

who live on the far side

we never knew were there.

Will we still feel its power

when the moon's obscured by cloud?

The uncanny suspension of time,

its tidal force in human blood

and shape-shifting light?

And at sunrise

when it's a pale disc

in a sky of wash-water grey

will its spell also break?

I feel it already starting to wane

as this warm mass of air

moves in from the south

under a low blanket of cloud.

My heavy steps muffled

and the silver light softened

by wet sloppy snow.

The myths coming down to earth

and Luna all alone.

As the poem so literally says, I took a walk under a full moon and clear sky last night. But later today, it turned cloudy and dull; and although the air temperature isn't much different, the blanket of cloud has made it feel significantly warmer. The radiant heat loss under a clear sky really intensifies the cold. Which was the only thing I had in mind as the poem began. And an obvious meteorological phenomenon – no matter how dramatic – is hardly a promising subject for poetry. So I surrendered to my stream of consciousness, and this poem is the result. A risky poem, in its way. Especially for me, because I write too many about seasons and weather. Because moonlight is such a tired cliche. Because myths about tides and lunacy are too easy. And because references to Greek mythology is something dead poets did, back when readers could be presumed to have a classical education, and no one thought such mentions were both pretentious and inscrutable.