Out Toward the Centre - Dec 11 2021

 

Out Toward the Centre

Dec 11 2021

The time the lake froze

clear as glass,

hard as obsidian

except not black.

So for one day

I could look down

and see fish swim beneath my feet,

oblivious

to the cold astringent world

with which they coexisted.

Is this how a parallel universe works?

A thin barrier

that's opaque as well as transparent

depending on your point of view?

Is this how it feels to fly;

levitating over the world,

but mostly effortless

and unconnected?

Is this what it's like

when something happens just once

in a lifetime?

Such a rare event,

not only intersecting in time and space

but being aware

of my privilege.

To catch a glimpse

before a change in the weather,

the winter sun

begins to set.

On I walked, out toward the centre,

taking a chance

on a thin patch

and the bottom dropping out,

shocked by the cold

gasping for air

and flailing for an edge that holds.

Like when a wall burst

and the aquarium flooded the floor.

Fish, landing all over,

stranded

by a gravity

they'd never felt before,

tails slapping

gills flapping

scales flashing silver.

Except the reverse.

Propelled into a world

I had only managed to watch

with fascination and fear

and a sense of bewilderment,

nose pressed to the glass

from my usual safe distance.

Too afraid to fall.

Forever looking on

instead of in.

This one once again comes with an appreciative nod to Garrison Keillor's Writers' Almanac. I've taken the liberty of including today's poem here. (See below.)

As usual, my writing usually begins with an urge to simply describe: an experience, an image, a feeling. Or to elaborate on an idea (which is usually a lot harder to distil into good poetry!) But after that, stream of consciousness takes over. And here, it's encapsulated in “nose pressed to the glass”.

This would make more sense if you knew that, if not Asperger's, I'm certainly Asperger adjacent. There is no formal diagnosis, but looking back on my life this makes the most sense, has the most explanatory power. A diagnosis, of course, doesn't change anything – certainly not the past – but it does provide a coherent explanation; validation; a sense of community/belonging (one isn't alone!); and a kind of moral exculpation, in the sense that I can to a certain extent attribute my flaws to hard-wiring rather than personal agency, free will, or moral failure. So when I heard things I've said to myself echoed by people who have been formally diagnosed, it was reassuring: things like “looking in, nose pressed to the glass”, and “an alien from another planet, dropped down on earth”.

Knowing this, you can see how the poem turned, and understand how it led to the ending, with its connotation of alienation, exclusion, and longing.

Anyway, here's Garrison Keillor's excellent selection. The more I reread, the more I love it.

Upon Discovering My Entire Solution to the Attainment of Immortality Erased from the Blackboard Except the Word 'Save'

by Dobby Gibson

If you have seen the snow

somewhere slowly fall

on a bicycle,

then you understand

all beauty will be lost

and that even the loss

can be beautiful.

And if you have looked

at a winter garden

and seen not a winter garden

but a meditation on shape,

then you know why

this season is not

known for its words,

the cold too much

about the slowing of matter,

not enough about the making of it.

So you are blessed

to forget this way:

a jump rope in the ice melt,

a mitten that has lost its hand,

a sun that shines

as if it doesn't mean it.

And if in another season

you see a beautiful woman

use her bare hands

to smooth wrinkles

from her expensive dress

for the sake of dignity,

but in so doing trace

the outlines of her thighs,

then you will remember

surprise assumes a space

that has first been forgotten,

especially here, where we

rarely speak of it,

where we walk out onto the roofs

of frozen lakes

simply because we're stunned

we really can.

Dobby Gibson, “Upon Discovering My Entire Solution to the Attainment of Immortality Erased from the Blackboard Except the Word ‘Save’” from Polar. Copyright © 2005 by Dobby Gibson. Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, LLC on behalf of Alice James Books