My Knowledge of Geography - March 18 2022

 

My Knowledge of Geography

March 18 2022

By the time I'm old enough

to be blind and deaf,

and the news, mercifully

becomes incomprehensible to me,

my knowledge of geography

will be complete.

Each report

of coup, famine, war,

of once-in-a-century storms,

and swarms of refugees

with nowhere to go,

accompanied by its detailed map

of unfamiliar capitals

and unpronounceable towns.

Regions of the world

I thought I knew

but clearly did not.

When the only geography

worth knowing

is that small hidden bay

where the sunset lingers

on late summer days.

The scenic route

to the boulangerie

with the freshly baked the baguettes

and intoxicating aroma.

The back alleys

of the old neighbourhood

I navigate on foot,

unobtrusively glancing

into the cluttered backyards

where life goes on

behind cockeyed gates

and ramshackle fences.

And the shortcut to your house

where we spent those nights together.

And where, smiling and spent

I left you sleeping in bed

and retraced my steps

as if on autopilot;

the thin morning light

hard on my eyes,

the cool morning air

anointing the grass

with drops of immaculate dew.

So much geography

I find of no use.

I've grown tired of these lessons

it seems we'll never learn.

Because the world still burns

and more lives are coolly squandered,

shattered

by pointless wars

and greedy men

and worthless causes.

Because the rich keep getting richer

while the poor are always with us

no matter what.

And now, too much time has passed

and I can no longer see my way.

And even though nothing changes

everything does.

Your address, for one;

but I remember the map

and could follow it blind.

If only I'd forgotten my way.

Or had stayed, one morning

warm and cozy

In your double bed.

Instead of bothering

with all that geography

I now mostly forget.

Instead of witnessing

a world with more history

than a single man can bear.

It's sad how true this is. I'm embarrassed to say this is how I learn geography these days. How obscure places of which we have only the vaguest notion come overnight to preoccupy us. How they are the centre of attention, until our gaze shifts, we move on to the next big thing, and soon the mental map starts to get fuzzy again. I feel that lately I've been living through too much history, and have learned more geography than I care to know. Myanmar, Syria, Ukraine come immediately to mind.

This is another poem about taking refuge from the world and from things we can't control by focusing on our personal lives: the small domestic concerns and harmless bourgeois sensibilities. So the poem starts with a wide angle lens, and then the aperture quickly narrows. I manage get my little rant in – I hope just enough to not lose the reader – then rescue the thing with a scenario I'm sure we all find far more interesting!