Small Things - April 27 2024

 

Small Things

April 27 2024

One of those small things

that mean nothing

but please the eye.

After all, there’s nothing about a wall

that would change your life;

no metaphors here

about breaking out

or artificial divisions.

What struck me most was the moss,

a luminous green

against the grey

in the cracks between the stones;

growing, it seems

where nothing else will.

Especially how, when the clouds thin

and that rain-washed light

breaks through the overcast

and catches it just so

the moss seems lit from within.

A green

so in and of itself

I can only call it mossy green,

because words fail

and colours must be seen

to be truly known.

The wall, too, catches my eye.

How it settles

where the land subsides,

slumping in places

and leaning a bit.

So it looks ancient, as if it’s always been there;

a sense of permanence

that settles me, as well.

Like ivy on a castle tower

it takes time

to attain this louche state of decay

this ease with itself;

stones, expertly placed

in a mortarless wall

that bends instead of breaks,

held by friction and weight

and the faith of its creators.

From now on, this green

will be my reference point;

primary

iconic

archetypal.

Moss

catching the light just so.

From the beginning, I always took the greatest pleasure writing about microcosm and close observation. I think this is turning a weakness into a strength.

The weakness is my prolixity. The inclination toward too much detail and specificity, when poetry requires space, allusion, ambiguity. The best example of this is how I often have to say to myself that “I’m not writing a novel here”. (Unfortunately, I often also fail to take my own advice!)

But I think it becomes a strength when you narrow the focus and zoom in. Because then, the pleasure is in the extravagance: the loving detail; the feeling you have all the time in the world to hover over this one small thing. And the pleasure of bringing the unseen to light: opening eyes to the small things in life that contain so much beauty, yet are so easily ignored.

The happiness experts tell us we “should stop and smell the roses.” Which may be too much of a cliché for good poetry, but is still good advice!