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| Albrecht Durer |
VII.
What is it that upsets the
volcanoes
that spit fire, cold and
rage?
Why wasn't Christopher
Columbus
able to discover Spain?
How many questions does a cat
have?
Do tears not yet spilled
wait in small lakes?
Or are they invisible rivers
that run toward sadness?
Pablo Neruda
These questions! - when I first came across these, something broke in my brain. It wasn't until I read these poems that I understood what poetry does, or what the possibilities truly
were. In all my years of reading poems, I hadn't seen it. And I don't
even know if I can put into words what I am beginning to learn.
At first, the questions seemed child-like and beautiful, but not particularly poetic or deep. Where is the rhythm, the wordplay, for instance? Where is the development of metaphor? But my curiosity was piqued. I read more.
I wrote about this before -( LXXII), and I still hold to those thoughts, but since then they have grown. Something else is happening in the words - something more than mere childlike wondering. For instance, in that question, "How many questions does a cat have?"
At first, the questions seemed child-like and beautiful, but not particularly poetic or deep. Where is the rhythm, the wordplay, for instance? Where is the development of metaphor? But my curiosity was piqued. I read more.
I wrote about this before -( LXXII), and I still hold to those thoughts, but since then they have grown. Something else is happening in the words - something more than mere childlike wondering. For instance, in that question, "How many questions does a cat have?"
That's not naive wondering, it's questioning whether I have been wrong about the world I live in. We are very "scientific" about the things around us. We have tested things on certain levels, and have come to conclusions. But what if we got it wrong? What if we made a specific answer cover too large an area? Or too small?
What if we have skewed our vision of reality so much that we have lost the path and are now traveling down some self-invented by-way leading only into more distortion?
Neruda's question poems cracked open a treasure box for me. When I look at the cat, I see what I have been told is there, and forget that I have agency in seeing, that I need to take up my eyes and use them in a fresh way.
Science is too small explain a cat.
What I am learning is that poetry is thinking and seeing, or something that is both - seeking? (I just noticed that when I patch those two words together, "seeking" is what get.) Seeking the fuller truth of things. Seeking the possibilities. Cracking out of smallthink.
Does a cat ask questions?
Obviously.
Now what we need is a poet to hear them.
