What? You thought the creation of everything
was some cosmic deal like the Big Bang,
firing off this enormous burst of life
in all directions, fueled by a fierce
enormous passion? Yeah, right. Think again.
Bring it a little closer to home. Life.
Well, everything wouldn’t mean much without it,
would it? Sounds kind of boring to have it all
but it all just sits there. So life, gotta have
life. That’s one thing. Getting life going, well
that’s kind of like a big bang again.
Lightning and storms and all that jazzing up
the primordial soup, whipping it up
in a frothing frenzy of fermentation,
et voilà, we got ourselves a sustained
reaction that step by step leads to us
and nothing is about to quit there.
That’s everything, now, right? Past, present, future
and the old Norse Fates, those mythic old ladies
with their threads of fate, spinning, twining,
winding, weaving, and somehow it all makes sense,
to them at least, in a way that seems like
magic to us. Nice and linear, right?
Well, with weaving, I guess two dimensions,
at least — our life moving forward and back,
and all the lives next to ours that connect.
But, you know, somehow that isn’t right either.
I don’t know why, but I know nothing is
what’s linear, devils move in straight lines
taking the easy path, and everything
must be something else. I’ve seen the wizard —
young hot-chickadee with her white-blonde buns
and orbiting rings of primal rainbow shapes —
putting her head together with the dude,
the nordic surfer dude social as Shaggy,
the two of them magicking up virtual
models of the e8 polytope.
That was something to see. It looks so
simple. It’s all lines, but the way they connect
makes something else, and that keeps changing, or not.
It is the same each time you see it, but
it looks different. From one angle you see
a Star of David, from another squares,
there are octagons, dodecahedron, more.
One plane tells one story, another
something else. Models within models,
shapes within shapes, order within order.
Each time I look at it I see something new.
Even the model, a bit like a blueprint,
doesn’t completely work in 3D.
It’s bigger than that. If even a blueprint
of everything is bigger than what my brain
can wrap itself around, well, then, the real thing,
that’s gotta be something, really something,
just what I don’t know. Not sure I need to know.
But everything? I know what it’s not.
A straight line. Anything easy. That bursting
forth of passion throwing out growth, that’s not life.
Cancers have that all worked out, and just look
how useful and durable they are.
Everything, well, it’s got some sort of order.
Amazing how even chaos seems to have
some order in it. Maybe it isn’t
actually chaos? Or maybe chaos
doesn’t mean what we think it does. Maybe
chaos is just order that’s too big for us?
- May 2017
- April 2017
- June 2016
- May 2016
- April 2016
- March 2016
- October 2015
- September 2015
- May 2015
- April 2015
- September 2014
- July 2014
- April 2014
- February 2014
- January 2014
- December 2013
- July 2013
- May 2013
- April 2013
- February 2013
- November 2012
- October 2012
- June 2012
- May 2012
- April 2012
- March 2012
- January 2012
- November 2011
- July 2011
- June 2011
- May 2011
- April 2011
- February 2011
- January 2011
- December 2010
- November 2010
- July 2010
- June 2010
- May 2010
- April 2010
- March 2010
- October 2009
- September 2009
- July 2009
- June 2009
- May 2009
- April 2009
- About Poetry
- Bear Poems
- Erasure Poems
- Free Verse/Prose Poems
- Old Poems
- Ottava Rima
- Our Lady
- Temple of Flowers
- VisPo – Visual Poetry
Tags"emily dickinson" "intergenerational transmission of trauma" abuse audio automotive belltower birds blooming blossoms books bus butterfly campanile cars Civility conversation courtship creation dreams drugs eggs elderly erasure poem erotic fatigue flowers Forms gailraynaia grief haibun haiku health healthcare itgg job language love magnolias medication medicine memorial memories men Momentile NaNoWriMo NaPorWriMo NaPoWriMo NaProWriMo nursery rhyme pantoum people podcast poems poetry politics reading rosary seniors Series sleep snow sonnet sound statistics stories syllabics tanka Triolet Villanelle vision weather woman work