Sometimes there’s no other way to capture a moment–a way of seeing or being in the world–than through poetry.
So while I prefer writing prose (I know I’m no poet), I find myself returning again and again to certain poems I have written, as if they were traces in the sand leading me back to the very time and place where something singular and significant rose briefly to mind.
I think of these as my Zen moments. A sudden clear perception of something so extraordinary and subtle, it can only be experienced in faint, fleeting whiffs.
But the scent of it lingers in mind long afterwards, as if waiting to be re-released, like rosemary or thyme planted along a garden path waits to be crushed underfoot.
It’s like the story of a student begging his master to explain the meaning of Zen. But the master, cruelly it seems, keeps putting him off until one day as they were walking together through the mountain laurels the master suddenly exclaims, “There! Do you smell it?” So happy at last was he to help his young student grasp what he was after.
It’s like that. Nothing after all was ever hidden. It’s just waiting to be crushed underfoot.
The poetry I write attempts to capture some of that, or at least to trace the footsteps leading to the moment where it all came together, where the heel of my foot accidentally, spontaneously, released the scent of something rare and fleeting and not to be forgotten.
I’ve shared a couple of these poems already on these pages, in “Walking Among Flowers,” and “Night Howls.” Although what I experienced and tried to capture in those poems was something more visceral than a mere whiff, more like the thwack of the master’s cane coming down on my back, although just as fleeting. The poem I share below, “A Scattering of Rocks,” captures something more like that walk through mountain laurel.
We were living in Pago Pago, American Samoa, aboard our sailboat La Gitana.
My husband and I were working to supplement our cruising kitty, he as a welder in a local boatyard, while I tutored Korean children who lived in small communities scattered among the foothills. Every afternoon I would row ashore and walk back through the lush green mountain valleys along dirt roads to the children’s homes.
I loved those walks. Often I practiced what I called “no-thought,” emptying the mind and just letting sights and sounds and smells wash over me wordlessly. But more often I was overcome by the spectacular beauty I saw all around me and my relative insignificance, humble in the midst of such awesome power. And then one day it happened. I smelled it. A scattering of small rocks along the wayside was the trigger.
A Scattering of Rocks
Many times I walked this way, a dirt path
parting from the road through yonder valley.
And always, the high green mountain wall
stared down from its dizzying heights,
while the spacious valley opened up,
opulent and serene.
But only once was I struck by a mere trifle,
a scattering of small rocks tossed haphazardly
across the path.
There was no significance in this. No meaning.
Yet the sight so lightened my footfall,
I might have been a leaf blown yon,
or a pebble tumbling carelessly away.
So amazing were my antics
even the high mountain wall and verdant valley
broke loose, doubled over in laughter.
Now I cannot pass this way without us sharing,
like old friends, a light skip and chuckle.
I don’t know if this poem will mean anything to anyone other than myself, but I’m hoping those who have had similar experiences will capture a whiff of what I was after.
What’s significant to me is that while I was steeped in the deep beauty and sensual richness of that tropical landscape that could, quite literally, take your breath away, it was something as mundane and homely as a scattering of small rocks that was the catalyst to this singular experience.
The awesome beauty that surrounded me melted away into mere laughter–a shared experience, but not the thing itself, not that which gave rise to the laughter.
Not perfection, not imperfection, not perfection and imperfection together, but the sudden acute realization of the perfect imperfections that permeate life and percolate almost imperceptibly to the surface. Spontaneously, like alliteration, like rhythm, like rhyme. Like verses from the nursery which make no sense at all—until they do.
“With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,
we will make music wherever she goes.”
It’s like that, making music wherever we go. When suddenly, we slip upon it, there we go too–tumbling carelessly away. And everything breaks loose in laughter.
[The poem has been revised since first posted, moving some of the line breaks as readers below have suggested. Let me know what you think.]
lly1205 said:
The nursery rhyme at the end really got me, I remember that being read to me when I was little!
Deborah J. Brasket said:
There’s something about nursery rhymes and fairy tales that really intrigues me. Sometning for another post perhaps? Thanks so much for stopping by and leaving your comment.
lly1205 said:
My family recently got a complete copy of Grimms Fairy Tales and I plan to look through it thoroughly, and maybe it will be food for a few posts like you say!
Carol Welsh said:
A lovely piece of writing, Deborah…and a truly lovely poem. Thanks!
Deborah J. Brasket said:
Thank you, Carol.
Brenda said:
You pulled me in completely, I really enjoy when this happens. It makes my morning coffee all the more enjoyable. Tis true what you say about how suddenly everything connects.
Deborah J. Brasket said:
Thanks Brenda, I love it too when I really connect with what someone is writing–one of the reasons I love blogging–to discover those connections.
Cody said:
It’s a lovely poem. Try asking yourself why you break your lines where you do. Reading it aloud and feel where the line is over and break it there. You’ll have a better poem, yet.
Deborah J. Brasket said:
Thanks, Cody. I’ll have to think about that. Mostly I broke it to give emphasis to certain words/ideas, although I’ve played around with it in other ways too. Always more to learn. More to play with.
Claudine Gueh said:
Deborah, ‘The Scattering of Rocks’ is wonderful. I love your mention of a walk with no thoughts, too. This is something I’ve been trying to achieve. I haven’t got there yet, can’t shut the voices in the head off entirely. Keep telling myself to pay attention to the here and the now. Thanks for sharing your poem and pictures.
Deborah J. Brasket said:
I am so glad you liked this. Thank you. I wish I could walk more with no thought too. It’s a lovely practice.
gabrielablandy said:
I really enjoyed this. That poem was lovely – I had such a sense of being transported.
Deborah J. Brasket said:
Thank you, Gabriela.
iwouldratherbewriting said:
One of the most beautifully and gracefully written posts I have chanced upon this week, and I loved that poem!
deborahbrasket said:
What a lovely thing to say. Thank you so much.
jsodphotography said:
I’m so glad you commented on my blog this morning, as it allowed me to discover your blog. I rather like your writing style, and ability to describe nature in such wonderful ways. I often write about my adventures hiking and photographing the landscape as well, sometimes in the moment up on the mountain and others after I’ve returned to the city. Its a great way to express what your experiencing. Poetry is something I’ve dabbled in but haven’t really done much with up to this point though.
cheers, Jeff
deborahbrasket said:
Thank you, Jeff. I’m glad I found your blog too.
deborahbrasket said:
Reblogged this on Living on the Edge of the Wild and commented:
While I’m taking some needed downtime, I thought I’d reblog this post from a year ago–one of my favorites. Hope you enjoy. Peace.
Anushka Stevens said:
that is so cool!
redjim99 said:
I like this, and the story and comments with it expand on the words written. I love the drip of an idea into consciousness, when we suddenly realise what it is we were thinking about. The idea of laughing with the world around, lovely image. Someone mentioned your line breaks, I think personally it is less about where and more about the mix of end words, hard and soft words is how I think of them, and how they control the speed of the reader passing through. I think for me, the lines
“while the spacious valley opened
up, opulent and serene. But only
once was I struck by a mere trifle,”
stop each line hard. by the nature of the line running on you take a step back almost, to check the way it is written. On the other hand, the lines
“Many times I walked this way, a dirt path
parting from the road through yonder valley.”
at the start pull you on into the poem. I always try to read my poems aloud to see how the lines affect them. Here, where you show how you were pulled up short, I think the line breaks work. There are of course some I would change, words to remove or add, but isn’t that the joy of writing, we can all have ideas that draw on others work. Writing that sparks is always good.
Hope you don’t mind me rambling a bit, sorry,
Jim
deborahbrasket said:
Thank you, Jim. I’d been thinking about the line breaks since Cody had mentioned them, thinking I’d play around with it some day. I think originally I was looking for a more syncopated beat, something to keep the reader slightly askew, and perhaps to reflect the way pebbles tumble–usually not smoothly, but playfully. But if what I tried takes readers out of the poem, then that’s not what I want either. So I made a few changes and would be interested in what you think. And BTW, I’m always looking for ways to improve these things, so I welcome reader’s input. I change them constantly. This one has had many line break and word changes as I’ve revised it. Problem is, I never know if the new is better than the old.
Antoinette Clinton said:
Beautiful – retireandread.wordpress.com
dliw canis said:
A fellow traveler who also appreciates “the whiff of something more.” Have you experienced the music of The Moody Blues? They have that “whiff” in many of their songs. Your post is excellent! Peace.
deborahbrasket said:
Yes! “Night in White Satin” is one of my favorite Moody Blues songs. Now I’m keen to listen to them again. So glad you stopped here. Off to listen to their music . . . .
dliw canis said:
Wonderful. Do you have a collection or just a few favorites?