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Awe, creative process, creativity, Deborah J. Brasket, Field Notes From Within, imagination, poem, poetry, Poetry-making, revision, wonder
I’ve been working on a poem I began here on this blog. It is a process, a gentle undoing and reweaving. An opening and letting go.
Recently a confluence of events inspired me to write a new ending. First I read an article on the importance of helping children discover a sense of awe and how beneficial that is, making us more curious, more humble and altruistic. Taking them on nature walks was one way it suggested.
Then only days after I learned about my 9-year old granddaughter’s startling discovery that Santa isn’t real. It was a blow to her, although she had begged to know the truth. What about the Easter Bunny? she asked. Horror upon horrors. The Tooth Fairy? she cried in alarm. Even the Elf on a Shelf, alas, poor dear.
I shared her pain. It seems only yesterday I took her for a walk in the meadow behind our home after it had rained the night before. We were searching for toadstools to see if fairies might still be sheltering beneath them. We found patches of bright green moss and ran our fingers along the soft furry carpet knowing how fairies like to danced there in moonlight. We imagined them wearing the silvery, pearl-studded gowns made from the spider webs glittering with raindrops we found nearby.
Why does the mind devise such dreamy comparisons? What is its purpose? To inculcate the capacity to marvel? To help us see beyond the ordinary sense of things (moss, toadstools) to their vast potential? To encourage us to see the fractal similarities between disparate things? There is something important and necessary in such devising. It feeds the soul by giving free rein to the imagination. It helps us to see beyond the surface of things, to look for the invisible within the seen, and inspires us to create our own works of wonders.
To marvel at a tree, to find awe in it, we must see it with new eyes. It must come alive in our minds. We must see the sap flowing upward beneath the bark from root to leaves. We must see the dark labyrinth of gnarled roots below the ground. We must hear the whisper of voices flowing through the neural-like network of fungi as one tree communes with another. We must see autumn leaves like high-wire dancers letting go of all they’ve ever known so they can twirl for one endless moment in the air before falling gently on their sleeping sisters. All of this is true, scientifically speaking. None of it is false.
I wrote the poem Field Notes from Within as if I was a student of physiology wandering through the fields of my own body, looking for those awesome wonders within, noting how well the part serves the whole. Just as we might when taking a child into the forest as that article suggested to discover for herself a sense of wonder in the world that envelopes and sustains us.
What could be more awe-inspiring than the human body? Than a beating heart? Than the twirling atoms that comprise the very substance of all that exists? We, ourselves, are a marvel.
I’ve been searching for a way to end my poem, to perhaps make it more comprehensible to the reader. Do I end it as I did the first time, with “dervishes of devotion“? Or do I add clarity to that as I did in the second re-making? Is doing so like painting a second tail on a dragon, a redundant addition? Or does doing so make its eyes come alive and breath fire?
I do not know. But here is my latest trial and error. We’ll let it sit a moment and see.
I don’t know when this poem will ever be finished.
And that’s the marvel of every living thing that longs to be.
Field Notes from Within
My heart is a staunch defender of all
I am, beating with relentless passion
the wherewithal of my being.
My bowels are alchemists skilled in
diplomacy, sifting silver from dross
passing peacefully away.
My cells are seeds of a pomegranate,
deftly designed for simple pleasures,
lushly dense and sweetly sated.
My atoms are ballerinas, twirling
on ecstatic toes, arms flung wide,
faces like suns, dervishes of devotion.
Marvelous is the kingdom within and
without all things. Marvelous the Mind
that designs such things and marvels.
by Deborah J. Brasket, Revised December 2021
Deborah J. Brasket 
I enjoyed this poem very much. For me it represents the “now” for someone in their prime. But has time goes on, things might start to slow down – not function as they should. So to me this is in a certain period in one’s life. Later maybe, instead of revising this poem, another poem for a distant period in the future might apply.
You know, that’s a good point. As marvelous as our bodies are, there’s a time when they don’t work the way they are supposed to. If I had some physical difficulties I’d probably write a very different poem, and make different types of comparison–overripe pomegranates? Ballerinas who twirls on aching toes? Do atoms ever get old though? Hmmm, I’ll have to think about that!
I smile at your suggestions 🙂
I love how you think, ponder, and see the world Deborah. Clearly, you keep awe alive in your mind and heart. I like “dervishes of devotion” and feel it has more impact as an ending. Happy wondering!
Thank you Brad. I try. And thanks for the input on the poem. I’m kinda thinking maybe I should end there too. Today. We’ll see.
First off, I love the term ‘dervishes of devotion’…
In reviewing your previous versions I took a phrase from one version for you to think about using in the final line of this version…perhaps change
“Marvelous the Mind
that designs such things and marvels.”
to:
“Marvelous the Mind
called to serve one great and common purpose—I Am”
BTW: fairies under a toad stool – a fantasy of mine since childhood
🙂
Thanks for the feedback, Laura. I like the way you’ve taken the better part of my last to endings and blended them. and yes, about the toadstools, and for me, the moss. I can’t see moss on the ground without seeing fairies dance.
🙂
Lovely Poem, Deborah. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Thank you, Jeff. My pleasure.
Hi Deborah,
I read your new post and went back to the previous two versions. Why eliminate any of them? Why not include those extra stanzas?
You’d have to decide which stanza to end the poem from your 2nd and 3rd versions. That decision might also lead to a 4th version!
I found a typo in the 4th sentence of the 4th paragraph where danced should be dance.
We found patches of bright green moss and ran our fingers along the soft furry carpet knowing how fairies like to danced there in moonlight.
Take care,
Ken
From: “Deborah J. Brasket”
Reply-To: “Deborah J. Brasket”
Date: Sunday, December 12, 2021 at 8:11 AM
To: Kenny Chawkin
Subject: [New post] Poetry Making and the Art of Awe
deborahbrasket posted: ” “Spirit of the Night”, 1879, John Atkinson Grimshaw I’ve been working on a poem I began here on this blog. It is a process, a gentle undoing and reweaving. An opening and letting go. Recently a confluence of events inspired me to write a new ending”
Thank you, Ken, for taking the time to go back and read the previous versions. When writing a novel, there are beta readers who will give you feedback before you go to publish. But I don’t know if poets do that. I don’t think of myself as a poet. Just as a generic “writer” who loves poetry (some) and who occasionally is inspired to write in that medium. Thanks for finding that typo too. As you say, and I mentioned, I don’t know when this poem will ever be “done.” I might very well end up coming up with a fourth way to end it, or do a combination as Laura suggested. Or stick with the initial version and keep it simple. But it helps to get feedback, and I really appreciate all the comments here. I’m always leery of ‘Painting a second tail on a dragon.” I read that in a Zen book on poetry and art, but I couldn’t find the quote to include here. Have you ever heard that expression?
No, I haven’t heard that expression before, but it sure makes sense. Sometimes it’s good to just restart from scratch and think of what you wrote before as just a draft, a warmup exercise. I know what you mean about continuing to write a poem and not be satisfied, being unable to finish it. If it doesn’t flow I generally abandon it. Keeping it simple is always the best way to go. First impulse, first draft, or something like that is another Zen expression I remember reading somewhere. Maybe because it’s truer.
I heard a discussion on this topic when musicians get together with a singer. The sound engineer usually records their first take on a song because everyone is more alert to make it right. They’re inspired, especially if they gel together. It’s magical.
I do remember a great quote from Marc Chagall and how he painted that could transfer equally well to writing. It’s in a blog post I created on him. He described his process: “If I create from the heart, nearly everything works. If from the head, almost nothing.” https://theuncarvedblog.com/2019/01/17/marc-chagalls-paintings-contain-beautiful-colors-of-love-and-a-joyful-floating-lightness-of-being/
I know painting can come more from feeling and intuition while writing keeps the mind busy. I wrote a poem about that after having taken an art class. The experience was so different from writing it was a welcome change. I mention it in the post on Chagall and link to it, ArtWords—poem about a creative awakening.
Maybe try some free-writing or forced timed-writing on the topic and see what comes out. Another approach is webbing, which utilizes the right side of the brain. But basically, write from your heart, not your head. And remember to have fun doing it. Be playful and enjoy the process.
Did you ever see the movie, Shadows in the Sun? It’s about a famous writer who lost his wife and could never write again. A London book publisher sends his young editor to try and sign him up. Their interaction is at first volatile, but over time, their conversations deal with some essentials of creativity and writing. There’s also a love factor with one of his daughters. The young man is also a hopeful writer. You might like it. You’ll need some patience to get through it, but the parts that deal with writing and life make it worthwhile. https://youtu.be/0uXqF8AgeT0.
Another movie I enjoyed was “Words and Pictures,” a 2013 film about a male English teacher and a female art instructor who form a rivalry that ends up galvanizing students in a competition to decide the most effective way to communicate, using words or pictures. I especially liked the quotes about writing and art, the word vs. the image. This battle between mind and heart, ideas and feelings, is also about self-discovery, expressing one’s creativity, and the blocks that get in the way. A poem, “Who Are You?” is central to the film. I liked it so much I created a blog post around it. https://theuncarvedblog.com/2015/01/02/a-poem-in-a-movie-inviting-you-to-be-who-you-are/
Thank you Ken. I’ll check out some of your suggestions and posts. All sound interesting. I agree with Chagall about art or poetry coming more from the heart than the mind, although they both work together regardless. The first version of my poem was all from the heart so to speak, or what I think of instead as a deeper, more spiritual place. The two endings were more cerebral. Tacked on for readers who might not intuitively get at the root of what I felt it meant because I hadn’t been clear enough. Anyway the creative process is as fascinating to me as what produces.