This summer David and I went to Promontory Point on our way to Michigan. We saw the place where the Transcontinental Railroad came together, opening the United States up to rapid travel from sea to shining sea it had recently taken in their war(s) with Mexico. It hit me particularly because my students and I had studied wagon travel extensively, had followed Lewis and Clark and then the ill-fated Donner Party across the treacherous American landscape. And then bam! Suddenly you could take the same journey in a matter of days, on cushioned seats, with warm dining car food! I know we talk about our current age as the technological age, but I can't think about many things that have had so profound an impact on our lives as transportation.
Susan and I are probably acutely aware of transportation as we both live far from our families and dearest friends and both have, until recently, maintained relationships over miles and oceans.
I have met few people who don't love to travel, but most people also complain about transportation (especially in this 'post-9/11' world everyone keeps talking about). But transportation can be an escape in itself. Sometimes I like the trip separately from the journey. Being on a plane, or a train, or a long car ride, or even a bicycle ride can take us out of the every day movement of things. There is also a certain beauty in the mechanics of these things (refer to the Steampunk aesthetic).
So this week's theme is transportation. Take it as you will.
This poem doesn't exactly follow Susan's theme (come on, Blake!), but it definitely gives voice to someone outside William's perspective.
Two Sunflowers
Two Sunflowers
Move in the Yellow Room.
"Ah, William, we're weary of weather,"
said the sunflowers, shining with dew.
"Our traveling habits have tired us.
Can you give us a room with a view?"
They arranged themselves at the window
and counted the steps of the sun,
and they both took root in the carpet
where the topaz tortoises run.
This week I too was inspired by the inanimate - in my case, the Hawaiian islands that I currently call home. The Hawaiian island chain was formed at the site of a hot spot between tectonic plates, deep deep in the Pacific Ocean. Each new volcano is formed as the magma produced by the hot spot cools and builds up upon itself, eventually breaking the surface as a new island. As the Pacific Plate moves, so too do the island volcanoes. As they get farther away from the hot spot, erosion begins to act upon shores that are no longer replenished by cooled magma. The islands shrink, and eventually sink back into the ocean. The Hawaiian hot spot is currently shared by three volcanoes on the Big Island of Hawaii, among them, Mauna Loa, which, if measured from the its base at the ocean floor, is the tallest mountain on Earth.
I love the idea of picking inanimate objects, so if the mood strikes me I might possess another unsuspecting object this week. But here's one for starters. I was inspired (as I often am) by the beautiful, majestic ginkgo tree that rests beside the University of Michigan Student Union. Title pending.
Photo from Wikipedia, not from Student Union (but similar!)
The height of it is
high and with every quake every
shake I sense the depth of it too. Every
swing of the branch takes me higher by my own
height and by my own height again. Once,
in my youth, the distance was part of the fun. My
green limb clung and swung bending and grasping tightly
to its base. But with every blow, every bluster green
tightened to yellow and yellow is too
delicate much to delicate to
hold.
What a wonderful first week we've had on this new incarnation of our beloved blog! Naomi's last post has me thinking that we should end every week with some Emily Dickinson - nothing like her for getting the mental cogs turning...
So, down to business. As poets, and most likely as people, Naomi and I both tend towards the deeply personal. Much of our inspiration comes from within, from our own emotions, cares, worries, and attempts to make sense of the world and other people. Of course the aim of most poetry is the universal within the personal, but I believe it's worthwhile in both writing and life to try to step outside ourselves every once in a while and see what emerges through a new pair of eyes. That's why this week's assignment will be to write a poem from a point of view other than your own. Choose someone you know, invent a whole new character, or even try to see things from the perspective of an inanimate object - write as anyone or anything you can dream up. Have fun, and I can't wait to read what comes next!
This poem comes from Laura, a poet in California. She wrote this in honor of an autumnal birthday, and sent it along with a photograph from her lovely garden.
