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Tidal
I grew up on the ocean,
so the ocean did not hold the same romance
for me as it did for, say
a farmer's daughter in Iowa who grew up
playing hide and seek in rows of corn,
or someone who had always lived in
and never left the big city
skyscraperssmogandtrafficjams.
At age nine, I knew the ocean
as what tossed me
in a little boat in forty knot winds
like a beach ball; I sweated
and my tiny white body trembled
as I clutched the handles of a soup pot
for just in case I should vomit.
I know that a wind coming off the ocean
can blow right through you,
move clean through the pores of your skin
on one side, go through your body
and exit through the pores on the other side,
that there is not always
sandy beaches good for hand-holding, that sometimes
there is just the black ogre rocks
barnacles and limpets cling to,
good for scraping knees and elbow on.
I know the ocean smell and feel--
the sticky-salty damp and cleanness,
the sand underneath your feet evaporating
as waves crowd in ripples around your ankles
and pull it away. The breaths you breathe are deeper
when you're there. This same ocean
has turned us over in boats and swallowed us
ever since there have been boats and people to swallow.
I remember first hearing about
my Scandinavian heritage and taking pride
in the fact that my ancestry
was made up of explorers:
people of wanderlust and restlessness
who would spend months at a time
out of the sight of land,
no longer in love with what was tame.
The people I came from lived
on the ocean, and I still like to think about
how their bodies produced children
and their children had children
who made more children, and so on
until me, who would not have been made
unless men and women who lived
on the ocean (and in between times
on land) had continued in the making
that also made them. I like to think
that had they not slept on the swells and tides,
their bodies not learned to roll with a sometimes savage motion--
had they not allowed the wind to cut through them
I would not be me: I could not say this
and I would be docile as a nun, content
with what had already been leashed and tamed.
I would not lust for the ocean
which I know can swallow me whole.
I grew up on the ocean,
so the ocean did not hold the same romance
for me as it did for, say
a farmer's daughter in Iowa who grew up
playing hide and seek in rows of corn,
or someone who had always lived in
and never left the big city
skyscraperssmogandtrafficjams.
At age nine, I knew the ocean
as what tossed me
in a little boat in forty knot winds
like a beach ball; I sweated
and my tiny white body trembled
as I clutched the handles of a soup pot
for just in case I should vomit.
I know that a wind coming off the ocean
can blow right through you,
move clean through the pores of your skin
on one side, go through your body
and exit through the pores on the other side,
that there is not always
sandy beaches good for hand-holding, that sometimes
there is just the black ogre rocks
barnacles and limpets cling to,
good for scraping knees and elbow on.
I know the ocean smell and feel--
the sticky-salty damp and cleanness,
the sand underneath your feet evaporating
as waves crowd in ripples around your ankles
and pull it away. The breaths you breathe are deeper
when you're there. This same ocean
has turned us over in boats and swallowed us
ever since there have been boats and people to swallow.
I remember first hearing about
my Scandinavian heritage and taking pride
in the fact that my ancestry
was made up of explorers:
people of wanderlust and restlessness
who would spend months at a time
out of the sight of land,
no longer in love with what was tame.
The people I came from lived
on the ocean, and I still like to think about
how their bodies produced children
and their children had children
who made more children, and so on
until me, who would not have been made
unless men and women who lived
on the ocean (and in between times
on land) had continued in the making
that also made them. I like to think
that had they not slept on the swells and tides,
their bodies not learned to roll with a sometimes savage motion--
had they not allowed the wind to cut through them
I would not be me: I could not say this
and I would be docile as a nun, content
with what had already been leashed and tamed.
I would not lust for the ocean
which I know can swallow me whole.
kirsten, 1999
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19 comments:
Oh my goodness, Kirsten. This poem is so . . . beautiful. Dare I use words to describe my experience of it?
Of course, I will. I know the value of mirroring back to another the effect their words have had on me, how much it brings them joy and a knowing they could not have known on their own.
So my words to you are these. Having grown up near the ocean my whole life, I felt each and every one of the images that you described: wind blowing through your pores, sandy beaches and the oft rocky beaches, the sticky-salty damp of the ocean air, the way the sand under waves pulls you off your center of gravity as it swishes upward and becomes a new part of the wave-tossed waters returning to the sea. You described each of these so perfectly, I was put right back there in it, each moment, each memory, each nod of my head and widening of my eyes as I read this poem a knowing that this is true, that you have captured something Real.
I did not, however, know the experience of sitting in a tiny boat in winds so strong they could have tossed you over. I was one to stay mostly on the sand, venturing into the wild waters only once or twice to play with someone braver than me. Picturing you tiny in that boat, your limpid white fingers clasped around a pot, your blue eyes growing bluer and bigger in the cold, as your skin shrinks tighter to your tiny frame . . . I feel petrified, just like you must have felt.
I felt so much of the tension you hold with the ocean in this poem: its wildness being your greatest terror, making you vomit and scraping your skin and making you feel the furthest thing from romance sometimes; but then its untamability being your greatest sense of God, your ancestors building into you a greater ruthless trust in God's great ruthlessness, an openness in you that is open to His savage, loving intentions, a gift of trust and openness so rare.
There is so much true texture in this poem, so many vivid true images, so much truth in life, both your own experiences and the experiences of us all as humans on this earth under the eye of our great God. All of these are what make this poem such a special created thing.
As a final aside, I found myself wondering if this was the poem you mentioned on your visit here, the one you said you had written of the ocean. How special that it found its way out of your archives after our visit. What a blessing to me to be reading something I had heard your own voice mention just days before.
Remember how I told you that I find myself quite selective with my poetry favorites, that some poets have a way of pulling me right in and others are so inaccessible that I cannot reach them and give up trying after a few short lines? Well, your poem here is exactly the sort that draws me in. I could read right along with you, caught up in the story and the images and the line breaks, marveling at their placement, and all three of these things, collectively, moved me as I moved through it.
PS: Okay, so maybe I get the award for the Longest Comment Ever. Sheesh! I didn't realize I'd written a whole essay in response! :)
He he!! Christianne, you know I love your comments, and I love that it resonated with you like it did.
And yes, this is the poem about the ocean I was telling you about. It's been on my mind so much lately, & I was reminded of it again after reading Terri's most recent post about what her sons taught her about the love of God: how it's comforting and sweet and easy, and how it's rough and tumble, putting you out of joint too. Or, how it's something you can't tame, it's full of terror, something that can toss you, something that can swallow you whole.
Yes. I love your response to it; you know I love it, girl!! :o)
Oh dear God this is amazing! It's so funny that you commented that you thought of it after my post because as I was reading it I was thinking about that too. I hear people all the time talking about God as though he is a cute pet puppy or something and I just can't relate to that one-dimensional experience of God. He is radically other, but we have these images that bring him close. The ocean is a perfect metaphor for this. So beautiful and so dangerous. So inviting and so powerful. So soothing and so terrifying. Thank you Kirsten.
All I can say is WOW!! That is an amazing poem. You need to try to get it published. It is amazing!
Wow, wow, wOw!
Terri - Thank you. Coming from a poet as gifted as yourself, I count this as a compliment. So many things in my life have been pointing me back to this truth, that loving God is this crazy, untamed and wild thing ... something that can toss us about & swallow us whole. I fear that I cannot tame it & I absolutely love that I cannot tame it. It lets me know that He is bigger than I am and more powerful.
Thank you, my Yahweh.
Rebecca - WOW!!! Thank you. This is such a special poem to me. I was just reading the other day how it is often the case that the deeper meaning of a poem will reveal itself long after the poem is written. I do not recall intending love of God to reveal itself in this poem, but it seems to me to be so clearly the meaning of it now. That love that will swallow us whole.
I wonder if there's somewhere I might submit it ... & my desire to write poetry is awakened once again!! ;o)
Ooooo. I really like this. Really.
Especially the last line.
Thank you, Laura. It's been such a pleasure for me to revisit poetry as I move forward on my journey!
Kirsten
Awesome image of the power of God here. This poem reminded me of a passage in Psalms 42:7 Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; All Your waves and billows have gone over me. So you are a psalmist?
WOW, thanks Tammy!! I love that you identified this with the Psalms.
I think of the Psalms as both earthy & honest, full of raw human pain & praise. If this is a part of what comprises the Psalms, then I guess I am a bit of a Psalmist.
I think you are one, too!! ;o)
Kirsten,
I have always been fascinated with the inter-relationships of spirit, soul and body. It seems that a lot of Christians cleanly dissect our being into three parts that appear wholly unrelated and cannot affect “each other.” That has always bothered, although I think there is a lot of truth to these distinctions. Still, I don’t see them so separated where the one cannot affect the other. There is probably some dim mirroring of the perichoresis here – that mutual interpenetration of each member of the Trinity. I think we reflect that is some way, both in our individual selves and in our relationship with our fellow humans.
You’re probably over there thinking, “Okay, but what does that have to do with the cost of shoes in the winter?” I do have a point. Let me see if I can make it. :)
You were talking about your ancestry (wish I could track mine better on certain sides of the family), and what is intriguing about that, is your allusion to genetics. It almost seems that you have been “naturally” programmed to be drawn towards the wild and risky, the untamed. It’s almost as if it has been built into you to be dissatisfied with a domesticated existence or God. By domesticated, I mean one without risk or dynamic interaction that inspires awe and is scintillating to the senses.
It makes me think of this emerging science called “epigenetics.” Epigenetics has proven that the choices of our ancestors, their occupations, there environments, all come to bear on which of their genes get expressed and also on the ones that get passed down. In other words, your ancestors’ preoccupation with the ocean caused certain genes they possessed to be more strongly expressed than other genes. In essence, you inherit your ancestors’ memories, desires, propensities, as well as physical traits. Here, the line between the physical, emotional/psychological, and spiritual, blurs. In some ways, the natural becomes very much supernatural. The interconnectedness of each aspect of our beings molds who we are. This, of course, informs every dimension of our lives, including the spiritual one.
The choices of your Scandinavian ancestors have wired you in such a way that it predisposes you to certain things, behaviors and longings; it sets your posture towards the Creator and the creation. A tame God would not fit that description, nor would a mediocre, static existence. Epigenetics also teaches us that there is great hope and responsibility in our choices. We are always becoming who we are through choices and other factors. As we get older, our “selves” become less malleable, so the sooner we choose good things in our lives, the better. Still, we all have the potential to affect which of our genes get expressed the most, and in some ways, the memories and characteristics are children will inherit. We can give them a head start in a lot of positive ways because of our choices now. (I would love to tease out the implications of original sin and inherited sin, problems, etc., but that is beyond the scope of this comment.)
All of this to say: Your words really made me think, and that is precisely what they’re designed to do.
Normally, I just leave my grammatical mistakes up, after all, it's just blogging. But, I'm OCD about some things (if I DO THEM). Using "there" in place of "their" is one of them. I would not trip if it had been any other mistake . . . lol.
Maybe I inherited a "memory" with a particular aversion to that mistake when I make it. :)
WOW, Nate! Where do you learn all this stuff? That is amazing. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
I'm totally with you on the spirit/soul/body thing ... I think it's over-simplistic to speak of them as if there is no overlap; they are more interconnected then we know and they are all who we are, in some sense. I appreciate how you compare this to the Trinity. That's a truth that may need to sit with me for awhile.
And then this whole business about epigenetics. HOLD. THE. PHONE! You mean this is more than a poetic notion, that there may be actual science behind the choices and behaviors of my genetic ancestors? That blows my mind, but somehow it doesn't surprise me either that science would be delving into this area. Maybe the sea and exploration and the whole idea of being in love with what cannot be tamed -- what is wholly untame-able -- is in my blood. Literally.
Fascinating.
And I had to chuckle at your last comment because I am the same way: a tad anal or OCD about all things grammatical. I have an intense dislike for uncovering my own foibles after I've gone back & read something I've written. Argh.
With you there, brother!
I appreciate the perspective you bring to the poem; what I love about poetry is that everyone experiences it differently and when those different perspectives come together, new layers of meaning and significance are discovered. So thanks for bringing what you bring, Nate!
lovely words...you gave crafted it beautifully...nice reading the wonderful lines!
Kirsten, I've been meaning to mention (ever since I linked to this, because I love it so much!) that you ought to try submitting it to Rock and Sling Journal. If you're interested, drop me a line through my contact button on my blog and I can give you more info.
kirsten. I am a friend of Jenn Grosser's and saw Christianne's blog that linked me to yours. I too love the ocean having grown up along its shores ever since I was 13. It has been 32 years that I have spent at its banks along the bays, inlets, harbors and oceans. Your description of the barnacles and rocks goes to the very closeness of your observation and tying your comments to your ancestors who made you for who you are. my family comes from Newfoundland around the Grand Banks and I clearly identify with maine. See my blog at www.scottrdavis.blogspot.com
for more observations of Maine in poetry, praise and blog format. you are welcome to join in on the journey. Peace in Him. scott r. davis
Kalyan - Thank you for visiting, and for your kind words. It is always a pleasure to cross paths with new people!
Laura - Wow, thank you for thinking me. I've already e-mailed you about this of course, but I'll just declare my thanks here publicly! :o)
Scott - Welcome, & thank you for your kind words! It's always a gift to me to be able to meet kindred spirits in this place. I look forward to visiting your own site & to future conversations. Blessings & peace to you!
-k
love this beyond words.
it describes a fierce God displaying the glory of his creation as reflected through your brilliant mind-body-heart-shaped prism...his imago dei evidenced in your fiercely devoted soul.
absolutely, as poet said, "deep calls to deep"
yes.publish.this.beauty.
thanks again for the view of the ocean from the front porch of my desk and also for the words of the poem that have more meaning now that I know a little more of your soul from your sharing. May you be blessed with your health and with your journeys. in your writings and in your diet and in your dreams. hard to separate you from your sister, christianne since you think alike sometimes. but peace to your family. scott
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