11.19.2007
Tear It Down
We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
By insisting on love we spoil it, get beyond
affection and wade mouth-deep into love.
We must unlearn the constellations to see the stars.
But going back toward childhood will not help.
The village is not better than Pittsburgh.
Only Pittsburgh is more than Pittsburgh.
Rome is better than Rome in the same way the sound
of raccoon tongues licking the inside walls
of the garbage tub is more than the stir
of them in the muck of the garbage. Love is not
enough. We die and are put into the earth forever.
We should insist while there is still time. We must
eat through the wildness of her sweet body already
in our bed to reach the body within that body.
Jack Gilbert
*From a lovely book of poetry Abe gave me and Griff.
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4 comments:
The 1960's San Francisco poetry scene was a magical place to be I am sure. I stumbled upon a copy of Views of Jeopardy years ago in that town and, my poetry readings rarely able to cut subcutaneously, am ashamed to say that I picked it up because it had an interesting cover. Even though it was good I normally would have forgotten about it but a friend I was staying with was a beat fanatic and educated me on the scene that followed with such fervor that the memory remains. As a funny aside, the book was mishelved and so, by virtue of being lost, reflected the life of the author. Knowing that I have a soft spot for mishelved books it made itself apparent and now rests on my bookshelf. I've not read this poem before, I like it; what does it mean to you and which book is it from?
This poem is from Word of Mouth, a collection of poems read on All Things Considered. You will have to intuit the italics.
I hesitate to write about what it means to me because that sometimes breaks the ineffable quality of poetry. Murdering to dissect and what not.
To me the poem is about seeing reality in all fullness. There are a lot of things written about this subject, but most of them call for a return to the eyes of a child. Gilbert does not call for that, and I don't think I would like this poem if he did. He calls for a continual search, continual movement forward into the meaning of things. To reach the body within that body.
I've thought of something else. This is a poem about deconstructing our preconceived notions of love and meaning, of reality and Pittsburgh. Moving to a more authentic understanding without stagnancy, continually deconstructing and redefining--the inexact science of finding meaning.
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