It had the name of a river valley,
a valley I loved and knew, after a fashion,
having crossed it to get to the mechanics,
having played music, a couple times,
at a friend's house nestled above it,
having heard the farmers at church talk
of sand in the fields when the river flooded.
In this mostly flat state, the dip, the slide
down a road's ribbon into its green heart
was exhilarating. And that's where the literary publication
went wrong. Expanded, they said, to boarders and edges--
but it's the heart, the heart that matters.
a valley I loved and knew, after a fashion,
having crossed it to get to the mechanics,
having played music, a couple times,
at a friend's house nestled above it,
having heard the farmers at church talk
of sand in the fields when the river flooded.
In this mostly flat state, the dip, the slide
down a road's ribbon into its green heart
was exhilarating. And that's where the literary publication
went wrong. Expanded, they said, to boarders and edges--
but it's the heart, the heart that matters.
God is Red, is a book about indigenous religion. It talks about the sacredness of place. There are some sacred places in my life. Life is lived from the center, moving out, but never losing the center. Tip O'Niel, former Speaker of the House, said all politics is local. I think it applies to more than politics. I live 1/2 block from the barbershop where Tip held court. My neighborhood is not a valley, but knowing some of the history gives me some sense of the heart that has been here for many years. It is hard to feel that in our mobile society. We are always starting over with place. Sometimes we have to get to know how a place has been sacred to othes and then gradually embrace it, or let it embrace us. But this is probably way off course from your poem. I wish I could see that valley.
ReplyDeleteElenaLee; I think everything begins at the local level and that heart should never be forgotten. I recently read "God is Red." Indigenous culture understand the sacredness of place. We are a transient society, always moving, always starting over trying to establish a sense of place. Sometimes we have to adopt the memories of those who lived before us in our current locations. Tip O'Niel, former Speaker of the House said "All politics is local." The barbershop where he held cout is 1/2 block from where I live. I have adopted his memories of this place as my own. I am a transplant. But your valley sounds lovely. Was it your literary magizine?
ReplyDeleteI thought my first comment didn't get published. Sorry for the duplication.
DeleteNo problem about the duplicate, Newell. Thanks for persevering! What an excellent idea about learning from and adopting others' memories of a place when you are transplanted into it. As far as this poem goes, I guess I was reacting in some ways out of disappointment that a literary magazine specifically rooted from my home area decided to redefine itself into exploring the edges of boundaries--which really is antithetical to the region from which it springs--oh, well.
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