Beautifully written. Yes, poetry transports the mystery, embraces the hidden energies that can't be seen, because poetry is more to be felt and experienced than read and received with the mind. 💕 Thanks for this!
Thanks Sadhbh. Metaphor leans into what language can never say. Somehow it reveals what can’t be said. In my mind, poetry is not a part of language. Poetry enters into language. The failure of language allows poetry to exist. Something is carried in the spaces around the words. Maybe it’s just a glimpse of soul. Whatever it is we definitely feel it long before we ever see it. We know it. It’s a dance of being. Blessings and thank you as always for your support. 🙏❤️
I was just reading an author, who shall not be named, this morning who wrote poetry is the threshold between silence and language. Such a true statement!! XO
Hi Jamie, Wow … so much to ponder and so beautifully written, and read. I had never heard of the word gavage … we do forget who we are when we break away from the source of the culture we create. Thank you for bringing us back to the ‘awe, wonder and shiver of mystery’ 😊💜🙏
Not being familiar with the word 'gavage', my 'gavaged'-neural-network at first glance 'saw' garbage, then garage ... then I did a double-take and looked it up. I immediately thought of school, media, religion, and more besides - there's many ways to be gavaged these days.
And there's still many ways to wonder, with Nature as teacher. Every time I go for a walk I'm struck by several things I peceive as wondrous - usually to do with birds but also the whistle and rustle of the wind, and the suddenly revealed flower behind a waving stalk.
But I agree with Robert Bringhurst's basic premise about the loss of ability to wonder. Science and the 'Endarkenment' has tried hard to strip the wonder out of life, and replace it with logical explanations of atom-sized nuts and bolts. This project is failing on several levels, not least because living-the-questions concerning the mystery-of-life is inherent in our make-up as humans - and this quest one day will put science back in its place.
I experienced your poem as one of the best of yours I have read in my almost-a-year on Substack. Succinct, an element of rawness, punchy, great economy of words, inspired, great.
Thanks Josh. Very well said. Science became the new religion and mastery became worshipped instead of mystery. Definitely in the west. The project is definitely failing on several levels. We’ve definitely been gavaged. School, media, and religion indeed. We can see that looking back. I’m not sure we could’ve bypassed it? Here we are. Thanks for leading the way. Thank you for the kind words about the poetry. I’m definitely leaning into different sounds, enjambment, breaks etc to wrap around the metaphor. This one definitely had a little bit more angst. Honestly, it’s just nice to be able to share it with a few that resonate. Bless you. 🙏❤️
Wonder surrounds us. This morning I had a conversation with Henry the Cat, the beautiful grey outdoor cat I am caring for. After he ate from his food bowl, he rubbed against me and I returned the lovingkindness. I reminded Henry to not harm any birds or squirrels in the yard. He can always come to me for food. He looked up at me and let out a soft meow. Off he went to explore.
Beautiful Perry. In that sweet conversation wonder dances with soul. In that glimpse of oneness you make the world a better place. Thanks for your support. I am loving reading your articles. Some hit me in a really deep place emotionally and I reread them before I respond. Keep writing. Keep feeding the cats. Keep singing to the birds. Those ripples are felt by all of us. 🙏❤️
There is no other way but to live in the "awe of wonder for the world," to experience the "something spiritual to this journey.... the shiver of mystery."
It's what helps everything make sense. It is the answer. To the question. In my opinion.
I love your passion around the poetic spirituality of life Jamie. I could hear it in your voice as you read.
Thanks Jo! Poetry is my drill lol. The silence in between the buzzing. The questions that arrive. The failure of language. Thank you for always listening back. Thank you for listening to the voice. Thank you for helping me set these words free. Being aware of being. Connected to something beyond the self. The awe of wonder. Blessings 🙏❤️
The administration of food or drugs by force, especially to an animal, typically through a tube leading down the throat to the stomach." I have never known that word but it sounds exactly like garbage and savage. That seems about right. I will not assimilate.
That’s why we love you Amy! Wonder walks with you. Keep being you, and something tells me that rubs off on all of us. I hope your son is doing better and you’re painting your heart out. All the best and thank you for reading and reaching out. 🙏❤️
Goodness the old rhythms... English to the beat of oars on the whale road or remembered as in a dream of the fair field full of folk.
'Gavage'... I had forgotten the meaning. There is a story online about unforced ordinary continuity for the human family told in stories, a research report. I will look it up if I can and come back. It is from a study of people, a culture, groups who had it seems from evidence of their language family, returned from a civilisation to the forest a great many generations ago. They are very grown up but modernity has reached to them, very close now to extinction.
There is a very different story of actual gavage, presumably still to be found in Hansard of 1911, of a gentle and respected MP, George Lansbury, ordered and escorted from the House of Commons for his protest about imprisonment and the cruel force feeding of women on hunger strike for the womens vote. (Dangerfield, 'The Strange Death of Liberal England').
That force-feeding broods in the background of this poem. Thanks for calling it out Phillip. I’m sensing the world becoming more concrete. In its layers of covering over nature, as well as the literalization and loss of mystery. Trying to own, what was never ours to own. The grip of fear unconsciously drowning love. The old rhythms leak into the spaces between the words. Stand still. Wonder knows us. Wonder will find us. Maybe we just need to listen and let go. Blessings my friend. Every time you write your wisdom wraps me in wonder. 🙏❤️
I love the way you are playing with the language here…this line “Nooks hunker in to chew on the cob of a cranny” is phenomenal. I think I must agree with you about the loss of wonder, mystery, questions…. A good bit of writing to get one thinking. Thank you, Jamie.
This is beautiful, Jamie. I'm so glad I finally took the time to check out your work. Your poem is rich with meaning and keen understanding, and the way you grapple from one acoustic delight to another, letting the sounds of the words help guide the writing, is remarkable.
Thanks Mike. Appreciate your kind words. The sound flowed through well, and was part of the feeling. We will often hear a poem before we see one. Sometimes I find I force the words and I’m slowly learning to wait for something else to lead the way. It’s ironic that we can’t describe with words how the creativity shows up in each of us. It’s some kind of knowing. A revealing . I agree with you in that poetry has a consciousness all of it’s own and it knows when it’s ready to be set free. I live in to the mystery. Thanks for being here. 🙏❤️
Jamie, amidst the events happening in the world and in my country, with the elections and all, I feel the unsettling winds of change both in our society and in my own becoming. Your words and my escapes into the forest are a refuge—a reminder of beauty, depth of thought, love, and wonder. I’ve collected your words once again in my journal, which is my sanctuary:
"Words eat wisdom.
Knowing is left to ferment
in the refuge of the gut.
In the refuse of presence
wonder lies wounded
under the boot - of man."
Thank you for this, for showing up, keep them coming, greetings and hugs<3!
Loved this: "Poetry listens to the world. I listen with it. I hear a question. I hear questions. Breathing, living questions. They watch me."
Katerina, thank you. Sounds pretty hectic. Sending love and light. Blessings for calmer winds to come. The forest finds us in our time of need. May you get lost in wonder. Thanks as always for the support and the smile. Beautiful article you shared today too! I will read it a few times. Pure heArt 🙏❤️
Christianity separates humanity from the planet. The idea being that the world and all its goods are created for us. We are out here not a part of here
@Geraldine A. V. Hughes Thanks for the restack and the support. The sound oooh winds through the beginning and the end in a shout out to the joy of wonder always watching.
Not just food (or rather toxic stuff packaged and sold as 'food') is force-fed to chickens (as well as humans and other animals).
Your piece also reminds me of words, thoughts, images, dreams, beliefs, opinions, ideas... which are packaged and force-fed to humans.
Although I'd never heard of the word 'gavage' I am familiar with the original source 'gavotte' (a 17th century genre of dance music) which comes from the Provençal 'gavoto' (mountaineer's dance).
Thank you for writing words in a language to dance with 💃 🙏 ♥️
Thanks Veronika. Some of this came from digesting your deeper dive into shame recently. It was a new word for me that came to me during the digestion of this poem as I sat with what it brought me. Poetry is always what poetry brings. Poetry is what poetry does. We all take something different from the words and what they carry with them. Thank you so much for leading the way into the real meaning that is often forgotten in the culture of change surrounding such words. You have a gift for revealing. I look forward to your next piece. Thank you so much for all of your support. Blessings. 🙏❤️
Thank YOU Jamie! Thank you for your continued reminders of living the question, of BEING the question, or being born as questions, and your inspirational poetry.
"Poetry is always what poetry brings." ~ so true!
Sneak preview to next week's wordcast: It contains a poem on despair, written by myself. I'm not a poet, but occasionally a poem sneaks into the writing while I'm not thinking..., just writing... As you say, 'poetry is what poetry does'.
Thank you! I look forward to the words, and all they bring. Everything you write is soul poetry Veronika. I’ve never been comfortable with calling myself a poet. I’d say we are all the poem. 🙏❤️
Jamie, you beautiful Be-ing, your words, as usual, have touched me deeply this morning!
Gavage. Gavage. Gavage.
You have no idea of the meaning of that particular word for me! My oldest was born 8 weeks premature, before the ability to suckle is even formed. As a result, a tube was fed through his nose, down his throat, so that the milk and colostrum I expressed and pumped could be fed to him. You have no idea, as a mother and a woman, how sad it was to not be able to put my own child to my breast and nourish him. Yes, he was getting my milk, but it wasn't the same. It took the poetry out of the nourishment of my very own son, from my womb! I would come to the NICU every day and sit for hours and hours and hours, holding him against my skin and rocking him, trying desperately to restore the natural beauty of childbirth, to heal that wound. One day, when I arrived at the NICU just as I had every morning before, the nurse on duty commented, oh, I just gavaged him. I lost my mind!!! He at least needed to be given the opportunity to suckle first! It was at that point that we decided to take him home sooner, rather than later, because that was not okay.
When I saw the title of your post in my email, I wondered if you meant what I thought. Oh, my friend, the last two lines of your poem. Mmmm. That hit the nail on the head, which is why we need the poets and the wonder-ful, like you, to bring the wonder back because there is EVERYTHING spiritual about this journey! It is full, to the brim, of spirit, wonder and the Sacred. Make it so. Make it so. Make it so. Thank you for Be-ing such a Soul!! And for sharing. I could squeeze the stuffing out of you right now. XO
Danielle, wow. I can see how that word brings back a deeper meaning for you. Thank you for your vulnerability and sharing. You are a wonderful mother. Thank you for seeing the silence and the threshold around the words and through them. Thank you for living into the questions with me. I hope school is going well. Big hugs back. 🙏❤️
Beautifully written. Yes, poetry transports the mystery, embraces the hidden energies that can't be seen, because poetry is more to be felt and experienced than read and received with the mind. 💕 Thanks for this!
Thanks Sadhbh. Metaphor leans into what language can never say. Somehow it reveals what can’t be said. In my mind, poetry is not a part of language. Poetry enters into language. The failure of language allows poetry to exist. Something is carried in the spaces around the words. Maybe it’s just a glimpse of soul. Whatever it is we definitely feel it long before we ever see it. We know it. It’s a dance of being. Blessings and thank you as always for your support. 🙏❤️
I was just reading an author, who shall not be named, this morning who wrote poetry is the threshold between silence and language. Such a true statement!! XO
I know exactly who you’re talking about lol! I do believe he is correct! Thanks for being here! Living into the questions. Bless you. 🙏❤️
Hi Jamie, Wow … so much to ponder and so beautifully written, and read. I had never heard of the word gavage … we do forget who we are when we break away from the source of the culture we create. Thank you for bringing us back to the ‘awe, wonder and shiver of mystery’ 😊💜🙏
Thanks Simone! Hope that spring is just about to kiss summer down there in wonder-land. Thanks for being here. 🙏❤️
Just about … we are onto the second day of cleansing rain and some swirling winds so Summer is peaking through 🙏
Not being familiar with the word 'gavage', my 'gavaged'-neural-network at first glance 'saw' garbage, then garage ... then I did a double-take and looked it up. I immediately thought of school, media, religion, and more besides - there's many ways to be gavaged these days.
And there's still many ways to wonder, with Nature as teacher. Every time I go for a walk I'm struck by several things I peceive as wondrous - usually to do with birds but also the whistle and rustle of the wind, and the suddenly revealed flower behind a waving stalk.
But I agree with Robert Bringhurst's basic premise about the loss of ability to wonder. Science and the 'Endarkenment' has tried hard to strip the wonder out of life, and replace it with logical explanations of atom-sized nuts and bolts. This project is failing on several levels, not least because living-the-questions concerning the mystery-of-life is inherent in our make-up as humans - and this quest one day will put science back in its place.
I experienced your poem as one of the best of yours I have read in my almost-a-year on Substack. Succinct, an element of rawness, punchy, great economy of words, inspired, great.
Thanks Josh. Very well said. Science became the new religion and mastery became worshipped instead of mystery. Definitely in the west. The project is definitely failing on several levels. We’ve definitely been gavaged. School, media, and religion indeed. We can see that looking back. I’m not sure we could’ve bypassed it? Here we are. Thanks for leading the way. Thank you for the kind words about the poetry. I’m definitely leaning into different sounds, enjambment, breaks etc to wrap around the metaphor. This one definitely had a little bit more angst. Honestly, it’s just nice to be able to share it with a few that resonate. Bless you. 🙏❤️
Wonder surrounds us. This morning I had a conversation with Henry the Cat, the beautiful grey outdoor cat I am caring for. After he ate from his food bowl, he rubbed against me and I returned the lovingkindness. I reminded Henry to not harm any birds or squirrels in the yard. He can always come to me for food. He looked up at me and let out a soft meow. Off he went to explore.
Beautiful Perry. In that sweet conversation wonder dances with soul. In that glimpse of oneness you make the world a better place. Thanks for your support. I am loving reading your articles. Some hit me in a really deep place emotionally and I reread them before I respond. Keep writing. Keep feeding the cats. Keep singing to the birds. Those ripples are felt by all of us. 🙏❤️
Thank you, Jamie.
There is no other way but to live in the "awe of wonder for the world," to experience the "something spiritual to this journey.... the shiver of mystery."
It's what helps everything make sense. It is the answer. To the question. In my opinion.
I love your passion around the poetic spirituality of life Jamie. I could hear it in your voice as you read.
Thank you. 🙏
Thanks Jo! Poetry is my drill lol. The silence in between the buzzing. The questions that arrive. The failure of language. Thank you for always listening back. Thank you for listening to the voice. Thank you for helping me set these words free. Being aware of being. Connected to something beyond the self. The awe of wonder. Blessings 🙏❤️
"{Ga·vage
/ɡəˈväZH/ noun
The administration of food or drugs by force, especially to an animal, typically through a tube leading down the throat to the stomach." I have never known that word but it sounds exactly like garbage and savage. That seems about right. I will not assimilate.
That’s why we love you Amy! Wonder walks with you. Keep being you, and something tells me that rubs off on all of us. I hope your son is doing better and you’re painting your heart out. All the best and thank you for reading and reaching out. 🙏❤️
Goodness the old rhythms... English to the beat of oars on the whale road or remembered as in a dream of the fair field full of folk.
'Gavage'... I had forgotten the meaning. There is a story online about unforced ordinary continuity for the human family told in stories, a research report. I will look it up if I can and come back. It is from a study of people, a culture, groups who had it seems from evidence of their language family, returned from a civilisation to the forest a great many generations ago. They are very grown up but modernity has reached to them, very close now to extinction.
There is a very different story of actual gavage, presumably still to be found in Hansard of 1911, of a gentle and respected MP, George Lansbury, ordered and escorted from the House of Commons for his protest about imprisonment and the cruel force feeding of women on hunger strike for the womens vote. (Dangerfield, 'The Strange Death of Liberal England').
That force-feeding broods in the background of this poem. Thanks for calling it out Phillip. I’m sensing the world becoming more concrete. In its layers of covering over nature, as well as the literalization and loss of mystery. Trying to own, what was never ours to own. The grip of fear unconsciously drowning love. The old rhythms leak into the spaces between the words. Stand still. Wonder knows us. Wonder will find us. Maybe we just need to listen and let go. Blessings my friend. Every time you write your wisdom wraps me in wonder. 🙏❤️
I love the way you are playing with the language here…this line “Nooks hunker in to chew on the cob of a cranny” is phenomenal. I think I must agree with you about the loss of wonder, mystery, questions…. A good bit of writing to get one thinking. Thank you, Jamie.
Thanks Jenn! Painting with words to ask a question. As always, thanks for your support. 🙏❤️
You are an expert word painter ❤️
This is beautiful, Jamie. I'm so glad I finally took the time to check out your work. Your poem is rich with meaning and keen understanding, and the way you grapple from one acoustic delight to another, letting the sounds of the words help guide the writing, is remarkable.
Thanks Mike. Appreciate your kind words. The sound flowed through well, and was part of the feeling. We will often hear a poem before we see one. Sometimes I find I force the words and I’m slowly learning to wait for something else to lead the way. It’s ironic that we can’t describe with words how the creativity shows up in each of us. It’s some kind of knowing. A revealing . I agree with you in that poetry has a consciousness all of it’s own and it knows when it’s ready to be set free. I live in to the mystery. Thanks for being here. 🙏❤️
Jamie, amidst the events happening in the world and in my country, with the elections and all, I feel the unsettling winds of change both in our society and in my own becoming. Your words and my escapes into the forest are a refuge—a reminder of beauty, depth of thought, love, and wonder. I’ve collected your words once again in my journal, which is my sanctuary:
"Words eat wisdom.
Knowing is left to ferment
in the refuge of the gut.
In the refuse of presence
wonder lies wounded
under the boot - of man."
Thank you for this, for showing up, keep them coming, greetings and hugs<3!
Loved this: "Poetry listens to the world. I listen with it. I hear a question. I hear questions. Breathing, living questions. They watch me."
Katerina, thank you. Sounds pretty hectic. Sending love and light. Blessings for calmer winds to come. The forest finds us in our time of need. May you get lost in wonder. Thanks as always for the support and the smile. Beautiful article you shared today too! I will read it a few times. Pure heArt 🙏❤️
Christianity separates humanity from the planet. The idea being that the world and all its goods are created for us. We are out here not a part of here
Thanks Charlie! There is a song in there somewhere! Appreciate you reading and reaching out 🙏❤️
I don’t know how I came to miss this one. I’ve been reading Enheduana. Intellect v nature maybe. The replacement of the feminine by the masculine
@Geraldine A. V. Hughes Thanks for the restack and the support. The sound oooh winds through the beginning and the end in a shout out to the joy of wonder always watching.
Gavage ~ I had to look that word up...
Not just food (or rather toxic stuff packaged and sold as 'food') is force-fed to chickens (as well as humans and other animals).
Your piece also reminds me of words, thoughts, images, dreams, beliefs, opinions, ideas... which are packaged and force-fed to humans.
Although I'd never heard of the word 'gavage' I am familiar with the original source 'gavotte' (a 17th century genre of dance music) which comes from the Provençal 'gavoto' (mountaineer's dance).
Thank you for writing words in a language to dance with 💃 🙏 ♥️
Thanks Veronika. Some of this came from digesting your deeper dive into shame recently. It was a new word for me that came to me during the digestion of this poem as I sat with what it brought me. Poetry is always what poetry brings. Poetry is what poetry does. We all take something different from the words and what they carry with them. Thank you so much for leading the way into the real meaning that is often forgotten in the culture of change surrounding such words. You have a gift for revealing. I look forward to your next piece. Thank you so much for all of your support. Blessings. 🙏❤️
Thank YOU Jamie! Thank you for your continued reminders of living the question, of BEING the question, or being born as questions, and your inspirational poetry.
"Poetry is always what poetry brings." ~ so true!
Sneak preview to next week's wordcast: It contains a poem on despair, written by myself. I'm not a poet, but occasionally a poem sneaks into the writing while I'm not thinking..., just writing... As you say, 'poetry is what poetry does'.
Thank you! I look forward to the words, and all they bring. Everything you write is soul poetry Veronika. I’ve never been comfortable with calling myself a poet. I’d say we are all the poem. 🙏❤️
Jamie, you beautiful Be-ing, your words, as usual, have touched me deeply this morning!
Gavage. Gavage. Gavage.
You have no idea of the meaning of that particular word for me! My oldest was born 8 weeks premature, before the ability to suckle is even formed. As a result, a tube was fed through his nose, down his throat, so that the milk and colostrum I expressed and pumped could be fed to him. You have no idea, as a mother and a woman, how sad it was to not be able to put my own child to my breast and nourish him. Yes, he was getting my milk, but it wasn't the same. It took the poetry out of the nourishment of my very own son, from my womb! I would come to the NICU every day and sit for hours and hours and hours, holding him against my skin and rocking him, trying desperately to restore the natural beauty of childbirth, to heal that wound. One day, when I arrived at the NICU just as I had every morning before, the nurse on duty commented, oh, I just gavaged him. I lost my mind!!! He at least needed to be given the opportunity to suckle first! It was at that point that we decided to take him home sooner, rather than later, because that was not okay.
When I saw the title of your post in my email, I wondered if you meant what I thought. Oh, my friend, the last two lines of your poem. Mmmm. That hit the nail on the head, which is why we need the poets and the wonder-ful, like you, to bring the wonder back because there is EVERYTHING spiritual about this journey! It is full, to the brim, of spirit, wonder and the Sacred. Make it so. Make it so. Make it so. Thank you for Be-ing such a Soul!! And for sharing. I could squeeze the stuffing out of you right now. XO
Danielle, wow. I can see how that word brings back a deeper meaning for you. Thank you for your vulnerability and sharing. You are a wonderful mother. Thank you for seeing the silence and the threshold around the words and through them. Thank you for living into the questions with me. I hope school is going well. Big hugs back. 🙏❤️