Listen Here- Podcast Style
The limits of my language are the limits of my world.
Ludwig Wittgenstein
The Whirled
Revelry sings to the meat of undigested madness in the moaning moon shadow of an imputation. Scalpel calls from the corners. A kestrel of ghosts have arrived frenzying for facts and flyting to feed a clashing chained to a chant in the auger of time. It's 3 AM. Woken in the whirl of an agitator grrr gall grr gall grrr gall grr gall grrr gall twisting an impeller into the glug of a gasp to grasp, onto the whoosh of a whir yin cycle on spin. Rinsing and repeating, pulling and turning, pushing and flipping, at the heaviness. Sloshing and swishing waterboarding and drowning, thoughts soaked in stories revving to the rhythm of hallucination. Removing and revolving reeling and reducing whirring the wet weight of the gnash into to a wort of revealing in the wash of a sudden motion stopping Click. A discovery that silently drips into the singing bowl of the still. A moonshine that burns into the guts of understanding, left to ferment, more than the sum of its parts. Distilled into meaning - Spirit Beyond looking to seeing a resonance of Being. What I want - is to feel beyond the infliction of reason to taste - shadow mating with the realm of light to be - torn open Transparent in the pungency of presence To see sound speaking to skin as it moves through in the silence of revelation Swallowed by the labyrinth as a poem - is nothing as nothing - is a poem To be carried away on the wings of a song inside of a song Where -as-and-is- collide the child of metaphor and wisdom What I want- is to be be-yond A word © Jamie Millard
To have anything to say,
language must be emptied of itself.Robert Bringhurst
The World. The Whirled! We ride into the spin as we live through the cycles in this washing machine of life. Life does not weigh us. We weigh ourselves. We wake in the whirl of thought and ride into the spin of grrr and gall. We collect stories. Some stories we tell. Other stories tell us. Life in this whirled is ultimately a quest to reduce the weight of stories. This journey washes us in the spin of storms leaving us dripping into the song of the still. Some storms teach us powerful lessons. Some storms wash us clean.
In the poetry of knowing we slowly let go some of that soaking heaviness as it is spun, and drained away to reveal the wrinkles that have always been there, patiently waiting. Canadian poet Don McKay writes that metaphors’s first act is to un-name its subject. An un-naming. An un-knowing? Wisdom often arrives in the clarity of subtraction not unlike the great brewing process itself of malting, mashing, fermenting and distilling to ultimately arrive as the maturation of spirit. A revealing of soul. A resonance of Being. We are more than the sum of our parts.
Metaphor and wisdom. Philosopher poet Jan Zwicky who writes at the intersect of ontology, phenomenology and epistemology says that the shape of metaphorical thought is also the shape of wisdom. Have we as human beings started to lose our ability to think metaphorically? Have we lost our poetic imagination to the machine of literalization? Have we lost the bridge to our spirit?
The journey will always be our home. The world invites. It does not require. We are invited to respond. We live into the discoveries, grasping at a mystery that we will never understand. As Robert Bringhurst shares in his book The Tree of Meaning, “To have anything to say, language must be emptied of itself.” Poetry is not language. Poetry enters into language. Bringhurst says, “The survival of poetry depends on the failure of language”. Everything and nothing are angels migrating to a space beyond a name. We are more than words. We are the whirled!
Resources
Don McKay. Vis a Vis. Field notes on Poetry and Wilderness. 2001. Gaspereau Press.
Jan Zwicky. Metaphor and Wisdom. 2003. Gaspereau Press.
Robert Bringhurst. Thirteen Talks. 2006. Gaspereau Press.
Thanks for Being-Here!
The full audio version can be found under the main title above.
Lots of Love,
Jamie
"...the singing bowl of the still..." Beautiful.
I physically felt the exhaustion of the spin in the first lines of your poem.
Love the way you live the questions Jamie. Thank you. 💜
a great piece, and i really enjoyed the audio. you have a wonderful voice.