Late summer and early fall….a good time for taking stock and new beginnings. August 31 is also the anniversary (yahrzeit, in Yiddish) of my mother’s death in 2009, so a special time for reflection. Earlier this week, I told a good friend that this was the “anniversary week” for my mother and I was feeling fragile. Almost immediately, he texted me a link to this website:
which turned out to be an article, with examples, about “mathexpressive poetry” by Bob Grumman. I won’t try to paraphrase the article here — you need to read it — but, in essence, this is poetry depicting mathematical processes like long division and multiplication to show the relationships between words and images, not numbers. It is partly a visual poetry, but depends on the evocative and symbolic meanings of words and the resonances between them. The article was a challenging and fascinating read, but what stood out for me was that, as I finished it, I felt a tremendous sense of joy and release.
Why did this happen? I wondered. How could reading an article about a new kind of poetry make me feel this way?
At one point, the author remarks that “I felt no work not an attempt at friendship with those encountering it was poetry…” In other words, a poem is an act of friendship, an encounter. I think there are actually several encounters reverberating in a poem: the writer’s encounter with the experience (inner and outer) that inspired the poem, the writer finding the right language with which to make the poem, and the reader’s encounter with the words on the page — which connect to his or her own experience. When I looked up “friend” in my trusty etymological dictionary, I found that it is related to the word “free,” which in its Old English, Old Norse, Old High German, and even Sanskrit roots also means “peace” and “love.” Joy Harjo, Native American poet, has said: “Ultimately, a poem has an electrical force field, which is love.” (Note that she uses a scientific concept as a metaphor to express her thought.) Her statement seems akin to Grumman’s remark about friendship. And it connects, I think, to a poem written by a woman in a Toronto residence for street people, which contains this line: “It’s not possible to love art without love.” She adds that “it (love) wouldn’t not know that we want it.”
All of this is “telling a truth, but telling it slant” — in Emily Dickinson’s words, quoted by Grumman. At this moment, reading an article about a new kind of poetry– which uses the elegant, beautiful processes of math, such as long division, to show how words, ideas, and images connect — touched a place deep within me: that place where making art = making love = making friends = play and delight. Grumman talked about everything from “a thunderstorm’s tearing up the day” (reminding me of a poem I wrote to my friend Malca Litovitz, in which I mentioned her poem about rain breaking open the day) to ships and friendship.
Knowing that I write poetry, my friend might well have sent me this link any day of the year. But he sent it on this particular day, to cheer me up, an act of friendship. I think he knew, intuitively, that it would have that effect — even though I wasn’t sure, at first, why I should read this article called “summerthings.” After reading it, I was struck, yet again, by how rich the life of the imagination is, and how art and emotion are so intricately and intimately interwoven, in an equation that shows us the value (in every sense of the word) of poetry. And I think my mother would understand this, too. Thanks/Gracias/Namaste