Dear friends,
A few weeks ago, on an evening in New York, I walked down the Hudson River Park (the views are lovely, yes; but the breeze in that sticky heat, oh the blessed breeze). There’s the Colgate Clock, the skyline of Jersey City, etc, etc. All wonderful and brilliant and a little overwhelming. I like that walk, because the tides of the Lordly Hudson are locational reminders. Growing up in the countryside, I was always fascinated by the city, and mostly I’m glad to be there. But trees, or green, or water are always essentials.
Anyway, on that particular walk a few weekends ago, I looked down and saw that there was writing on the ground. The sun was set, but the streetlights gave plenty of light. In a way, I realise that I had already recognised what I’d seen. It was a line from Joy Harjo’s poem “Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings.”
In the first part of the poem, a section titled “Set Conflict Resolution Ground Rules,” Joy Harjo takes that ground rules idea that is beloved of group workers, youth workers, educators, HR teams, and conflict mediators, and explores it through the lens of ground:
Recognize whose lands these are on which we stand.
Ask the deer, turtle, and the crane.
Make sure the spirits of these lands are respected and treated with goodwill.
The land is a being who remembers everything.
In poetry, I find I’m always looking (or trying, if I’m the one writing) to explore the unexpected: the language that delights; some pleasure on the tongue; some ache; some yearning; some satisfaction at a well-placed line; some gladness at what a form can contain; some echo to another song, another story, another poem, another myth that makes the connection between the old and the now seem as alive as it is vital.
In a certain sense, conflict resolution — the great topic of that poem and collection of Joy Harjo’s — also seeks something unexpected. “Reframing” it’s often called. An intractable conflict has occurred, and what is being sought is a way of looking at it where tractability becomes imaginable. And it can sometimes be the most unexpected thing that makes the immovable suddenly seem malleable. What previously might have felt like betrayal suddenly can seem like it’s desirable. By locating us firmly in the “ground” of “ground rules,” we suddenly are moved from monitored requirements of a rigid process and brought into the humus of all being, the place of standing, the living stuff of earth which is “a being who remembers everything.”
There again, another reframing: who — not “that remembers everything,” but “who remembers everything.”
Art is never decoration for the ease that comes after. Art might be the old technology — for truth-telling, confrontation, pleasure, humour, surprise, shock, or compassion — that reframes the point of view and makes what had seemed impossible possible. Or, if not possible, then at least worthwhile trying.
I return to this Joy Harjo poem again and again. It makes me re-think the “ground” in “ground rules” whenever I hear it.
What’s something that’s changed how you think about a small phrase? What has that change made possible?
Thanks for all your comments on the mythologies last week — I learnt a lot!
PS: In case you missed it, an all-new On Being season begins this Thursday, September 21! You can listen and subscribe in all the podcast places.
PPS: Apropos of nothing, but building on last week’s letter about myths, there’s a glorious profile of Emily Wilson — the singular translator of the epic of Homer (and soon, the Iliad) — in The New Yorker by Judith Thurman.
Poetry in the World
ONLINE:
Strange Stories of the Bible
In just a few weeks, I’ll be beginning a five-part online course on literary readings of peculiar biblical texts. I approach the art of these stories in deep respect for the artistry of the — mostly anonymous — original writers. This will be an exploration of art, and it’s mostly for those who wish to enjoy a small safari through powerful literature (and come out alive). Sunday nights at 5pm EST: October 8, 15, 22, 20, and November 5. Find registration and further details here.
U.S.A.
Dominican University | River Forest, IL
This Thursday, September 21, I’ll be giving the Tenth Annual Caesar and Patricia Tabet Poetry Reading at Dominican University, in River Forest, near Chicago. Details and tickets here.
Lexington Community Education | Lexington, MA
I’m giving a talk about the “You” of poetry at Lexington Community Education Project, on Thursday, 19 October, 7pm. Details and registration here.
EUROPE
Journeying Into the Common Good | Patmos, Greece
Together with Krista Tippett, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry, I’ll be one of the speakers at a small salon on the revelatory Greek island of Patmos next summer from June 27-July 4. More details here.
Years ago, as a freshman in college, I was studying philosophy. I came upon this phrase: “I think, therefore I am”. Soon thereafter I dropped out of this study of Western philosophy because I felt poisoned by it. Back then, I couldn’t explain what this poisonous quality was. I just felt it very strongly. Now, years later, I am beginning to catch sight of this poisonous source. For years my reasoning dominated my life. I was disconnected from my heart. There was still a thread, thank goodness, but tangled, distorted, and ruled by anger. My father used to say, in anger and impatience, “use your head”. What was, and still is to some degree, missing was my heart. Now I better understand the Chinese, and as well from many cultures, belief that the heart/mind function is one and the same, creating a wholeness of being. I-deas are abundant and often delusional unless grounded in one’s heart. With a rich wholeness of heart/mind there is only this moment, a deep pause from the haunts of past and future. “I am, therefore, I can think” more clearly, sanely, and be less delusional. Welcome home, dear heart/mind. 🏮
In the autumn of my life, I've been thinking a lot about the roots of words like "enjoy," "delight," & "in love." When I think of those for whom I feel "love," they are the ones whom I "enjoy" - with whom I am "in joy" when in their presence.