What’s the collective noun for snails?
A speed of snails? A silver? A slime?
Dear friends,
I’m teaching a course all this week, and during a brief coffee break on a warm afternoon, I saw a gorgeous snail on the concrete steps. There’s something about snails — their simplicity, the gorgeous swirl of their shells, the silver trail they leave, the things they’ve come to represent in mythology.
At times they can represent slowness or simplicity or something grotesque or tasty or mindful. The capacity of the snail to disappear and then reappear from its shell symbolises for some the life cycle or the cycle of the moon. Writing this, I realised I didn’t know any of the collective nouns for snails. If I were to put forward my own suggestion, I’d suggest a path of snails.
I just looked it up — the collective noun (or, at least, one of suggested collective nouns) for snails is a walk. I like that too.
Seeing this yellow snail in the sunlight, I thought of Patrick Kavanagh’s brilliant poem “Snail.”
I go from you, I recede Not by steps violent But as a snail backing From the lewd finger of humanity I go from you as a snail Into my twisted habitation. And you! It does not matter how you React. I know the shadow-ways Of Self I know the last sharp bend And the volleyed light. You are lost You can merely chase the silver I have let Fall from my purse, You follow silver And not follow me.
From Collected Poems by Patrick Kavanagh (WW Norton, 1973)
There are many things to admire in the poem: the “recede” of the first line, the pain undergirding the “lewd finger of humanity” and that “twisted habitation” too. But the thing I’ve always loved in this poem is that extraordinary declaration, a little over halfway through: “I know the shadow-ways / Of Self.”
I’ve thought of that line for almost 30 years. What are these “shadow-ways”? Where are they? In the coiling of self around self? In the wrapping up of necessary solitude? Or in the way you can’t see your own path when you’re obstructing the possibility of light? All of them, perhaps. Or, it depends on how you read it.
I first read “Snail” in my early 20s and was unmoved by it. I read it again in my late 20s and was moved by it. I’d been through a few of my own shadow-ways myself by then.
I am on a short break starting next week, so there’s no question today and there won’t be another Substack until July 7. Until then, I leave you with my best wishes, my hope that your own snail ways can find shadows that aid and darknesses that nurture, and with thanks for the community and conversation, friends. I hope to see you on the road in the late summer and autumn at a few of the events listed below.
Poetry in the World
A list of events: Online; in the US (Keene Valley and Rhinebeck, NY; Kent, OH); Greece; England; and the Scottish island of Iona
June 27–July 7, Patmos, Greece
I’m one of the speakers at the 10-night “Journeying into Common Good” salon, together with Krista Tippett, Allison Russell, JT Nero, and Joe Henry. More details here.
August 7 at 6-7:30pm (Eastern Time, US), online
I’ll be exploring conflict and change through poetry at an online event in partnership with the International Center for Cooperation and Conflict Resolution at Columbia University. You can register for free here.
August 10–11, Keene Valley, New York, US
I’ll be speaking and sharing at a weekend of events titled “Exploring Spirit and Reconciliation,” held at Keene Valley Congregational Church UCC. Go here to learn about the weekend’s activities and to register.
August 23–25, Northamptonshire, England
I’ll be at the Greenbelt Festival, and, among other events, I will be interviewing the brilliant Jenny Mitchell (whose poem “A Man in Love with Plants” we featured on a Season 7 episode of Poetry Unbound). You can go here to learn about the festival.
September 19–21, Kent, Ohio, US
I’m looking forward to being part of the 40th anniversary of the Wick Poetry Center at Kent State University, alongside Naomi Shihab Nye, Jane Hirshfield, and Adrian Matejka. You can register here, and find more information about the celebratory events here.
October 6–11, Rhinebeck, New York, US
I’m back for a week at Omega (just two hours north of NYC) for a week of reflection on poetry, poetry prompts, and group discussions. Expect lovely people, gorgeous surroundings and food, and conversations about how poetry opens your world. Learn more here.
March 10–15 and March 18–23 2025, Isle of Iona, Scotland
I’m holding two Poetry Unbound retreats on the gorgeous Scottish island of Iona. Each retreat is the same. Both retreats are booked up, but you can get on the waiting list by contacting the folks at the St. Columba here.
As a child, I lived in a house called, Snail Creep. It was the most beautiful house where time often stood still.
I work as a gardener, I encounter snails often. Sometimes my big boots crush them, this feels terrible. If I spot them first I pick them up and move them to, what I consider ro be safe ground, away from my work and big boots. Then I wonder if they agree, or if maybe I just really pissed them off. Life is a complex business. I move on and continue to cut the grass.
Safe travels Padraig, I hope nobody in work boots interrupts your travels. X