Monday, April 28, 2014
Have the Hands Ask it Back
I’m aware of the new reply, differences between early and later starts to the day. A greater sense of rousing ducks tucked into little patterns, distant flock of urban matters. I am here and alone, sharing. The hawk doesn’t come around. The hummingbird pipped as if a punctured balloon, zipping away. Property as it belongs. We look in on more private things than we know. With a Palomino I am let into any field. Each willow lisps the morning over and after noon we calibrate a point of view, to rows a farm knows. I was gentle with hate. I am sorry for belittling the things around me in youth. Sun collects in canoes. The canoe as object, the sun helps to make our move in the object the image all along. That what we trust ourselves in while moving, the Palomino, the boat, the bog, becomes the completion of the image and after being looked at. Still things remain. Often the path is ordinary but disordered. My looking turned into a hand demanding.
-Tyler Flynn Dorholt
Within reading the first few lines, I didn't know where the poem was going to lead me. I circled around it a few times before I got to the last word. It was a hard one to decipher, but I understand that the things I find the most intriguing and meaningful are the hardest to understand. The first line indicates a question that is continually asked with an unsatisfactory reply. The person in the poem is outside in nature reflecting on his surroundings, perhaps near a farm because of the Palomino horse. The line that struck me the most was: “We look in on more private things than we know.” I love and hate this line. It overstates an obvious human endeavor with a slap to the face. It implies what we all cannot come to admit that we are all voyeurs of some kind. Towards the middle there’s a vague confession about the past: "I was gentle with hate. I am sorry for belittling the things around me in youth." Although this confession was perhaps a roadblock in this persons life, there continues to be movement or an evolving process, because he is looking back at a time when he could not help but to judge things. Eventually, he steps back to let all the imagery sink in. Although time seems to be passing in a gentle pace, everything continues to get older. The poems' overall tone is expecting something, but not exactly indicating what. Dorholt points to the fact that everyone has a journey, but the only thing that sets us apart from one another is the way we organize our chaos. Overall, I would be a liar if I did not admit that in some situations I only did something to expect something in return. He wants something back from nature than what it is able to give to him. It is not so much about disappointment, but a sense of what a lack of satisfaction feels like.
I finally understood the damn poem.