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| Ruins of a banquet hall, Sudeley Castle, UK |
June's challenge was to write a poem capturing the idea of wabi-sabi, the Japanese concept of impermanence and imperfection. Here's a quote that Tricia shared from the book, Wabi Sabi: The Japanese Art of Impermanence by Andrew Juniper:
Wabi-sabi is an aesthetic that finds beauty in things imperfect, impermanent and incomplete. Taken from the Japanese words wabi, which translates to less is more, and sabi, which means attentive melancholy, wabi-sabi refers to an awareness of the transient nature of earthly things and a corresponding pleasure in the things that bear the mark of this impermanence.
Now, I've written about wabi-sabi before, and seemed to remember it being about celebrating "the crack in everything." And, on our recent trip to Wales and England, I reveled in taking photos of glorious ruins of castles and abbeys. (I do love a good ruin.) But this time, the phrase that haunted me from that quote was "attentive melancholy."
I'm not by nature a pessimistic person--not that I can't be negative or grumpy at times, but melancholy implies a sort of marination in sadness that I'm not capable of sustaining. But what was I missing by not looking with that sort of attention--the kind of attention that doesn't try to change things for the better, but acknowledges what is unfinished, and imperfect, and sees the beauty in that?
I'm so curious to see what my poetry sisters came up with in answer to that question. As for me, my only idea came from looking at my hands and thinking that I'm as spotted now as an old leaf.
This leaf
this leaf will dry
the color seep away
the veins break
this leaf will fall
lose its light
unmoor from the tree
the road will go away
the fence, the barn, too
the house where I met him
this leaf will crackle
under muddy boots
this spotted hand let go
-----Sara Lewis Holmes (all rights reserved)
Explore my poetry sisters' posts here:
Poetry Friday is hosted by our own Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect.
So beautiful, and mission accomplished -- in detailing the losses, you implied all of the life and love and loveliness. Applauding with my own spotted, wrinkled, knobby-jointed hands!
ReplyDeleteSara, what an apt wabi-sabi metaphor. I like that you have captured "attentive melancholy" in your poem. The "this leaf" lines and then followed with "this spotted hand" as the conclusion is perfect. My hands, like Mary Lee's, can relate and applaud. Beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteOh gosh...I am a few of those old spotted leaves, too. If that doesn't set me awash in melancholy (at least till I can get the rest of my coffee into me this morning)...
ReplyDelete- from Tanita:
ReplyDeleteWow - these elegiac lines read in the natural world and sound like Robert Frost's reflections somehow. It's funny - to me, you look exactly as you did when I met you in person, but I suspect since that was in... a few years back (!), you have changed. *I* haven't paid that kind of attention... but it's a tribute to pay it to yourself, is it not?
Melancholy implies a reflection in a way, doesn't it? You've penned that so sweetly, Sara, hands and leaves, parts of a life, changing together. It's such an honest look.
ReplyDeleteThere is something about this setting that makes me picture Jane Austen instead of you, but wow... it's lovely -- the leaf imagery, the barn, the spotted hand. Life, boy. It's humbling and bittersweet.
ReplyDeleteGosh this is beautiful! I love "unmoor from the tree." Thank you for sharing!
ReplyDeleteSara, I have often thought of my hands and their spots and imperfect positions but then I pause to reflect on the loving family women before me. Your wabi-sabi flows with attentive melancholy. I would have never thought of my hands in the way you have shared. Thanks for the metaphor and moment of peace, Sara. Please forgive my late response.
ReplyDeleteOh, I'm so much about trying to change things for the better--that bit really struck me. And this poem is masterful. The simple language, short lines, and spare tone all contribute to the feeling of impermanence, as though the poem--and me, reading it--could just whish away in a light breeze at any moment. Wow.
ReplyDelete