Because of the documentary poetics class I’m taking, I wanted to share a poem by an amazing woman who uses poetry as witness. This is from her book Life on Mars which won the Pulitzer Prize in 2011.
Life on Mars
Tina says what if dark matter is like the space between people
When what holds them together isn’t exactly love, and I think
That sounds right—how strong the pull can be, as if something
That knows better won’t let you drift apart so easily, and how
Small and heavy you feel, stuck there spinning in place.
Anita feels it now as a tug toward the phone, though she knows
The ear at the other end isn’t there anymore. She’ll beat her head
Against the rungs of her room till it splits, and the static that seeps out
Will lull her to sleep, where she’ll dream of him walking just ahead
Beside a woman whose mouth spills O after O of operatic laughter.
But Tina isn’t talking about men and women, what starts in our bodies
And then pushes out toward anywhere once the joy of it disappears.
She means families. How two sisters, say, can stop knowing one another,
Stop hearing the same language, scalding themselves on something
Every time they try to touch. What lives beside us passing for air?
Last year, there was a father in the news who kept his daughter
Locked in a cell for decades. She lived right under his feet,
Cooking food, watching TV. The same pipes threading through his life
Led in and out of hers. Every year the footsteps downstairs multiplied.
Babies wailing through the night. Kids screaming to be let outside.
Every day, the man crept down into that room, bringing food,
Lying down with the daughter, who had no choice. Like a god
Moving through a world where every face looked furtively into his,
Then turned away. They cursed him to his back. He didn’t hear.
They begged him for air, and all he saw were bodies on their knees.
How close that room. What heat. And his wife upstairs, hearing
Their clamor underfoot, thinking the house must just be
Settling into itself with age.
Tina says dark matter is just a theory. Something
We know is there, but can’t completely prove.
We move through it, bound, sensing it snatch up
What we mean to say and turn it over in its hands
Like glass sifted from the sea. It walks the shore,
Watching that refracted light dance back and forth
Before tossing whatever it was back to the surf.
How else could we get things so wrong,
Like a story hacked to bits and told in reverse?—
He grabbed my blouse at the neck.
All I thought was This is my very best
And he will ruin it. Wind, dirt, his hands
Hard on me. I heard the others
Jostling to watch as they waited
For their turns.
They were not glad to do it,
But they were eager.
They all wanted to, and fought
About who would go first.
We went to the cart
Where others sat waiting.
They laughed and it sounded
Like the black clouds that explode
Over the desert at night.
I knew which direction to go
From the stench of what still burned.
It was funny to see my house
Like that—as if the roof
Had been lifted up and carried off
By someone playing at dolls.
Who understands the world, and when
Will he make it make sense? Or she?
Maybe there is a pair of them, and they sit
Watching the cream disperse into their coffee
Like the A-bomb. This equals that, one says,
Arranging a swarm of coordinates
On a giant grid. They exchange smiles.
It’s so simple, they’ll be done by lunchtime,
Will have the whole afternoon to spend naming
The spaces between spaces, which their eyes
Have been trained to distinguish. Nothing
Eludes them. And when the nothing that is
Something creeps toward them, wanting
To be felt, they feel it. Then they jot down
Equation after equation, smiling to one another, Lips sealed tight.
The earth beneath us. The earth
Around and above. The earth
Pushing up against our houses,
Complicit with gravity. The earth
Ageless watching us rise and curl.
Our spades, our oxen, the jagged lines
We carve into dirt. The earth
Nicked and sliced into territory.
Hacked and hollowed. Stoppered tight.
Tripwire. The earth ticking with mines,
Patient, biding its time. The earth
Floating in darkness, suspended in spin.
The earth gunning it around the sun.
The earth we ride in disbelief.
The earth we plunder like thieves.
The earth caked to mud in the belly
Of a village with no food. Burying us.
The earth coming off on our shoes.
Animals everywhere, packed into stalls. Their legs
Stiff, pointing whichever way. Eyes fixed,
Unblinking because they know. They’ve seen
Our lives, heard us thinking to ourselves, and so
They wait, always ready. Won’t go quietly
In through the massive doors. Won’t go like pets
Into the big wet room where everything ends.
They nose the pellets meant for food. They eat
Only enough. They sip from the trough. Small sips,
Watching the workers as they pass.
Tina says we do it to one another, every day,
Knowing and not knowing. When it is love,
What happens feels like dumb luck. When it’s not,
We’re riddled with bullets, shot through like ducks.
Every day. To ourselves and one another. And what
If what it is, and what sends it, has nothing to do
With what we can’t see? Nothing whatsoever
To do with a power other than muscle, will, sheer fright?
To me, this poem is not only moving, but so technically impressive. The heavier subjects of dark matter, gods, God could have been too esoteric, especially to start with, but the writing is so conversational it is easy to keep going.
In general, the person narrating is very casual and there is a strange relationship to authority in the poem. So much attention paid to Tina and what she says…as if we know who she is. So much wondering about gods and God and the father who kept his daughter locked up.
Reading this poem top to bottom reminds me a little bit of some babysitting experiences I’ve had. You get these really precocious kids who have the same odd relationships with authority, where they don’t know who’s “in charge” of the universe but they do know their older sibling has it all right. These kids are also often the ones who say the strangest things most offhandedly….the juxtaposition of naivety and subject matter in this poem as well as the scrambled form all contribute to the last question because they cause fear and chaos in the readers mind.
This is actually an earlier version of the poem; later on, she changes 8. to a powerful excerpt quoting Rush Limbaugh on Abu Ghraib. The way she weaves this and the father and daughter story to the poem are so impressive to me because she creates a place where our own universal fears can co-exist with things that have happened in history.
As I kept reading, I kept becoming more scared. Sentences started to pop out like spectres in a haunted house- “spills O after O of operatic laughter”, “He grabbed my blouse at the neck”, “Nothing eludes them..they smile” etc. The poem gets more sinister and more disorienting as it progresses. The fracture of form and chaos it then provides mirrors the narrators distrust in organization, in God.
The one redemptive section is the beautiful part about? or by? the earth. Suddenly, something we can trust. The earth beneath us, around us, surrounding us. Protecting us in the middle of this frightening poem. Spades oxen jagged carved nicked sliced stoppered tight, gunning it around the sun, earth earth earth. These are words of power, heavy and hard words. And the way earth keeps coming back in the section, almost an incantation. But just as we trust and start to live in these comforting hard words, “the earth coming off on our shoes.” It isn’t so strong? Are we more powerful than the thing we trusted? We destruct what protects us? Who knows. But stability is gone. (Similar to how I felt about the 3rd and 2nd movement of Tchaikovsky 5 mentioned in a previous post..) And for awhile we were still thinking from the first line about dark matter holding people together, or is it God holding people together? love? What holds people together? And you forget about this question and suddenly the poem ends asking, is it just that primitive instinct…fear? I confess, I skimmed through the last part of this poem because I was frightened and needed to know how it ended and when I read the last sentence, my eyes stung. All in all a beautiful poem seemingly written by someone young who wants to believe in God or gods but finds it difficult when presented with a world where incestuous fathers lock up their daughters, torture happens in prisons and is joked about lightly, and people stay together out of “not quite love.”
This idea that fear is what holds us together reminded me of another very similar idea in The Waves by Virginia Woolf. I know…what doesn’t remind me of The Waves? But no, really…this does. There is a scene in the book where one of the characters is at a party. A big social affair where she feels out of place.
“Scorn and ridicule pierce me. I, who could beat my breast against the storm and let the hail choke me joyfully, am pinned down here; am exposed. The tiger leaps. Tongues with their whips are upon me. Mobile, incessant, they flicker over me. I must prevaricate and fence them off with lies. What amulet is there against this disaster? What face can I summon to lay cool against this heat?”
I remember relating immensely to this section in the book because I am shy and experience a lot of social agitation. The idea of amulets and how we use people, ideas, things we are comfortable with to ward off other things or guard ourselves from them was a new idea when I read the book. Being at a new school this year, where I have friends I’m extremely comfortable with, I feel like I’ve fallen prey to this way of thinking many a social situation in the last semester. That is not fair to the amazing friends I have.
So here it is…my New Years Resolutions. (You know…just two weeks late) Not a single person in my life deserves to be used as an amulet because I’m feeling uncomfortable, unloved, unnecessary, unhuman, etc. I want to choose to have people in my life because I love and enjoy them, not because I need them selfishly. The same goes for a lot of other decisions I make. Often, I buy clothing or personal possessions because they contribute to the personality I label myself as having. By labeling myself, I create an identity that is tidy and in a way, I use that as an amulet too. “I know who I am and that helps me make other decisions throughout the day” mentality. It’s hard to face the contradictions that exist in any given personality, life, lifestyle. so…I know there is such a thing as healthy fear, but I don’t want unhealthy fear to make any decisions in my identity, personal relationships, and professional relationships anymore. As scary as that is….