On Nature and Noise

This world is too much with us.  This short, declarative sentence that does not even make up the entire first line of Wordsworth's poem by the same name, carries on it the burden of centuries.  I can see Atlas struggling under the weight of it and have felt its irresistible force against my own back.   In this age of information, where color and shape dance before our eyes in a frenzied bid for attention, the simple beauty of nature is often unseen and unremembered.  The counterfeit dance of digitized being lures and lulls us into complacency.  As Wordsworth says, "for everything, we are out of tune" (8).  We are each our own instrument, a cacophony of dissonant chords.  We need to find the harmonizing intervals by rediscovering Nature and each other.  Only then can our symphony modulate to resolve itself in its final measure.

I would like to share an untitled poem of mine that is a much poorer treatment of the theme than Wordsworth’s but is my own voice, however cracked and squeaky.

Alone in your fields

I am struck by the splendor,

Oft taken for granted

Just the natural order.

The knowledge from Eve’s fruit quickens me.

The trees weep their rivers,

Sorrows carried along

mingle with mine,

Crying for a glimpse of Eden.

The knowledge from Eve’s fruit saddens me.

Chattering breezes carrying secrets

flutter round my eyes.

Teasing me with infinity,

Dancing in disguise.

The knowledge from Eve’s fruit stifles me.

A bird’s song constant.

An answer hastens calm,

and suddenly
but just for a moment,

The knowledge from Eve’s fruit passes from me.