First I will say that I know writers, especially poets aren’t supposed to explain their work. This time, like most others, I find I have more to say than what belongs in the poem. Poems also aren’t really supposed to rhyme anymore, unless they are written for kids. Oh well.
This poem began as a response to the idea that one should speak for those who have no voice–the idea that one should advocate for the needs of others because for whatever reason they can’t themself. The problem with this concept is that it is predicated on a false concept: that there are those who have no voice. I would argue no one and nothing is without a voice. People intentionally create ways to block certain voices, or have inadvertently created barriers they cannot hear past – but the voices are there. The best way to help is usually to listen; people who are suffering oppression (who have had their voices ignored, neglected, etc) are the ones best poised to speak for what they need. This idea is starting to take hold with those with privilege and power who wish to make change for the better.
What is true for human interaction is also true for our interaction with nature. The world view that I was raised in does not allow for nature to have a voice. I’m thinking about voice broadly as the ability of something or someone to communicate. In order to come into right relationship with our planet – to fully and properly come back into alignment with other life, I believe we have to learn to listen to all of the diverse voices around us. There is a pervasive contempt for those who “commune with nature”—at best seen as eccentric or romantic, often as naïve or foolish. This idea needs to go. I don’t believe our solutions for our many ecosystems will be successful if we don’t (re)learn how to listen to other life around us—or at least listen to those who can.
The languages of the world around us are not human. They do not always speak of human things, we may not always be able to put their voices into our words. But we will hear things if we listen. The sounds may wash over you and make you feel something, you may find unexpected thoughts popping into your head, you may see or imagine something new. Learning to value this kind of communication is at the heart of reestablishing a relationship.
Every time I have taken time to listen to voices that have been oppressed or ignored, be they human or more-than-human, I have always been struck by the beauty and freedom of what I hear. In trying to help others, I find myself receiving balms I never expected. It’s the gift of entering into community with others—natural reciprocity will return the gift of your time and attention. In seeking to decenter myself and my perspective, I end up feeling more connected. Nature is overflowing with gifts—but if I’m too busy speaking for her, not listening, I will miss most of them. I will miss the whole point.
As writing will do, the current of this poem drifted from where I started. As if to underscore the point of my original concept, there was a different story waiting to be shared than the one on my mind. What began as a serious statement turned into a playful, rhyming ode as I focused in on water and rock and began listening to them. These two have been bantering between themselves since time immemorial—it’s really no surprise they would be good friends. Anyone listening to them speak is going to hear that. Writing this poem was an exercise in humility. I cannot speak for the river, the ocean, the creek, but I can share what I heard. I know I’m not alone in feeling calmed by the many sounds of their conversation. You can believe what you want, but I think it’s their old, old companionship that we hear, beckoning us back into our bodies, into the ease of the present moment. Hopefully I will tempt you to go listen for yourself.
One of the Oldest Conversations
One of the oldest conversations in the world,
Is the one between water and rock.
Stone, the silent guardian, stolid, solid,
Seldom speaking unless cleaving,
And water, while fluid and ever-shifting
When left alone is deep and secret-keeping.
But get these two together
And the talking never ends.
River rapids rush past rocks
Churning up water into a froth.
Original white noise, the persistent spray,
A reassuring gush from this roiling place
Below the ripples glug over boulders,
A turbulent promise, an untamed dance.
The ocean’s relentless crashing waves
Roll and break on rocky plates.
For centuries they churn the shell and stone,
Hone the sand to receive the foam,
A dissipating sigh, an effervescent sketch,
The whispered gasp of the sea’s every stretch.
In the milder mere I hear
Placid lapping, tiny sips,
Pebble licks, as a gentler tide
Teases the stony bank beside.
The lull of dark and glassy green
An easy way to fall asleep.
The brook prattles on endlessly
To every stone it burbles past,
Singing all night, then dawn to dusk
About the slick and tumbled rock.
The charming chatter not unlike
A baby’s babble, the gurgled murmur
A playful reminder—
The dialog of stone and water
Started long ago, before
Humans walked the earth.
The worth of their discussion
Is not mine to declare,
But I realize they are speaking
And want me to hear.
Wherever I am, on bank or beach,
The voice may differ
But the message is clear.
Their speech casts a wordless spell
To quell my anxious thoughts,
Soothing, smoothing the ragged edges
Of my troubled contemplations.
Untangling my fettered feelings,
Tension sinks, my mind washed clean.
Their ceaseless speech, a free-flowing promise,
That all is well,
And all shall be well,
So long as water flows
With stone beside, below.