Don't tell me how it works, sir,
I like to watch
And be amazed at the display.
The inner workings, wiring, switches,
all, are unnecessary details.
Miracles deflated.
Don't explain the rainbow,
or sunshine,
or brain waves.
Child-like
in my comprehension
I want to smile
and clap my hands
at the wonder
of it all.
I remember this one. It brings to mind several memories and a cpl not so good ones. At Children's Hospital in St. Louis they have this magnificent huge display in a glass box that is taller than me and and probably 10 or 15 ft long. It sits right in the center of the entry foyer. It is hard to describe but it is all of these rails and chains and buckets and silver balls constantly moving up and down and across... you get the picture. People just stand there watching in awe, it is magnificent and your poem has always reminded me of that. I love this piece...
This was great Emily, I know that feeling too well. Yet I myself who has been a gear head/ science nerd all my life now find myself feeling somehow ''poorer'' for knowing /dispelling, all that wonder... go figure. A terrific write Emily.
Browsing through the "morning news" this review caught my eye. I wonder why we think it has to be an.. read moreBrowsing through the "morning news" this review caught my eye. I wonder why we think it has to be an "either/or" thing? I find that a knowledge about ecology deepens my appreciation for the small fragile beautiful things in life, not cheapens it. Rachel Carsen's "A Sense of Wonder" certainly tried to bridge that gap between science and the mystical. I may know how the magician does the trick, but I am still awed at his skill in execution, his mastery, his precision, his elegance. Perhaps even more so. Not to sound like I do not appreciate sheer wonder fro the sake of mystery, because I do. I guess I just wish that there were more out there for those like us- who seek to know the inner workings, the whys and hows, and still see Life as a great inspiring mystery? Just rambling I guess- or maybe tired of being labeled an enemy of poetic license (which has happened more often than seems possible given my long-held belief that I am actually a poet). But as I said- this one caught my mind and heart for some reason. A lovely read, an insightful review, and lots of room for expansion of thought. A perfect pick-me-up for what started as a really bad day. Thank you to both of you.
12 Years Ago
Raquelita you bring up some good points. And you're correct it doesn't have to be either or, one can.. read moreRaquelita you bring up some good points. And you're correct it doesn't have to be either or, one can definitely feed off the other. I think back to the time I first learned about the wonders of DNA or when little Sojourner the rover landed on Mars and sent back colored photos of the sandy, rocky, red-surface of that planet. That knowledge only inspired more wonder inside of me. But here, inside Emily's poem I think she's reaching back for childhood innocence not inviting ignorance. And therein lies the challenge (I personally may be too far gone for this) To preserve the same wonder and curiosity one had as a child alongside a flood of negative imagery and schizophrenic knowledge that is so easily consumed in todays technological society. I mean now I'm veering but look at todays political climate? SOMEBODY'S lying, but there is so much convoluted disimformation out there that to put it mildly, IT is corrupting and turning off a whole new generation of voters. Who wants to hurry up and enter the adult world today? if Truth can be mocked so easily, right in your face? Thank you Raquelita for your thoughtful insight, and of course Emily whose poem opened a door/wide to discussion.
12 Years Ago
The hallmark of genius, it is said, is the ability to hold two opposing thoughts and have both of th.. read moreThe hallmark of genius, it is said, is the ability to hold two opposing thoughts and have both of them be true. I have known and worked alongside many science workers, at last estimate from at least 21 different countries. What struck me most about the very smartest of them, the ones who were really pushing boundaries in their fields, is that they approached life with that eternal sense of wonder, as seeing the world anew every day through the eyes of a child. A jaded spirit makes no great discoveries in any field, for s/he is not open to them. I have seen many people on here, unfortunately, with technical acuity that makes my work seem like I never advanced past 5th grade; yet with subject material so dull it makes my eyes glaze over. I wonder if there is an innate fear that knowledge somehow defuses passion? I would argue that both not only can coexist, they MUST coexist. For we, especially us ladies, are trained to control our passion, lest we unleash something truly dangerous. Hats off to Miss Emily for being a truly dangerous woman- she has taught me a lot. :-)
I think that's the way it all originally used to be.
and we should all stop to think why it isn't still so.
This piece expresses that simple original wonder. The style reflect the message perfectly.
although, sometimes, i think the explanation can be just as miraculous.
clap and dance and laugh at all the magnificent, unknowable pieces of the marvel that is this life.
spring is getting into our bones, emily, and waking us up.
i like being awake.
haha the innocence of it all - the nodding and clapping - the wonder and amazement at things that can't be understood - the world is a simpler and more beautiful place when we lack the ins and outs! nice! some things should be left to mystery!!
Hmm, thought I'd reviewed this already. Definintely read it before, and liked it just as much.
The conversational tone is pleasant -
"Don't tell me how it works, sir."
It's basically perfect, wouldn't change a thing. This piece proves, both in topic and execution that simplicity often equates beauty.
p.s. It could almost be a second response to the addressee of my poem Unravel:
"Over-brimming with science,
you ruined rainbows for the kids;
sneered at my love-affair with the sky."
[alternatively, my poem was a response to yours...now I wonder...]
to the Lost Boys
I am no Wendy;
but my voice brings you back to me.
And you sit around my feet,
anxious for a story
or a kiss.
Listening to my words
spinning adventures,
like so much g.. more..