{"id":19658,"date":"2017-10-06T07:09:57","date_gmt":"2017-10-06T11:09:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=19658"},"modified":"2017-10-06T15:24:58","modified_gmt":"2017-10-06T19:24:58","slug":"swimming-in-metaphor","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2017\/10\/swimming-in-metaphor\/","title":{"rendered":"Swimming in Metaphor"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Image:<\/a><\/p>\n

[Image: “THE-ROOM-OF-EXTREMELY-USEFUL-THINGS,” by Sam Leighton on Flickr.com<\/a>; used here under a Creative Commons license (thank you!). This scarcely requires comment — er, right?]<\/em><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

When we walk, holding stories in us, do they touch the ground through our footprints? What is this power of metaphor, by which we liken a thing we see to a thing we imagine or have seen before — the granite crag to an old crystalline heart — changing its form, allowing animation to suffuse the world via inference? Metaphor, perhaps, is the tame, the civilized, version of shamanic shapeshifting, word-magic, the recognition of stories as toothed messengers from the wilds. What if we turned the old nursery rhymes and fairytales we all know into feral creatures once again, set them loose in new lands to root through the acorn fall of oak trees? What else is there to do, if we want to keep any of the wildness of the world, and of ourselves?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Sylvia Linsteadt [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

What the Wind Says
\n<\/strong>For David Swanger<\/em><\/p>\n

The wind says, “I am the voice beside you,
\na leaf against the curb, a name you whisper
\nfor the way it haunts you. You can hear
\nwhatever the mind wants. I am still
\nholding a breath, the ghost beneath a sheet,
\nsome lost moment a hinge finds. Open<\/p>\n

the gate and walk away: you wish to turn
\nthe porch light off and never look back
\nto the row of identical houses, your years
\nmortgaged with the familiar acts
\nof habits. Try to forget each hour spent
\nlying awake trying to forget, for regret
\nremembers regret, which is why<\/p>\n

I never sweep the same place twice.
\nOften this voice is mistaken
\nfor someone else. I remind others
\nof who they are, or wish to be. I know desires
\nbetter than any wildfire knows me.
\nSo what do you wait for? A whim, a promise,
\nsome dream? Think how dust settles
\nupon the shelf, how a tornado always loses
\nits funnel, how tomorrow becomes another day.
\nThink how capricious I am, for what
\nI bring to you, for what I take away.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Greg Sellers [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

In a world where we are left to renegotiate our traumas again and again, we have to find empathetic, patient witnesses. My grandmother used to say: Some people in your life need to be mirrors and show you who you are from time to time. Some people in your life need to be blankets and embrace everything you are from time to time. Keep your mirrors clean and bright. Keep your blankets soft and close.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Scherezade Siobhan [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

For the Sleepwalkers<\/strong><\/p>\n

Tonight I want to say something wonderful
\nfor the sleepwalkers who have so much faith
\nin their legs, so much faith in the invisible<\/p>\n

arrow carved into the carpet, the worn path
\nthat leads to the stairs instead of the window,
\nthe gaping doorway instead of the seamless mirror.<\/p>\n

I love the way that sleepwalkers are willing
\nto step out of their bodies into the night,
\nto raise their arms and welcome the darkness,<\/p>\n

palming the blank spaces, touching everything.
\nAlways they return home safely, like blind men
\nwho know it is morning by feeling shadows.<\/p>\n

And always they wake up as themselves again.
\nThat\u2019s why I want to say something astonishing
\nlike: Our hearts are leaving our bodies.<\/em><\/p>\n

Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs<\/em>
\nflying through the trees at night, soaking up<\/em>
\nthe darkest beams of moonlight, the music<\/em><\/p>\n

of owls, the motion of wind-torn branches.<\/em>
\nAnd now our hearts are thick black fists<\/em>
\nflying back to the glove of our chests.<\/em><\/p>\n

We have to learn to trust our hearts like that.
\nWe have to learn the desperate faith of sleep-
\nwalkers who rise out of their calm beds<\/p>\n

and walk through the skin of another life.
\nWe have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness
\nand wake up to ourselves, nourished and surprised.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Edward Hirsch [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Personally, I’m not much for symbolism. I never get it. Why can’t things be just as they are? I never thought to psychoanalyze Seymour Glass or sought to break down “Desolation Row.” I just wanted to get lost, become one with somewhere else, slip a wreath on a steeple top solely because I wished it.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Patti Smith [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Let the Light Stand<\/strong><\/p>\n

Let the light stand for nothing
\nbut illumination. Let
\nthe naked man and woman
\nout for air. Let the curtain hide
\nonly another side of the
\ncurtain. Let the food consumed
\nbe consummated. Let the
\nconsomm\u00e9 be a dish. Let the
\ndish into the bedroom
\nbecause she is there for the
\ncat. Let the cat be cool as Miles.
\nLet it all happen again
\nif you can. Let it happen again
\nif you can. Let the first word
\nspoken during intercourse be the
\nonly definition you require. Let
\nneed be need. Let love be need
\nalso, if need be. And let
\nit all happen again because it can.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Corey Mesler [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

“The rose,” he announced. “Loveliest and most formidable of flowers. Arms of York and Lancaster. In medieval times, a symbol of Jesus. Always, it has meant, beauty, love, peace …”<\/p>\n

He presented the bud to Martha Macnamara. It lay resting on his long fingers until she scooped it up. She sniffed it and held it up to the light.<\/p>\n

“Symbol? What’s a symbol? This is a rose.” She smiled and walked on.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(R.A. MacAvoy [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: “THE-ROOM-OF-EXTREMELY-USEFUL-THINGS,” by Sam Leighton on Flickr.com; used here under a Creative Commons license (thank you!). This scarcely requires comment — er, right?] From whiskey river: When we walk, holding stories in us, do they touch the ground through our footprints? What is this power of metaphor, by which we liken a thing we see […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":19661,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,1393,250,5,50,251,4159],"tags":[195,1987,4607,4608,4609,4610,4611,4612,4614,4615],"class_list":{"0":"post-19658","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","9":"category-art","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-language-writing_cat","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"category-essays","14":"tag-metaphor","15":"tag-edward-hirsch","16":"tag-sylvia-linsteadt","17":"tag-scherezade-siobhan","18":"tag-greg-sellers","19":"tag-corey-mesler","20":"tag-patti-smith","21":"tag-r-a-macavoy","22":"tag-things-not-quite-standing-for-other-things","23":"tag-things-not-quite-not-standing-for-other-things","24":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/10\/roomofextremelyusefulthings_samleighton_thumb.jpg?fit=480%2C340&ssl=1","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-574","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19658","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19658"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19658\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19664,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19658\/revisions\/19664"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19661"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19658"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19658"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19658"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}