He fathered them all,
Their blushing mother nursed them,
Balanced them in the gentle sway of her delicate fabric.
As children they loved their Mother,
In awe of the Father that provided all.
From a shared cradle they emerged,
Brothers and sisters.
From above, their Father watched their wanderings.
Illuminating their world with light and life,
As He made His way across the sky.
In four directions His children spread,
Chasing horizons over great distances.
Like seeds on a wind.
The Children of the East, welcomed their Father each day.
The Children of the South, best knew their Father’s warmth.
The Children of the West, danced to their Father’s music.
The Children of the North, grew distant from their Father.
Discovering in the shadows of their Father’s absence,
The cold side of a lonely Mother.
Building walls they turned inward,
Growing pale in their solitude.
Nearsighted through honed dexterity,
Pride swelling with the power of creation.
Linguistic palaces ascended to heaven,
Their father and mother subjugated by name.
They charted the distant stars.
They mapped the earth’s contours.
They mastered inferior races.
They worshiped themselves.
Fair skin easily seared,
By a father made sun.
~r
I have really enjoyed reading, and rereading, this post. This is a large topic you have chosen to discuss, and you handle it with the usual sense of poise and delicacy that is common in your writing. You have a wonderful way of ushering a reader along through an idea from a distance, rather than bluntly stating what is on your mind, which feels refreshing, and at times mesmerizing. You are great at creating a world around your theme.
I like the way you approach the general history of humanity, and how an emotional/spiritual isolation from the environment is manifest by physically hiding from the sun. Pale, distant, obsessed with self-creation; I almost picture Europeans as the Gollum of the world.
I particularly enjoy your phrase “linguistic palaces ascended to heaven,” and the sense that what the Children of the North have accomplished is only valuable in the words they have created to describe it. That their accomplishments are not tangible, nor concrete, but simply a tower of symbols and sounds they have uttered.
I also quite like the ending, with “fair skin easily seared by a father made sun.” I sense that despite their best efforts (and rather as a result of) to separate themselves from their creator, they are more susceptible to the pain and realities of the environment. The sun will always be there to serve as a reminder (and in some sense punishment) of the Children of the North’s hubris.
Anyway, this is what I have taken away. I think it is quite good Ryan, its nice to see you back to writing again!
Thanks J-beezy… Your feedback is excellent as always. I struggled with this one in that I didn’t want to be too overt with the core ideas, but I didn’t want to be so cryptic that it read like a quasi-Xristian, judgmental/sentimental reflection. Reading your comments makes me feel like I got close to the balance I was looking for since you readily picked up on the central elements…
Incidentally, my tongue-in-cheek alternate title for this piece was “white man’s daddy issues”… And I loved your thought about Gollum! spot on 🙂
It also makes me happy to hear you indicate that the “style” of this piece has an engaging aspect to it… I feel like I’ve only got two styles/voices right now: my sing-songy “Wattersonian” style and then this style… which is the same across my last three poems. I don’t know if this is just a part of finding a voice or if I need to make greater efforts to branch out and not wrap all my ideas in the same formula…
Thanks for your feedback! It’s so gratifying to know someone took the time to dig into something like this… makes me happy for this creative outlet!