The Poet’s Obligation
To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house, office, factory or woman,
or street or mine or harsh prison cell:
to that person I come, and, without
speaking or looking,
I arrive and open the door of the prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a great roar of thunder sets in motion
the rumble of the planet and the foam,
the groaning rivers of the ocean rise,
the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
and the sea beats, dies, and goes on beating.
So, drawn on by my destiny,
I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
the sea’s lamenting in my consciousness
I must feel the crash of the hard water
and gather it up in a perpetual cup
so that, wherever those in prison may be,
wherever they suffer the autumn’s castigation,
I may be present with an errant wave,
I move in and out of windows,
and hearing me, eyes may lift themselves
saying “How can I reach the sea?”
And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
the starry echoes of the wave,
a breaking up of foam and of quicksand,
a rustling of salt withdrawing,
the grey cry of sea-birds on the coast.
So, through me, freedom and the sea
Will call in answer to the shrouded heart.
Pablo Neruda
I found this poem the other day when looking for reading material to take to a workshop. I love the way the poet here explores the idea of the role of the poet in all our lives. All too often, when I tell people I am a poet, they stare blankly. Recently, I visited my GP and during routine questions about my work and lifestyle, he asked me, a tone of confusion in his voice "...and how exactly do you go about getting qualified to work as a poet?" I replied that I had been to university and studied poetry to postgraduate level, and gradually gained work experience and undertook further specialist training in using poetry within educational, community and therapeutic environments, and that during this time, I had published my work in magazines, and in collections.
But I knew that this did not really answer the question. Certainly, my experience and training helps me to respond fully to the individuals and groups I work with. Over the years, I have trained as a person-centered counselor and in disability arts training, for example. I use this training and experience regularly in my work, to enable me to facilitate a good working environment and to maintain supportive boundaries. I also know that over time, and through reading and learning and being mentored by many wonderful poets, I have come to know my voice better, and gained skill in crafting the shape and sounds of poems.
All this though does not account for the greatest training of all: that of remaining open to life, to emotions, to sensation and experience, and to maintaining a commitment to that way of living. My days are spent largely in a combination of observation, interpretation and reflection, both on my outer world and on the interior existence. In poetry, I attempt to distill this moment by moment experience, try to capture something of the nature of life as seen through my days. Often the poems seem to lead me, and not the other way around. In order to be open to that guide, I try to keep my life as free from external rules as possible, so that I might follow the poems wherever they lead. At the moment, they have taken me to spend time with the students and staff at Beaumont College. Which is interesting in itself, because as a residential and day college, Beaumont is controlled by numerous institutional rules. Yet within it, the focus is on creative expression, which is rooted in freedom from rules. This paradox is something that I am sure will come up time and time again during this residency, asking for investigation.
For now, I want to share with you Neruda's poem, because I love the sense of value it places on the poet's obligation to 'move in and out of windows', and the urgency I feel when reading it to keep that freedom and the crash of the open sea within my own life, and to share that through the work I do. It is both a glorious celebration of the poet and also a 'call to arms'. This is not mere fancy. This is an obligation - because the world needs those who throw open the windows.
But I knew that this did not really answer the question. Certainly, my experience and training helps me to respond fully to the individuals and groups I work with. Over the years, I have trained as a person-centered counselor and in disability arts training, for example. I use this training and experience regularly in my work, to enable me to facilitate a good working environment and to maintain supportive boundaries. I also know that over time, and through reading and learning and being mentored by many wonderful poets, I have come to know my voice better, and gained skill in crafting the shape and sounds of poems.
All this though does not account for the greatest training of all: that of remaining open to life, to emotions, to sensation and experience, and to maintaining a commitment to that way of living. My days are spent largely in a combination of observation, interpretation and reflection, both on my outer world and on the interior existence. In poetry, I attempt to distill this moment by moment experience, try to capture something of the nature of life as seen through my days. Often the poems seem to lead me, and not the other way around. In order to be open to that guide, I try to keep my life as free from external rules as possible, so that I might follow the poems wherever they lead. At the moment, they have taken me to spend time with the students and staff at Beaumont College. Which is interesting in itself, because as a residential and day college, Beaumont is controlled by numerous institutional rules. Yet within it, the focus is on creative expression, which is rooted in freedom from rules. This paradox is something that I am sure will come up time and time again during this residency, asking for investigation.
For now, I want to share with you Neruda's poem, because I love the sense of value it places on the poet's obligation to 'move in and out of windows', and the urgency I feel when reading it to keep that freedom and the crash of the open sea within my own life, and to share that through the work I do. It is both a glorious celebration of the poet and also a 'call to arms'. This is not mere fancy. This is an obligation - because the world needs those who throw open the windows.
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