Watching the Yellow River from a Municipal Bridge

Reverse creation. Let's make man
a forest of stone. Let's stand on asphalt
and peer over steel railings at water.

Below a bridge, the water slithers
as it has done since its beginning
and the bridge keeps us from plunging

to genesis: the valley-- where the river
runs as the launching of blood.
If creation begins as an outline

perhaps the river is the antecedent
of our formative veins. And,
somewhere in the hieroglyphs

of a dark room a figure imagined
something nameable, winding
and untamable as flight. Yes. And

built it, as we have reverse engineered
the metal sides of a feather less bird,
the tempered bones of bridges and signs

that seek standing & dwarf the trees.
But what has been left behind. Moving
as we do toward the end of a walk

where the river runs west of the houses.
Where it is guarded by barbs and warnings
to keep well away. From origin, from

the perpetual. The natural progression
of water roving toward field & feral sea

Author's Note

2018

Reviews

[Casey Truax]

There are features here I have noticed in your other writings, for one what I might call (I may have misunderstood) ironic simile--X is as Y as Z, where neither X nor Z are very Y at all. The word "and" is spelled out when at the beginning or end of a line but marked by an ampersand when in the middle, which suits your work well. This poem ends with a two-line stanza rather than three, as if like the river it seeks to break from the established order.

[Eilis]

Thanks for reading, Casey. Your comment makes me think about my process and the substance/methods employed. This one is about seven years old so I can’t remember what I was thinking at the time. A lot of stuff I write in half an hour or less and just leave it to see if it’s worthwhile later. Most I think is trash but having a dialogue about it when posting and seeing how others read the poems helps me to move forward and do better (hopefully) with the next one. Thanks for offering a more technical outlook. I find that very helpful.

[barleygirl]

Visiting your poem is not only amazing becuz of the words you threw down, but becuz of the many words you provoked from others in reviews. This is so thought-provoking to read, I can't even come up with anything new to add to this lively discussion. Except one thing. I used to hike & backpack & swim & I even rode my bicycle across the USA. I was the kind who advocated getting out into nature in the most natural ways possible. But now I'm disabled, so I can't go to the places I used to go. For this reason, don't be too hard to those who look down at nature from atop a concrete & steel bridge *wink! wink!* As for your writing, you come up with unique ways to state the obvious, like your way of describing an airplane . . . very inventive writing . . . love it when writers don't grab the overused words! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Eilis]

Hi, Margie. I hope the poem doesn’t come across as derogatory towards anyone exploring nature in whatever ways they can. It’s more meant as a comment on the ways we have been forcibly alienated from nature. I have health problems that make it difficult for me to do all I’d like to do, so I sympathize. I just grieve the separation between the two worlds.

Thanks for all the nice things you have to say. I love when people share their views and experiences with me, so I’m also happy to have received such wonderful comments. Thanks for reading! I love reading your thoughts.

[barleygirl]

I didn't think there was any slant against those who are not romping the trails with ease . . . just saying my perspective changed . . .

[CD Campbell]

Remember Elizabeth Gilbert? The Eat Pray Love author? She wrote a book about Eustace Conway titled The Last American Man. It focuses on the pioneer spirit of men and women from the great expansion up until now and how all of us have lost that but for a few. Interesting read. I thought of that book after reading your poem. There is a lot going on in this one and I feel a rant bubbling up, but I'll try to temper that.
With all these images you have brought forth of industrialization surrounding the natural world is really sad. It's almost as if these fences and barriers are there for our own protection. We are no longer trusted to be around the wild or the entrance of it. It's as if they say "A better world has been built for you, move along." But I'm conflicted. I backpack a long trail once or twice a year and I love it. I may do 100 miles or 150, depending on time and time off. I can be 50 in and miles away from a trail head and look down. A granola wrapper. It reminds me of an article I read of how our national parks have become trashed from what boils down to is our selfie picture taking culture. It's more important for people now to prove how outdoorsy they are than being outdoorsy. They go, take a pic, leave their trash, back to McDonald's before the sun is down. I dont know, I believe in the liberty of the individual so I'm just bitching in the wind.
So back to your poem. Nice touch on the mention of Genesis, blood, and creation with the beginning of the work. It adds this biblical wrath type feel that says "hey, listen to me, this is going to get heavy". It follows with a devil as man in a dark room preparing our own reincarnation into something outside natural law and with a featherless bird and structures that dwarf the trees, he believes his ascension has come to pass. The progressive flow of images is brilliant. I like the ending with the flow of the river which can't be followed. It says a lot about our descent into modernization and unless we have some type of biblical restart, I'm afraid it's going to continue. This is a great read. I liked it a lot.

[Eilis]

I’m going to get that book, sounds interesting. I never read her other book or saw the movie. I just found I didn’t want to. Sometimes I’m prejudiced for no good reason.

Anyway, I appreciate all you see in this. Pretty much how I felt writing it. I watched this doc on Rachel Carson where they spoke about how men felt they had conquered nature when they created DDT. I mean, there were other things, but that was a turning point. And we just plunged headlong into that mindset as if it was actually possible to conquer the thing that supports us and still manage to survive.

We live in odd times. Probably on the cusp of that biblical restart you mention. Maybe there won’t be anymore of us left to selfie-screw things up. No more sad granola wrappers to mark where our egos have been. But of course, I’m wrong, our wrappers will outlast us.

Thanks, CD. Your comment is great-lots to think about. That hike sounds amazing, btw. I have long said I’d like to tackle the Appalachian Trail, but then I just never do.

[CD Campbell]

I have too. Think I might that, the continental divide trail, or the Pacific Crest trail if I retire or get untimely fired. Or maybe when all the kids are out of the house. My knees will probably be like mush by then.

[Eilis]

Yep, I think about that, the downside of having to wait. Think the kids and I might try to conquer some soon. The kids are older and eager and we can do school on the trails. So, yeah, I need to plan that.

[CD Campbell]

Sweet. Hope it works out. My kids would whine like babies.

[CD Campbell]

Hey. Btw. I dont know if you have listened to Fleet Foxes, but there is this song titled helplessness blues that's # 1 on my hiking playlist. Its awesome. Check it out.

[Eilis]

Ha, my kids do their fair share of whining. Just about different things. And, yeah, Fleet Foxes are one of my favorites. Love that song.

[CD Campbell]

Right on!.

[Robert Trakofler]

this speaks so strongly to me of the incongruous nature of the society we have created as we attempt to traverse the fabricated landscapes of our existences losing touch of the true reality that looms beyond our views. the frame of us becomes cold and bent as we lose touch with the things that truly matter. that's what eye saw but perhaps i am projecting my feelings cause it is how I often feel Eilis

[Eilis]

Nope, that’s exactly how I meant it, Robert. My boy wants to explore the river near our home, but when you try to walk there via public lands nearby there are keep out signs. I’m sure there are access points somewhere, but I don’t want to have to drive every time we want contact with nature.

A side affect of living in an urban area, I suppose. Odd. But, seems to perfectly translate that separation between the world of nature and the world pristinely crafted by man.

Thanks for visiting. Always enjoy your insights.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I've been pondering a poem around the theme of alienation, the form of which is our alienation from nature. This was an afterthought to another poem where I wrote about being a child with my toes in the dirt. There's always a sense of belonging, of communion, when in nature. Whether foraging for mushrooms, digging in dirt to plant flowers, feeling the grass beneath our feet, dipping our toes into a stream, smelling the fresh air after a thunderstorm, or watching clouds drift lazily overhead, they all speak to us. It's a language that we know in our soul. I think I love this poem most of all that I've read thus far.

[Eilis]

Thanks so much, Linda. I think a lot about that alienation. Something to come to grips with. I’m glad you appreciated this poem. Thank you for reading.

[kentuck14]

E,
You have gone from using a lone tree to a river running below a bridge as metaphors for something deeper that a mere description. men as a forest of stone! A river as the 'launching of blood!' "plunging to genesis." Perhaps what I hear you speculating is that all of creation follows a pattern in which all things, including humans, share a commonality? We can become Creator gods through 'science-ism' and technology trying to (or least wants to) reverse-engineer the creation . . . metal birds, structures to compete with the tallest trees . . . but what have we wrought!!!??? Both blood and water still run their course to their natural end. Another thought provoking poem. Thanks.
T

[Eilis]

Yes, you’ve caught my drift exactly. I was just struck by the idea of being told to keep out when reaching the river. All we’ve built to separate ourselves from what came before us. It’s striking to me, really.

Thanks for all of your comments, Tom.

[kentuck14]

you are most welcome.