In this edition of the Slowly But Slowly Poet Circle, we started a thought-journey from the prompt "Current". This word has powerful elements of ambiguity and association. Currents surround us daily and shape our lives in so many ways - currents of time, water, air, electricity, social mores, and so many more. Current can bring life, as the current does in the sea. Current can bring death, as it does in floodwaters. Current can be motion triumphing over stagnation; current can cause erosion, shaking us to our very core. "Current" forms a perpetual partition between past and future. Current can be viewed as the only time we truly possess, but can also be idolized over either the past or progress.
Several of our poets have chosen to give some notes (found at the end of the post) giving some insight into their own journey from prompt to poem. We hope that you enjoy our interpretations of the concept of "current".
My hands, these hands,
slide the blade into white apple flesh,
dice the fruit smaller than you could think,
it hungrily drinks the wine, turns pink.
Then they pass fire and water
over the white tablecloth, press it into submission,
prepare to dress the dining room table in priestliness.
Here we will build our story with sweet mortar
a story with a shadow reaching farther than Babel’s.
God still gathers his exiles.
We pass water over our own bodies,
pass brooms over the whole house,
cleansing in preparation for the feast of tears,
the feast of freedom. Why is this night
different from all other nights?
I peel white, clinging shells of eggs
smooth reminders of a burnt house of God –
and they have killed the Sri Lankan family of God --
there is blood spattered on the house of God.
They have killed. Teach me,
teach me to ask.
The cinnamon will seep into the honey,
into the wine, into the apple, tonight.
It will become one taste.
The lemon has sharpened the chicken
which sleeps in our fridge, browned like matzah.
Redemption is something we prepare.
Dry, browned bread of affliction arrives
in large, pierced squares. Amanda stitches
white cloth napkins, hides matzah in glory
just as white covers our own battered bodies,
we are so far from Eden
yet so close to Paradise tonight.
is a single thing current?
when the moment has
passed through to the present past
Who could have known when I boarded
this tin can, barely beyond babe, what lay ahead?
How could I have known that map-study,
though sincere, was still only basic?
Good was my faith, yet naive my foresight,
the day I pushed off shore, and married the current.
I thought that river to sea was good science,
but now I see how Solomon knew it’s a cycle.
Déjà vu, I’ve seen this before in my dreams, or
maybe I’m back here again, a little deeper, a little faster.
Am I even on a river journey?
Or paddling in a toilet bowl, striving against the swell
and suck of the current I married in good faith?
there is something perishable
in love, devotion;
it spoils in disuse or cache
as manna rots 'neath moonbeams
yesterday's bread will not suffice
the sundial stares us down each dawn
"all must be new or not at all"
From Maaike:
*Passover – or Pesach – is one of the feasts commanded by God in the Torah to the people of Israel. Each year, everyone at the Passover Feast relives the Exodus departure of Israel out of Egypt, from slavery to freedom. Since Jesus Christ celebrated the Passover and then was crucified at the hour the Lambs were sacrificed in the Temple, Messianic Jews and some Christians celebrate Passover every year, remembering Jesus’ fulfillment of it. The story is told through specific foods on your plate, and the whole night is carried by questions such as, “Why is this night different than all other nights?”
The prompt 'current' inspired this poem on two levels. First, Passover was currently happening while I was thinking about the prompt. But it also has a deeper meaning - since my family annually celebrates the Passover feast, it has become a story that cycles around every year, and every year it shapes my own story just a little more. Yearly rituals like this feel like the current that carries a river (life) along, bringing us always a little closer to home.
From Heather S:
Some life decisions turn out to be watershed moments. You make a commitment in good faith, but with little comprehension of the irreversibly life-changing consequences of a single, seemingly limited decision. You wouldn’t have had the courage to start the journey if you’d have known you were doing so, but alas. It turns out, you can’t un-see the world once you’ve seen it. You can’t undo its effects on you, either. You thought you were just committing to spending a college break washing dishes in a Hungarian nursing home. Instead, you stepped onto an international flight and married a timeless global current. And nine years later you’re still trying to keep your head above the water!
From Timothy Reed:
In the aviation industry, one of the first and most important questions to ask is "Is this information/guidance current?" I wrote several poems thinking about current in terms of motion and water, but wasn't satisfied with my expression of those concepts. One morning, I was thinking about love and devotion and how they are destroyed through stagnation and must therefore be daily renewed. The need for the currency of "daily bread" refers not only to our reliance on God's provision, but also what we must daily bring to that relationship. We also must daily renew love and devotion for those around us, else we are creating only a sentimental façade of commitment.
