Here’s a thought, and you may need to take something fairly potent to visualize it: If we measure movement within a space by distance (here to there) and time (6 seconds to get there) or a combination of both (0 – 60 in 6 seconds), what other means of seeing movement do we have available?
Is the space between objects nothing, or is it a living, moving thing? It’s transparent, but we need it or we’d all be crammed together along with trees and buildings and each other. It’s also used to carry elements we need to survive, like oxygen and water, but what does it do and how does it move to accomodate the objects moving within it?
What if we were able to see the effect of the cause in every nanosecond as it happens? We see objects within space, such as a man standing right there. He takes a few steps in a straight line, perpendicular to our line of sight, and stops 3 feet to the left of where he was standing before. Visually, he has moved from one spot to another, and we witnessed the change in the “picture.” But that’s because he’s moving in transparent space.
What if it were colored blue? Or red? The space must move to replace where he has been—would it show up visually? Think of a cup of water drawn from a bucket. Does space rush to fill in the absence of an object, or is it stationary, and changes in form to take on the elements of the object as it passes?
In a time sequence, would we see the space as slowly filling in as he moves? How about the slow growth pattern of a tree?
So, a cardinal did not just fly across my yard from tree to bush this morning. In thousands of instants, he displaced areas of space in his flight.
I’m sure this is all answered by the discipline of Physics, but it’s kinda neat to come at it from an uneducated, visual and wondering kind of way.
Told you you might need something stronger than coffee to visualize my thoughts today.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
An important poem to me personally:
Keeping Things Whole
Mark Strand
In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.
When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body’s been.
We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole.
This is wonderful! And I’m so glad you’ve thought to share it here.
Aside from obviously being somewhat relieved to find my mind is not drifting in a direction that merely wastes what may be a limited amount of time, it’s also shown as evidence the many ways ideas can be presented in both simple or complex form, as well as literary forms. Though a researched, well-considered essay may give more detailed information and opinion, a poem as simple and thoughtful as that by Mr. Strand is just as thought-provoking and valuable.
Strand invites an interesting thought: what if the poem is not a poem but a “field.”
Where is the reader, therefore, “in the field?”
Every time I think I have a grip, or have climbed halfway to the top, you point out another mountain. I’ll have to think on this one. I’m busy trying to catch space at a point of vacuum before it’s filled with foreign or familiar molecules.
One good thing I’ve seen from weblogs is the kinds of discussion that can take place, mainly because people are sparked by an idea, or need a minute to digest it. Very often, such as in a class atmosphere, someone will hang back and fail to formulate a thought before the discussion has moved on beyond it. I do this, I know, but how many others in the room as well?
On the other hand, it amazes me how many people read and move along without a comment–such as our experiment with the forum. But weblog discussions are short-lived; running out of steam when a new point is introduced. Do these ideas die, never to resurface? Must I climb down one half-climbed mountain, just to climb another one, or can I leap between (hypertext ?)and among them. After all, they’re not going anywhere soon, and will be there to climb again.
Your question, though: The poem as a field can be imagined, i.e. a “body” of words. We move within it by reading, passing words with sometimes a pause for deeper study. We are journeyors, then within the space of poetry. And when we’re done, the poem remains just as it was in place.
Or not.