13 August 18 – Return to Prairie Point of Entry

Way back on 5 March 2018, I posted the sister poem to today’s verses: “Prairie Point of Entry” (Repeated at the very bottom of this post for those who care to reread it before reading today’s poem. In the background below, I’ll reveal what specifically inspired me to write this second poem, but for now, let’s take a look at the word, “return”: revisit, reappear, arrival, reoccur, go back, even homecoming, are all synonyms for “return.” Interestingly, “return” also has an alternate meaning: profit, gain, benefit, and of course, profit. What a meaty little word, this “return.” The synonyms for this nifty word are myriad, yet they all come down to two meanings: 

1) a “re . . .” something (note above) as in repeat (even there the “re” is present; and 

2) some kind of gain, often monetary, or alternatively, to begin again.

Frankly, the exact word doesn’t matter because more often than not, some benefit or gain, or the more 

Return to Prairie Entry Point

                                    At forty years I return to Prairie Entry Point

                                                to the flat rock and the swirling prairie grasses

                                                            between two runways

                                                where my father taught me the art of solo flight

                                    Now that I am old I can say

                                                the tremendous things I sensed came to pass

                                                            the waters of the deeper pools

                                                parted and discoveries emerged complete

                             At last I can speak the truth of what I knew then and now

                                                I remember as if it were last hour

                                                when I hinted at what I saw

                                                I remember the years I kept my silence

                                                In the past no other way would do

                                    But I have measured fathoms of blue soundings

                                                murmured long with the prairie

                                                faced the winters of certain knowledge

                                    surfaced as the pilot of my own existence.

                                    Now that I am old, I say

                                                the deeper waters hold the void

                                                the tall writhing grasses hold no wisdom

                                                the solo flight ends in landing

                                                and the entry point an endless passing

Background

Today’s poem had its genesis on the occasion of returning to my home town to revisit high school classmates for our 50th reunion (There’s that “re” again) One of several heart-touching moments occurred when our former class president slowly read the names of 17 classmates who had died between 1973 and 2018. The effect was like the 29 times the bell tolled, one each for the men who died when the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in a storm on Lake Superior. The whole crew died, as eventually will all my classmates and me. This was our 50th reunion; I doubt I will return for the next one. Seventeen is enough to hear about.

While in my hometown in Central Wisconsin, I also visited the air field where each “Prairie Point” poem takes place. The first poem (below) comes from the perspective of a very young girl – maybe 12 years old. Today’s poem, in contrast, hales from the point of view of a much older woman, on the cusp of old age. (Remember “Staring at Seventy” from the 21 May 2018 post?) In any case, I returned to that air field “just to see.” Today’s poem expresses what I experienced. For example, I ran into my father’s chief pilot who up until 1980 flew every day, but who now plows runways. This is the air field where I learned to fly and where I soloed on my 16th birthday.

These experiences, these returnings, were strong and full of deep memories. I shed more than a few tears for the time of returning to Marshfield, Wisconsin. 

Explorations

Exploration 1: What does the word, “return,” mean to you? What incidents of returning in your life have touched you most deeply. Hometown? High school or college? Visit to a friend or family member? Something to do with a child or children? Many more possibilities exist.

Exploration 2: What can be said about the solo flight at 16 years old, and surfacing “as the pilot of [your] own existence.?

Exploration 3: Compare/contrast the tone and tenor of the two poems. With which do you resonate more? Do you know why? Consider the variance between youth and elder years.

Your Monday Poet, Jack Pine Savage

If you so choose, please find below, for your review, the sister poem to today’s. 

“Prairie Entry Point” was posted on 5 March 2018.

Prairie Entry Point

A day will come when everyone will know

            what I know now

For the present, it is best I only

            hint at what I see

I remember as if it were last hour

                        surfacing to look up at the sky’s 

                        round blue pool soaring endless

Sitting small in the Center of Great Prairies

            a jade ocean of tall grasses writhing

                        a million twisting serpents around 

                        me in a hissing circle – green and yellow

                                    protective blades – as I crouch low

                                                submerged on pale, flat-rooted rock

                                                            at the grass-sea’s bottom

Even then, I knew something tremendous

awaited discovery – would be found

                        in distant deeper pools

                                                measuring blue soundings

                                                murmuring with the prairies

at the point of entry