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11 March 19 – The One – “Song Three: Iciclestars” Segment 1 of 2

Moving briskly along, we are already beginning the Third Song of The One. The main character is growing fast in the mysteries of the worlds, worlds where experiences of reality and fantasy make themselves known in equal measure. But who is to say which is which? Once again, passages that utilize italics portray the magical thinking of younger children, as well as pre-language impressions; italics in this epic serve many purposes – these are the uses in the early days of the protagonist. 

But what’s this? As we continue to read, harsh realities emerge. Much confusion weaves a way through the main character’s life where there is no fitting in, and no comfort without. Yet, it appears a home waits far away within the stars, but for now, unreachable, full of melancholy.  



My voice dives deep into Gold Dragon’s cave
awash with jewels on dark green velvet waves
Unafraid I consider the glittering hoard
pocked with warriors’ skulls and bone-broke hands 
still gripping jeweled medieval swords 
On one skull, a white owl’s topaz eyes stare 
daggers amid ivory feathers puffed up    
with ruffled wings for cold winter flying
Something here for me but hidden from sight                   
Certain secrets buried beneath old gems
            can explain the meaning of who I am
But neither cave nor Dragon speaks to me
Neither one gives up the ancient legend
They only plant the inner seed and make  
me watchful as the owl for ciphers, ‘midst
slippery roots and slithering of Dragon dreams


                        I breathe in air so cold my nostrils burn 
                        Snowdrift dunes grown taller than township roofs
                                    loom over me like calcified sea waves
                        No one looks for me in this rime-ice cave
                                    ‘til the evening meal readied and voices
                                    call as if I were never lost or missed
                        I hate going where I can hardly breathe
                                    the hot smoke-filled air and reek of bodies
                        inside room full of strange ones’ raucous noise
            not like this sheltering sky -- stars wide-mouthed 
                        humming regal tones and chords cresting north
and to south the drone of the rumbling moon
                                                and me in the middle singing along

                        Inside voices babble louder, laughing. 
No one sees that I am out here, not there
                        Why care if I stayed outside by myself
                                    in the dark humming with cold-fingered scales’
                                    high harmonies from these iciclestars
                        My warm breath makes ice clouds on my old clothes
                        me, out here, growing cold, ice-singing far
                                    far from that room’s damp sour smell smothering . . .

                        Every time I breathe air like this so cold 
my nose sticks to itself, I feel white - clean
shining like stars trailing icicle air
                                    a glacier pressing against my wee heart
                                    reminding me of where I do belong                     
I stand beneath the stars where my people 
dance in pale crystalline rooms, feet gliding 
nimble, so light they shimmer and glitter
                                    lighting up, fading out, graceful in dance
                                                to the lovely songs of iciclestars

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I do not belong  I am alone now
            fingerling dropped in an alien pond
            awkward fins, skinny tail, and gaping mouth
that everyone says look wrong, not like them 
“What are you?” they say with their squinting eyes
“A changeling shed from a nightshade dewdrop?”
            “A deep-sea fish beached and stranded on shore?”
I give no answers to their stupid talk.  
I know I am not like them – not one bit
and they never give up telling me that
Maybe I should change, be good, and fit in
Part of me wants to be right for them but
            the truer part of me does not know how 
They cannot even tell what kind I am
I don’t know any way to be like them       
caught between who I am and who I’ve been
            
                                    Something’s out here hidden in the coldest 
winter night, like me, watching with owl-eyes 
                                    for signs, secrets within iciclelight
                                    I catch their shadows when I blink – each time
                                                I think they have submerged into darkness
                                                I hear muffled footsteps or creaking door
                                    When I think I’ll give in - try to be right
                                    I hear the whisper out in such cold nights
“Do not give in. It will not be right.
“Do not go in. We are here in the night.”

                                    Lately, I can’t fix the dis-membering
                                    I cannot see clearly except in dreams
                                    Sometimes I think I can forget star-sounds 
that hum in my head and swirl all around
                                    When I think this, I want deep night’s, white breathe
                                    I want to melt like ice, flow back to sea
                                                go out with the tide and its sinuous kelp
                                    Then, just when I think sea-sounds are all gone
                                                that sea’s homing voice will never again
                                                sound in my head, crease the wood of my hull 
                                                            the water of stars rushes in with its long, low call
                                                                        sounding my name, a sudden landfall

Background
Most children prefer to be outside – or at least they did before video games, tiny screens, and Alexa. Imagine a time when children were called in for dinner; they ignored the call; the adults forgot about them for some moments – then, the children enter the house where family and assorted relatives gathered for supper. This image, of course, is mostly a thing of the past, but it did exist once upon a time, and so belongs in an epic such as this. Now, imagine the very young person standing out in the winter, under iciclestars – alone and not – confused but not really. A bedrock instinct resides deep in the senses, an infallible compass pointing the way into the future yet to be born.

Contrast this with those older folks inside going about their routines of eating, working, and bedding. Have they lost the ability to connect with the stars? Or perhaps, that capacity remains just under the surface of their busyness, so necessary, such a waste. Do we know something in our youth that gradually (or suddenly) disappears from our consciousness? Who is to say, but the voice of this poem, winding its way under iciclestars?

Exploration 1: As a young person explores the worlds, fantasy and reality become jumbled, i.e., the way one would like life to unfold, and the way it actually does. Likewise, two languages arise during this period. Can you hear the two voices entwined together, each articulating the bicameral emergence of cognitive and non-rational perspectives?

Exploration 2: What are “iciclestars,” and why are they important to the narrator?

Exploration 3: Feelings of both loneliness and belonging express within this song. How can they coexist? Which is truer? Which is real, and which fantasy? 

Next: The second and final part of Song 2, “Iciclestars”

You can now see the unfolding installments of The One here.











Comments

  1. This is my favorite one so far!

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    1. As THE ONE unfolds in semi-weekly installments on Wannaskan Almanac, you can now view THE ONE from Song One to its most recent installment here: https://theone-wannaskanalmanac.blogspot.com/

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