How often have you flown? What type of aircraft was it. Two seat? Six? Two Hundred? Propeller driven? Turbo prop? Jet engine? What training and experience did your pilot have? How do you know? How did flight make its way into our ground-dwelling species? Did a primitive ape shade her eyes to look up at a pterodactyl, and then jump off the cliff she was standing on? What were Orville and Wilbur thinking of at Kitty Hawk? How many aviators died in the pursuit of this most unnatural pursuit to float through the Blue?
Flight. It exhilarates. It inspires. Terrifies. Facilitates. Brings delight. Crushing grief. Nothing about flying is simple or simply done. Yet it is taken for granted by most. We aren’t flying as much lately, it’s true; however, most of us will flock (ha!) to the sky again when our health is safer.
Read this poem twice. Read it once as a passenger, and a second time as the pilot. Then blend the two perspectives.
POEM
GHOST FLYERS
Gleaming pairs of angels hover
on the glide path’s slope
two-by-two they slide into St. Louis
arriving from out there closer drifting here
wings’ two rows of lights mean coming home
In these days of contagion, they struggle just to stay aloft
The red of broken wings stains
the Blue with contrails’ smoking revelation
each descent shocks like the first losing sky to earth’s incineration
fusing grief with each scattered piece, lost peace
The air is cruel and cold at 30,000 feet
The homing beacons broadcast filaments like open arms
to draw each suspended flight and glide it down
One-two-left and three-zero-right display two rows
of precious lights worth more than diamonds
when homing out of storm and moonless night
Tucked inside the metal membrane
vulnerable fleshy phantoms trust within
to capricious sheets of fire beneath the wings
Entrenched hubris sputters arrogant and brash
too self-absorbed to feel the in-flight marvel that carries them
on unearthly air slipped beneath graceful wings
These fragile fires flicker next to death
that sits six inches beyond the fuselage skin
that permits their breathe and locks them in
Such fools do not appreciate the Ghost Flyers gone before
who forged sky-paths with death-screams
carried earthward by wrenched and twisted wings
Far above the glide path’s slope
audacious angels watch with weathered eyes
Their legacy, earned one by one, as they each bestowed on us Wind and Wing and Raided Sky
Background
If you read this Monday post regularly, you may have noticed that I write about flight regularly. And if you read these flight poems, you will notice that flying is a physical and spiritual experience as far as I see it. You will know that I grew up with aviation and a near-famous pilot-father. You may remember that I took my first solo flight on my sixteenth birthday. If this sounds a bit arrogant and prideful, it probably is, but there are some good things in our lives that we can’t be faulted for loving – and even flaunting. Growing up with virtual wings, not so infrequently I heard about crashes, and a few times witnessed them. So far, I’ve never been in one. (Wings crossed.) This poem’s genesis comes from the years in my life when I was flying two-to-three times each week north to south, and east to west, all around North America, and sometimes Europe. It was my job then that put me “up there” so often. (Another story for probably no time.)
On one of those flights, deep into another night, I had a window seat over the aircraft’s left wing. The moon glowed in a vibrant sky, flashing flickers of lunar pastels over the leading edge of the wing and then trailing off the ailerons into the hollowness behind us. That wing set me to thinking about how and why I was sitting safe in that coach class seat, warm and comfortable (mostly), without a thought to being 30,000 feet up and only a relatively thin skin between me and freezing to death. At that moment, I understood the flyers who permitted me this space, their joy in flight, and for too many, their red falls to earth.
Exploration 1: When you fly, how do you feel and what do you think of?
Exploration 2: Do you fly in your dreams? Do you think that has any meaning, if you do?
Exploration 3: If given the chance, would you like to learn aerobatics? Why or why not?
I know you were thinking, "If anybody will comment on this blog, WW will." You are sooo intuitive! It amazes me .. okay. I'll comment.
ReplyDelete#; I have lost my fear of flying as we taxi from the building. Wait, wait, wait this builds up to flight. Give me a minute. Brevity isn't my best suit. Even the wife says (all the time) I have an issue with getting to the point quickly enough . . . "Just say 'yes' or 'no'!" Where was I?
I've accepted that I let others seal my fate when I board an airplane. At any point up to the moment, before the front wheels leave the ground, I am free to change course, pull the "STOP! I WANT TO GET OFF!" cord, and return to my grounded life all happy-like, safer, and still in the same place as I was when I got up that morning, life. But no closer to my destination.
So as the G-forces press me into the seat and my co-passenger and I get cozy for a few minutes, the massive beast shudders and bumps -- and lifts into the air like a rocket and we get airborne, leaving my life and everything and everybody I knew moments before, behind. In seconds we are far far above the buildings and the commuter traffic whose headlights and tail lights extend to infinity all land-based directions, and the silvery rivers and the plaid farmlands and rural school buses and twinkling little towns whose businesses have yet to open, and the cabin lights come on and my co-passenger relaxes and I am happy I have not drank anything since I entered the airport and so plan never to leave my seat if I can possibly help it. Because if there's one thing that will shake my decision about being 36,000 feet above the earth, it's seeing it pass immediately under the toilet seat. Hey, I've had pens in my pockets and sunglasses and even my teeth almost sucked down that horrible hole! I've never had to shit so bad that I'd ever set my behind onto that icy-ringed portal, regardless of the special safety harness you have to wear and the heavy-duty handrails that at least afford you some grip -- with the wrist bracelet chains. No, I think ahead. "Uh, nothing to drink for me .."
[I am going to publish this part of my comment before I lose it It has happened a number of times on other posts.. Please stay tuned]
Okay, so whomever is reading this and the above comment and thinking, "Geesus man, yer full of yerself! Why don't you write a blog of yer own?" Well, I do but I won't advertise it here. There's something defeating about writing a blog post and not receiving even a 'thumbs up' emoji comment for your effort. Commenting on my fellow writer's blogs, on occasion, puts at least something in all that dead empty space even if it all blather and makes no sense whatsoever.
ReplyDeleteWriting a blog post, unless you've set it up some way, (and we haven't) doesn't make you any money, but does offer us a public way to express ourselves to hundreds of readers around the world according to our stats, whether they are real or not. Suck it up! We ain't hurting anybody!
So, that out of the way, I'll continue.
I always choose a window seat. I like to look out at the landscape inching its way under the thin-skinned fuselage and two rockets riveted under the flexing aluminum wings. I've taken to wearing earplugs too and kind of like it. I don't have to hear everyone else's conversations or annoying children. When I saw two lap dogs aboard, I was reminded of this blog writers canine attendee, and how her Irish Wolfhound costs her another two seats every time she flie$.
I have thought of the September 11th flights, briefly. And that's usually when I'm safe at home. Having flight experience brings their situation alive for me. But there's no reason to dwell on it -- if you're the least bit worried about flying in the first place. Doesn't help in the slightest.
The majority of my flight experience has been to Boston and back. I flew home from Florida in January of 2019, but the landscape seemed much the same. I anticipate seeing landmarks on the way to Boston like the Great Lakes and Finger Lakes of New York, and what I think resembles the 'smear' of glacial effects, but have never discussed with anyone to affirm. This is apparent in Roseau County too on topographical satellite images: South of Roseau County Road 8 four miles west of its intersection with county road 125, then proceeding west southwest to the Pembina Ridge west of Thief River Falls.
I think hang gliding would be fun and must be as close to the Wright Brother's experience as one can get today. Crashes must have been devastating for them as each piece was probably handmade and one-of-its-kind; I suppose the pilot would bear that description as well.
And that crashing bit, is what stopped me from ever learning to fly on my own. I'm sort of a dunce when it comes to reaction-times, I think. At least I think I lack the necessary speed to address dire issues, an altitude warning alarm being one. Unless you have enough altitude to correct your problem quickly (the way I understand) you're sunk -- and that'd be my luck. I'd have just enough time to gasp,
"I KNEW I SHOULDN'T HAVE TAKEN FLYING LESSONS!" just like when I said, famously,
"I'VE DROPPED THE BINOCULARS OVERBOARD!"
I had a cousin (well, many relatives of a sort) who flew before they got their car licenses and who are familial legends in a small town way. One friend of the family emergency landed by Chairman Joe's garage back in 2001. Its story was published in the September 11th issue of THE RAVEN, coincidentally. Great issue that one. His friend, my sort-of relative, buzzes our house once or twice a month with his float plane on the way to the Lake of the Woods.
Thanks for your long essay about your experiences with flight. You and Erica Jong, author of "Fear of Flying" have a lot in common. (Book not recommended. Talk about self-absorbed!)
DeleteAny-whose, you aren't full of yourself, you are just one of thousands of folks who believe the old adage, "If god meant us to fly, he would have given us wings." Despite that, your stories indicate you are doing very well in staving off the fear of falling which is what the apprehension is all about, isn't it? I think this fear comes from our pre-primitive days when we slept in trees and were always in danger of falling off our branches and falling into the jaws of some large feline.
Yes, I, too, did my first solo flight before I earned by driver's license. Kind of weird, but in a good-goofy kind of way.
"If anybody will comment on this blog, WW will." No, I didn't think that - not of anyone. Being that my niche is poetry, I'm happy that I get to read my own posts. It's the rare occurrence when someone other than you or the Chairman appear in my comments section. Gratitude for that. Poets absolutely must live without expectation that anyone at all will read their poems. Still, true, authentic poets must write their verses as sure as we must breathe. Can't be helped. Breathing here.
As far as piloting yourself, you are correct: More hang glider pilots crash in their tenuous craft than any other kind of air machine. They think jumping off a cliff is great fun. You could also consider a gyrocopter. If you haven't made its acquaintance, it's basically a chair with a helicopter blade spinning overhead. Tricky, yes.
You are wise not to drink much or anything before a flight, even in planes that do have a toilet or two. The air pressure, but more so anxiety cause the bladder to work overtime.
Anyway, I'm glad you are writing about your flying experiences, fears, and courage. It would seem you are developing a taste for "The Blue One." JPS
What I like best about Ghost Flyers is the physical shape of the poem itself. How do you decide whether to center or left align - or something else entirely?
ReplyDeleteThe older I get, the more anxiety I get about flying. It is not as fun as it used to be - but so far so good.
When I read this, I recalled that you are an Amtrak gal now. How long has it been since you flew last? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? In any case, I always enjoy your imagery and turn of phrase.