Aestivation Anyone?
or
Time to Stop Your Hibernation. Be Aware of Springtime Aestivation
Hibernation is an extended period of remaining inactive or indoors. This is not a bad description of what poets do most of the time when they are immersed in their writing. I started thinking about hibernation and aestivation last Thursday, 11 March 2021, as I glanced out the window where snow flurries were having their way with Spring – T-minus 5 days if you are reading this post on Monday, 15 March – to the Spring Equinox.
So far, at this writing, we have had a relatively bearable winter compared to our sisters and brothers in the Northeast sector of Minnesota who got the full catastrophe from the “almost spring” blizzard that blew through the State last night and dumped 10-12 inches wherever it darn well pleased. Such an event is not atypical for our “Minnesnowta.” We can bet the ice rink that every March at least one snow-doozie will descend on us. Maybe it’s the Iditarod Sled Dog Race excitement in the air. The mushers slushed off on March 7th and will finish back in Anchorage sometime the week of the 15th. But I’m off on a tangent.
March 20th is the Spring Equinox and the first day of Spring. Animals who have spent various portions of the winter in a dormant state (or torpor) are blinking their eyes and noticing they are very, very hungry. The weather in our region was unbelievably balmy during the first ten days or so of March. So, warm, in fact, that temp records fell all over the State. But here we are, winter today; spring tomorrow – and so it goes as Spring coughs and sputters to life in the grand expanse of borderland weather.
So, let’s see what the season of somnolence and introspection and archetypes offers. I’ve combed sites that specialize in obscure poets and come up with a few poems on the subject as a dual fanfare of farewell to the lethargies of winter and welcome to the relatively get-up-and-go of Spring and Summer.
Rowan Carrick, September 2011
We didn’t used to be this way, (I don’t think)
All I want is for you to hold me
We talked about staying in bed
For the rest of the year
Hibernating, like a couple
Of bears in the snow
I would have, if I’d known about winter
David Badgerow, November 2012
"this is our new thing"
you sigh as we lie on your bed
fully clothed on top of each other
on top of your down blanket.
you stuck needles in my arm
and i stuck needles in your arm
"we both deserve this"
i whisper into your eyelid
with cigarette breath
underneath four months
of hibernation teeth.
William Worthless, December 2013
there was little hedgehog as cute as cute can be
he lives in my garden beneath my willow tree
he comes out at night so he can have a play
when the dawn returns he sleeps the day away
then at winter time and it begins to snow
into his hibernation the little chap will go
waiting for the spring and sun begin to soar
hedgehog will return and roam around once more
neth jones, Montreal – November 2015
When I passed into hibernation
My tastes began to sour
Birds of prey
And emergency vehicles seemed to attend
It's for medicinal purposes
I'm in hibernation again
For it's that time of year
I've left my blood under soup skin
And my mind's in books and pieces
Winter passes
Perhaps time to take on life once again
And the disease-beats in between ?
The seasonal change excites me
My heart beat increases
And returns to normal
My breathing quickens
My blood wakes me
The seasonal change excites me
My feet were turning black
My eyes were folded heavy
Now I'm flowing back
Victory !
My blood likes my limbs now
And I take in moisture through the skin
I lick my lips for the sensation
And my thought tilts with sin
I stretch to my full height
...but cramp up :
Hey !
This doesn't belong !
This is muffled
This is unsane !
I exercise my muscles
Then shrink back in pain
It's not meant to be ...
Hibernation once again.
Background
Before I searched poems on hibernation, I doubted I would find any. As you see above, I found several, and these aren’t the only ones. It appears that at least a few poets find the subject worth their attention. Maybe hibernation’s attraction for poets is the “going within” – as it’s said in Death of a Salesman – “you must go into the jungle to fetch a diamond out.” Maybe in latitudes that actually experience the seasons, including real winters as in feet of snow and below zero temps, allow time for staying indoors contemplating, and noticing more than in warmer times the tiny rhythms of our hearts beating.
Finally, I observed that hibernation is a kind of temporary death. I think the French term, “La petite mort” captures the essence of winter and hibernation. The term means a brief loss or weakening of consciousness. The term has sexual content, but not always. I choose to think of this “little death” as the state of reduced consciousness wherein the poet’s psyche opens to the realm of inspiration and creativity.
Exploration 1: Are you still hibernating, so to speak? Humans can’t, so that’s a moot question. However, bear with me and imagine: If you could, would you like to hibernate from November through March? For our purposes, let’s assume you live in Wannaska, Minnesota.
Exploration 2: Would it be prudent to wake up a hibernating bear? Your hibernating spouse?
Exploration 3: Do animals poop during hibernation? If so, how much? Aw, come on. Take a wild guess!
I used to love winter so much that, one time, me and a friend drove up here from Des Moines to experience 38 below; people thought we were crazy. It was a memorable trip.
ReplyDeleteI remember a doctor telling me that Arizona would be more favorable to my asthma than would the temperature extremes of northwestern Minnesota; inferring that the ingestion of subzero air into lungs would have negative effect somehow, etc, etc. I told him I hate extremes of heat and the arid landscape of the SW, but love the arctic regions as if it's in my blood; and maybe it is part of my Scandinavian ancestry; the other parts just being ornery and illogical.
As I said, I used to love winter, but not as much as some people who were born up here who owned snowmobiles and went ice fishing. They love winter. In comparison, I just like winter. They love winter and make it a family affair of snowmobile trail riding and poker runs from bar to bar, and cabins on the lake with friends, etc, etc; wild and woolly stuff. I like winter's quiet, woodland acres of untrammeled snow, glimpses of grey owls, snowshoeing or cross-country-skiing (back in the day) a campfire in the evening; friends with similar passion.
Hibernation is sometimes necessary; if but for a short while when temperatures plummet to 40 below and remain there for a couple weeks on end. There's no point, except as emergency to go out in it; or, in one instance I remember, to bring our newborn infant daughter home, in January of 1987, here, when it was 46 below. Try putting that entirely wrapped bundle into a car seat.
Yes, there is something in the air at those lower temps that invites a diehard Minnesotan to bundle up real real good, face mask and the whole catastrophe, and venture out for a dog walk, the pups with their own little booties.
DeleteI lived in San Diego long enough to be certain that a Californian’s idea of “cold” was walking past an air conditioner in a damp leotard. It’s all relative, eh? Arizona? Those people don’t even have “cool” in their vocabularies much less “cold.” Up here, at 20 degrees is “cool”; 10 degrees is “a bit nippy”; zero is a conversation started; 10 below “chilly”; 20 below people start regularly saying, “Cold enuf for ya?” Thirty below, we might watch a ball game before jumping on our snowcats; forty below – that’s when we dress up real good and put on our face masks and mukluks.
As for asthma (I have it, too), I’ll take that malady any day compared to living in hell in AZ or other such places. The tropics is worst. Oh, and as far as any love of any weather, I don’t go for the “in your blood” theory. I’m half Arab, and above I’ve given you my opinion of hot weather. To heck with “dry heat.”
ReplyDeleteI read once the early settlers in New England used to send grandma and grandpa into the unheated attic to enter a torpid state to stretch out the food supplies.
I like winter because I don’t feel guilty about not working outside. I’m free to work on my French proficiency. The bad part of winter is less sunlight and spending the night in the ditch during a blizzard.
If was a hungry cave man, me and my friends would look for a sleeping bear’s hole. We’d poke spears into his flesh until he died. Soon we’d be gorging on bear meat. Sure it’s dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing.
As for hibernating spouses, I always let sleeping wives lie, because I don’t know what I’m doing when they wake up.
A wife who fabricates her communications and eschews truth-telling should also lie out in a snowbank at 43 below until she fesses up.
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