When does the act of ‘seeing’ (as understood in the visual thinking routine of ‘See, Think, Wonder’, used to initiate both analytical and creative inquiry in learners of all ages) become the point of entry into the reflective (think), and, of exit into the critical or creative (wonder) wormhole, where multiple possibilities of interpretation, await the arrival of the one who wishes to see? While teachers may reflect on what is needed to create the ‘space’ that can facilitate this ‘arrival’ for their learners, in pursuit of both the critical and the creative, this blogpost is not about pedagogical decisions. At least not all of it. Instead, it is a personal reflection on the complexities of ‘seeing’ as a poet. What does it mean to ‘see’, ‘think’, and ‘wonder’ to create a poem On sad afternoons? How does poetic curiosity, evoked by the act of seeing, allow the poet to enter, exit and arrive at the he(art) of the search? And then, perhaps, not. And so, without promising an arrival at any point of certainty, let’s begin.
In their book, practices of looking: an introduction to visual culture (2000), Marita Sturken and Lisa Cartwright offer a hermeneutic approach of ‘looking’ at visual texts in postmodern culture. As a teacher, I have used their approach to pedagogically enrich the critical reading, analysis and interpretation of visual texts in my high school teaching. While the act of ‘looking’ at a visual text, constructed in postmodern culture for a postmodern audience, may become an act of ‘seeing’ for my students, that I can appreciate in many of the critically rich analyses they offer in their responses, I would like to make it clear that the discussion in this post steers away from the critical practice of ‘looking’ at visual texts and instead, focuses on the creative act of ‘seeing’, in the context of the creative writing of poetry.
And so, with a sigh of relief, I leave behind the web of hermeneutic readings and turn to the act of ‘seeing’ without it. While the literary critic in me recognizes that this is an imagined closure, the poet must assume a detachment and disconnection in relation to it. It is only when it is able to shut its eyes to the need to define and justify the objective and context of its search, that the poet is able to stumble and see in the dark and lose its way in the light in the wormhole of creativity. It is here in the uncanny abyss, where the familiar turns unfamiliar, and vice versa, that a poet is most likely to ‘un-see’ to make sense of all that is waiting behind the walls of perception it has built around itself. Waiting for it to be able to see.
And so, I do. All it requires is that I be present. In the now. Without filters.
A wet green leaf, floating in the rain water of my cobbled porch is enough to draw me in. I allow myself to open my eyes and see, as if for the first time:
The boundaries in which
Each cobblestone
Is defined
Fixed
Cemented
Unable to question
Or challenge
The function it serves
*
Conformity
Will never allow it to experience
The sheer vibrancy of self-assertion
Of a wet green leaf
That chooses to float freely
In the rain water that has gathered
Above the fixed definitions
Of its cobblestones.
*
And it makes me wonder. When did I detach myself from the act of ‘seeing’ the physical leaf to assign metaphoric significance to not only its existence but its relationship to the water and the cobblestones? Why does the image evoke conflicting metaphors of freedom and confinement? What does it say about my interpretation of it?
And as the literary critic hovers close with questions, that put into doubt the neutrality of the one who sees, the poet moves on. Would I have been able to write all of these poems had the poet in me stopped to pay heed to the critic and its hermeneutic reading of each poem? No. I am quite sure. And so, it is ironic that the generative nature of the creative act of seeing has continued simply because each poem has not been made to question the function it serves.
And so, bit by bit, the simple things that I have stopped to see, think and wonder about On sad afternoons have come together and survived in the nooks and corners of an unseen wormhole. A number of images have drawn me to the brink of it. Some in the form of pictures and photos, found while scrolling through Instagram; some tugging as memories from a past life and some lingering in the mind as thought and emotion loops of deep love and loss, weaving narratives of their own. And so, the quiet moments beside the barred window of my kitchen; a spectacle of light outside my bedroom window; Sydney’s impeccable blue skies and the many moments of ‘arrival’ brought sharply into focus by the newness of the urban and wild landscapes experienced during my travels across different countries, all come together in this collection.
And as I bring the discussion to a close, I cannot help reflecting on the pedagogical application of my inquiry in this blogpost: What would I need to support the writers in my class to see, think, wonder and create a work of he(art)? Would it be an image or a powerful memory? A thought loop or a green leaf on a cobbled stone? While the inspirations that can take these young writers to the wormhole are many, I am certain of one thing. A work of he(art) can only be arrived at if the writer is granted the permission to stumble freely upon its reflections, to explore its way forward in an unseen wormhole, where it is not bound to the boundaries of forms and structures and criteria but allowed to fully experience the sheer vibrancy of its many self assertions.