I've tried the new moon tilted in the air
Above a hazy tree-and-farmhouse cluster
As you might try a jewel in your hair.
I've tried it fine with little breadth of luster,
Alone or in one ornament combining
With one first-water start almost shining.
I put it shining anywhere I please.
By walking slowly on some evening later,
I've pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,
And brought it over glossy water, greater,
And dropped it in, and seen the image wallow,
The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.
There's magic in the moon. It is as if it is attached to an immeasurable amount of leashes that drag it everywhere an individual decides to roam. I love how the Milky Way seemingly corrodes it away with each passing phase. But no matter from what angle or body you see it in, it remains the same.
Sitting on my front stairs in Glenview Illinois I gaze up and envision the moon in its full phase, even though it is partially obscured by hazy cloud. If my aunt were to sit on her front stairs in California she would see the same thing. And if my cousin on the balcony of a suave apartment in New York could take the time to ignore the shining lights of the city and tilt his head up to the sky, he too would the same craters as me.
What if I were the fish that jumped out of the ocean to see my iridescent scales illuminate in the white reflection of the moon on the surface of the water? What if I was the wolf who cried "moon" almost every night? What if I were the satellite practically having a face to face conversation with the moon?
However, this astrological rock is much more than its physical appearance makes it out to be. From ancient times it was emphasized to be spiritually important. The beginnings of religion saw it as a figure to worship in forms of gods and goddesses. Before the 60s, touching it seemed impossible, but somehow we came together set our sights on conquering it and succeeded. On one hemisphere it signals the end of the day, where on the other it signals the early beginning. Yet no matter when or how one sees it, the moon has defied the ends of time and the farthest of distances to remain entirely universal.
Frost's poem emulates its connectivity. It defies time, it defies space, and it defies meaning. I'd like to think that no matter what the moon represents, or from what angle one sees it, its magnetic pull binds us to our history and each other. Maybe I'm a little far-fetched here, and some would probably say that this claim is a stretch, but this is how I see it from where I stand. See, that's what I love about the moon. I'd like to think that no matter who I am, what I am, where I am, how I am, when I look at the cratered rock that orbits the very diverse and distant earth we live on, I am connected to everything.
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ReplyDeleteWow this was a good blog post. The first thing that really struck me was how you wrote it-your writing was just as poetic as Robert Frost's, and I saw it fit to answer a poem in such a way. There was an ethereal complexity to your writing that I really appreciated, especially in the "leashes that drag it everywhere" phrase. Your writing style conveyed just as much meaning as the words that you said, and that's remarkable. I also like the poem and the meaning that you gleaned from it. We have this eternal space rock right in front of us for everybody to see, but do we realize the true beauty or timelessness of it? I think you do, but so many of us don't. You managed to reawaken my awe in the moon and inspire me to not take it for granted anymore, to use it as a mechanism to connect myself to the world. Good job, Kali!
DeleteWhat made me decide to reply to your blog was that you had a poem by Robert Frost, which is my absolute favorite author! However, I'd never heard this particular poem before, and that definitely intrigued me, as well as your point that the moon is somewhat of a universal orb, tying the entire world together; that's a pretty powerful statement. It reminded me of instances during trips down South to Ecuador, Guatemala, Costa Rica, Mexico, and Honduras, all of which are in the same time zones we are here in Northbrook (or Glenview), Illinois. When night would fall in this foreign places, the moon would shine even more brightly than here (in those places we were in remote places, hence not many things were lighting up the night) and the stars, however different the constellations, were shining even more brightly. One particular instance I gazed up at the night sky and I had almost the exact same thought you did in your blog, that the moon is timeless and universal, and everyone on Earth sees it the way we do. I was in Puerto Lopez, Ecuador, a small and completely run down fishing village with infinite charm and the sweetest people. We (my mom and my two friends who were traveling with us) were walking along the vast beach, the Pacific Ocean warm to our toes and the sand course yet soft as we dragged our feet through it as we hoped to avoid stepping on jellyfish. The sun was setting on the horizon, turning the sand covered shack-bars behind us a gorgeous shade of pink and orange, staining the waters the same, and the sun sinking into the ocean. Then, after the sun's parting, a moment of orangey-yellow sky dimmed into shades of navy and purples until the moon was visible peeking through the clouds. It was around 8:30 at night, and I had the sudden thought that my dad or my brother at home could be looking at the exact same moon that very instance, admiring it and knowing that were gazing at it too. Even today when I see the moon I still think of the people in Puerto Lopez, and also all the small villages still able to appreciate the moon at night without electronic illuminations, and how, no matter the distance, we still have that one orb tying us together.
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