Trappings

We, who denied the landscape 

 and saw the light of it.

                                     Joan Kane

 

The other time reaches me here, mirroring

tribal things I knew. Catkins quiver

on wet pavement -- fish wavering

near the surface. The cold water ignited by their light.

 

Mist  thrown over the  skyline catching

pigeons in its breath-- a seine cast over the shoreline

trapping what  clings to the morning tide.

The sea's after birth.

 

Straw leaves hang on the Joshua branch

long and leaning sideways in the wind -- fringe

dangles along the hide of a wedding boot . A girl

refuses to wear the ceremonious  shoe. Its fit

too close and narrow. The fleeting deer

felt in its sole.

 

The other time shadows me. Claims what I left

cannot be skinned or shelled. I am its hunt. Instinct its spear.

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What I found (or interpreted) personally in reading the poetry of Jane Koan is this idea of  how the native culture, its connectivity to landscape and primal thought, cannot be denied. It is inherent, almost apart of that people's DNA. And even if they move elsewhere, restless to discover modern life with its technology and different venues, that part of them is more than shadow, a spiritual skin or shell that cannot be shed or pulled off.  That natural/wild sense of time and belief will always haunt, hunt them down. Even if there aspects of the culture that confine or conflict with their immediate needs/wishes, the overall legacy prevails. Its identity is manifested in their minds and perception. The familiar will still mirror its ways and trends in the features of a strange or new landscape. It will follow and remind in subtle but comparative ways.

 

Note -- The painting is by artist, Susan Seddons Boulet.