Selecting Joy
ON happiness, Laurie Lee, Silence and Adaptation
‘The state of pleasurable contentment of mind; deep pleasure in or contentment with one’s circumstances.’, states the OED when I entered ‘happiness’. If circumstances are wonderful shards of stained glass- the contents of one’s history, environment and identity, then everyone knows that happiness is relative. But what of Joy- a different, shorter abstract noun, how does it differ and what connotations does it carry? I think joy, in a sense, is a feeling much more intense and immediate - one that inevitably must pass off into the obscure regions of memory. If happiness is a state which embodies good fortune, stability and good prospects, then joy is an intuitive basking in light. The passage of autumn and its recognisable scarlet and rusty scent and its discernible beauty is coming to a gradual end- November is not too far behind. In truth, I have only mentioned a trivial metaphor of amber because right now I am wearing a humongous ring that glistens, but I do think it is fake amber. Those delicate moments which I desperately attempt to solidify or capture in my sap of poetry into amber die away with weak embers. I must confess- I Run with a capital ‘R’ a lot and trust my faulty intuition because I cannot classify emotions. For example, from A-Level results day I do not remember feeling satisfied or ambitious or excited- but I do remember that my family took me to Slad Valley very kindly. I remember the quiet benches, the beeches from Frith Wood, the quiet, soberly trek on the side of the busy road. I remember (and it is making me smile now) that somebody had converted the local chapel into a home- this fascinates me greatly in terms of architectural design.
You see, I don’t necessarily understand the logistics of life, the pervasive pursuit of waking and aching and achieving, partially because I am restless, partially because of fear. But poets understand and understood the cosmic, the great stars which translate from eyes - people’s great passions are like music to me. Furthermore, I cannot pin point the reason for writing this - sometimes thoughts and writings go very much unseen. As does suffering.
What I wish to remember when the panic subsides
when the cowardice is released
when I knew my own tired eyes
do not reveal the malingering, malicious truth.
Praying is remembering so my task for the next few weeks is to learn this poem off by heart. If anyone reads this: what do you wish to recite in moments of anxiety and perhaps, of rapture?
‘The flora and fauna of Laurie Lee’s Slad Valley’
On Beacon Hill
Laurie Lee
Now as we lie beneath the sky,
Prone and knotted, you and I,
Visible at last we are
To each nebula and star.
Here as we kiss, the bloodless moon
Stirs to our rustling breath; Saturn
Leans us a heavy-lidded glance
And knows us for his revenants.
Arching, our bodies gather light
From suns long lost to human sight,
Our lips contain a dust of heat
drawn from the burnt-out infinite.
The speechless conflict of our hands
Ruffles the red Mars’ desert sands
While coupled in our doubled eyes
Jupiter dishevelled lies.
Now as we loose the knots of love,
Earth at our back and sky above,
Visible at last we gather
All that is, except each other.