Booked

Your reflection seen in one lake will not be the same as that seen in another.

A friend dismisses poetry with tell-tale anger in the wave. She doesn’t understand it, she says. Too much effort. But that’s good I say. What we think we understand too often gets us into trouble.

I want facts, she says. Short, sharp facts. Dangerous, I say. Weapons of mass destruction – certainty’s flaming torches, incendiary speeches, guns. Booked.

Your reflection seen in one lake will not be the same as that seen in another.

All of life continues to evolve throughout the universe. Yesterday’s humanly understood facts inexorably give way to today’s. Vociferously literal understanding, then, of anything, sacred or secular, bible, deity, principalities or rule book, is dangerous. And the dismissive wave can be deadly.

Poetry affords space for contemplation and necessary fluidity – for gladly acknowledged provisionality, and ever changing reflections in the lake.