Tripping Over Poetry – 18 January 2025

The Universe in Verse by Maria Popova was born as a ‘festival of wonder’ sharing stories of discoveries in science and illustrative poems. I can be a little sceptical of the word ‘wonder.’ Perhaps I have encountered a few too many pieces in which an overworked management consultant trips over a tree root, gazes up from the forest floor, discovers that there were birds singing while he was worrying about networking and quits his job so that he can share his wonder with the world. After all, no one else can have noticed.*

Popova has restored the proper sense of awe and admiration to the word. In her collection of short essays, she explores breathtaking scientific discoveries, often noting lesser-known names who played a vital role in these breakthroughs, and pairs them with poems which explicate or elevate these, resulting in a book that does nothing less than search for truth and beauty.

The illustrations by Ofra Amit call to mind Haeckel’s Art Forms in Nature in their colour and detail. The essay on entropy incorporates discussion of poets Mary Ruefle, Edna St Vincent Millay, W. H. Auden and Chester Kallman and is accompanied by a drawing of the heads of two men brought together in an embrace as a plant disintegrates about them and a single tear full of constellations drops from a closed eye.

The delight in erudition reminded me of the trippy poetry collection Origins by Joseph Conlon (featured here), one way of learning about the ‘manic dance’ that began and continues our expanding universe.

I’m looking forward to further encounters with deep time and new scientific insights/stories when The Meteorites by Helen Gordon is published in a couple of weeks’ time.

Our short fiction book group met this week to discuss The Pole and Other Stories by J. M. Coetzee in which characters seek truth and beauty in music, prose and poetry. The stories explore translation and interpretation – of languages and of music, not to mention of facial expressions, gestures and behaviour – and so ask, often playfully, what we owe to one another and to all living creatures.

Similar questions are broached in a dark story (just published but likely written in the 30s or 40s) by Maeve Brennan, The Visitor. Her novella about a young woman returning from Paris to Ireland upon the death of her father is sly. One hunts for clues in the slim dialogue and is knocked off kilter by each character when a rare detail is revealed. The ending has me transfixed and wondering…

What do we owe to each other? A joyful portrayal of the answer may be found in the latest in the Frank and Bert series. Following adventures on bicycles and hunts for missing biscuits, Bert is now learning to play football. I have much to learn from their friendship. Bert has much to learn about football. Thankfully a new and talented arrival, Barbara, is here to assist.

What is it to find a home in this vast universe? The Comet by Joe Todd-Stanton offers warmth and care for Nyla and her father who have been forced to move from what felt like heaven to a very different prospect. The illustrations are particularly stunning, the colour another reminder of Haeckel.

What is it to be a human? The Disaster Diaries by Joanna Nadin, illustrated by Rikin Parekh introduce Daffodil Patterson, about to turn eight and concerned that her birthday may not live up to expectation. It’s looking like no one is going to get her the much-desired pangolin. Possibly not even a sea monkey. Excellent fun despite a passing heron not coming off too well…  

My wondering and wonder will be directed this weekend towards How to Wash a Heart by Bhanu Kapil. This book-length poem is written in the voice of an immigrant addressing their host asking about the place of their body and experiences in someone else’s nation, house and life. The line breaks affect the rhythm so that the reader cannot settle: ‘Can you find your way home / By smell?’ the poem or poet asks, ‘I smell the pollen of the flowers of the mango tree / Which once concealed / A kill.’ One’s unwashed heart misses a beat then pulses too quickly.

May your weekend be full of heart, your universe full of verse and your diary full of pangolins,
Lizzie

*Any resemblance to anyone I know or indeed anyone you know is purely coincidental etc…