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An Incomplete Account of How Things Are

__From where I drift,
One hundred meters from the shore,
The elemental thunderous roar
__That’s falling swift

__Is but a sigh
That whispers thoughts into my ear:
Who am I, and, Why am I here?
__The Lord is nigh,

__But I admit,
I’m much more focused on the things
Communion with the ocean brings.
__So here I sit

__In threadbare clothes,
While contemplating higher realms
Where steady angels man the helms.
__I trust God knows

__I only think
About these ontic forms because
The world seems not what once it was—
__I’m out of ink …

.

.

Yonder

Above the clouds, there is another land
Where families reunite and every band
Plays only old familiar Gospel tunes.
That distant shore is known for stable dunes,
Which tell of eons spent on patient care
By entities unnamed who tarry there.

The sand is anchored down with native grasses,
And rising lads play freely with the lasses—
No need for dearly-bought prescription glasses
To see what’s right in front of them.  Their asses

Are safe, and no one needs to fear the lash,
For every debt has been prepaid in cash.
What reason could there be to innovate
When perfect light comes early, also late?
The cosmic order’s rich annuity
Is guaranteed in perpetuity,

Which has a tendency to make us feel
That someone somewhere made an artful deal
To keep this duchy absolutely real,
A place where fancied facts all fractures heal.
.

.

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden.  Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India.  His collection, Mortal Soup and the Blue Yonder was published in 2013 by White Violet Press.

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28 Responses

  1. Drilon Bajrami

    C.B., while I may not be religious by the strict definition, I still do believe in higher states and forms of existence and that we flow in and out of them and your piece “Yonder”, makes me recall some of my own experiences being welcomed home there, and feeling as if I never left. It was like a family reunion with long lost relatives. Words cannot begin to capture it’s picturesque beauty and the existence therein, but your poem does a pretty good job of that regardless. Brilliant poem. (There was even a fridge of Pepsi there too, because heaven definitely has Pepsi.)

    Your other piece describes thoughts that I and doubtless many others have had about existence and its meaning and, in my interpretation, the line “The world seems not what once it was” is piercing because it’s so open to interpretation. I think we are far detached from our natural state in the modern world and our cavemen brains sometimes struggle with the difficulties of modernity when before all that mattered was your next meal and looking after your clan. Wallowing in depression because your clanmate died falling off a cliff, may benefit you because you’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to you or a loved one again. The depression is a net benefit. In modern day, one could be depressed because their life has lost all meaning and they’re in a dead-end job with no upward mobility but here, what can you do about it? Nothing. No wonder there is a mental health crisis in all Western countries when community, care and working together (common in poorer countries where people tend to be happier) are lacking and it’s a dog-eat-dog world. Quite the long tangent there but I hope you get my point.

    Two great poems and I look forward to seeing more, C.B..

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      I’m not certain that religion even has a strict definition, Drilon, but for a long time I have believed that phenomena are shadows (think of Plato’s Cave) of a “higher” world. I don’t know about Pepsi, since I’m more of a Coca Cola guy.

      Think of “The world seems not what once it was” as a more compact and more (I hope) poetic way of saying, “The world as it appears is not what it used to be.” The narrator is complaining to God about the state of the world, but seems unable even to keep himself supplied with sufficient ink to complete his complaint. You make some excellent points, and I am glad you approve of the poems.

      Reply
      • Drilon Bajrami

        I meant definition in the sense that I can’t say I belong to Christianity or Islam etc. but I have my own beliefs. Plato’s cave is one of my favourite allegories and I can see what you’re trying to say. For years, I was a staunch Coca Cola guy, I’d compare Pepsi to Coke like Monopoly money vs the US Dollar. Some years ago, it flipped, but I can drink either and enjoy them.

        So it seems my interpretation was aligned with what you wanted to get across (though even if it wasn’t the case, that would be fine) and I did like the ending of that poem, sometimes when it rains, it pours. We’ve all been there.

  2. Warren Bonham

    Two great ones! I don’t know if that’s a picture of you floating peacefully on the Dead Sea but since you know that angels are skillfully manning the helm, I can well imagine that it might be.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      It’s not me, Warren. I’ve never been to that part of the world, and I’m not especially halophilic.

      Angels usually do as they are commanded, but sometimes there are rebellions even in Heaven.

      Reply
  3. Roy Eugene Peterson

    These are two thoughtful euphoric poems “contemplating higher realms” and “another land where families reunite…” Wonderful images reflecting the hope we have for our future. I also hope you never run out of ink!

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      I try, Roy, to keep my hopes and thoughts about the afterlife from becoming too materialistic or sentimental, but that is something everyone must do in his or her own way. Expressed hope that one never runs out of ink is the best benediction any poet could receive.

      Reply
  4. jd

    I love both these poems. They are so human. Do we ever answer those questions, I wonder? I love the way you have set the first poem up and I don’t think you could have used a better final line for it.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      In a sense, JD, the answer is in the asking: What are we, that we continually ponder the imponderable?

      Reply
  5. Joseph S. Salemi

    These are complementary poems — the first about a nagging dissatisfaction with mundane existence, and the second about a wonderful world beyond it. Kip calls the first “An Incomplete Account…” because that is precisely what most of us realize: existence cannot be fully explained as long as we are on this side of the grave. And let me note in passing, you can be sure you are reading a top-notch poet when he can handle dimeters with ease, and can use “ontic” without batting an eyelash.

    “Yonder” is a homespun image of Paradise — very plain, very no-nonsense, and very American. Rather than being a “Kingdom,” it is content with being a quiet duchy, where we relax, have no cares, and live on a fixed annuity. That description made me smile.

    K.A.N.D.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      You made me think of something else, Joseph: where is it written that we will understand things better once we are on the other side of the grave? Even there, there must be some sort of due process.

      And yes, my visions of Paradise might rightfully cause you to think that I’ve listened to far too much Bluegrass Gospel music. I am sentimental when it comes to white-washed chapels and “The Old Rugged Cross.”

      Dimeter comes easy for me because I am somewhat dimwitted.

      Reply
  6. Margaret Coats

    Your “Incomplete Account” has a clever fade-out ending like many a popular song, C. B. As for “ontic forms” or “entities unnamed” or “fancied facts,” you’ve visualized them well as angels in both poems and in more homely modes in “Yonder.” When I first heard (from a preacher) that angels are responsible for the motions of the spheres, I asked him the impertinent question, “What about gravity?” He questioned back, “And what is gravity?” I later learned in physics that gravity is a force to be reckoned with mathematically. Like all forces in this age of particle physics, it acts by means of an unseen elementary particle–the graviton. Or maybe it manifests itself in some kind of force field, ultimately to be integrated into a simple and elegant universal field theory of “how things are.” Obviously, science has no lack of imagination, but your poetic pictures have more imaginative interest!

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      Not just angels, Margaret; There are entire heirarchies of supra-angelic entities, not to mention the lower-order elemental beings. So much of physics is about saving the appearances, where internal consistency is more important than a relation to anything that’s real. So far, the ToE is an unrealized dream.

      Reply
  7. Brian A. Yapko

    These are fantastic poems, C.B. — that collision of Earthly puzzlement and spiritual transcendence that I love about your work. “An Incomplete Account…” struck me as a very authentic meditation on the meaning of life with an abrupt ending that made me contemplate the question: would any amount of ink be sufficient?

    “Yonder” gave me great pleasure — I love the old hymns that you reference, I worry about the same things you have mentioned and the way you use language always entertains me — maybe even keeps me off balance. To juxtapose “safe asses” with “cosmic order” and “annuity” covers a lot of ground and takes a lot of confidence to pull off — and you do it. But for some reason your word choice “duchy” really strikes me. There are so many other words you could have chosen for a not dissimilar meaning, but they would have been trite. And your work is never, ever, ever trite.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      What, Brian, would too much ink look like? It didn’t have to be “duchy”; it could have been “country,” “landscape” or “biome.” Never forget the Duke of Earl.

      Reply
  8. James Sale

    I particularly enjoyed the ingenious stanzaic enjambment of the second/third stanza of Yonder: …To see what’s right in front of them. Their asses

    Are safe, … The full stop after ‘them’ could so easily have been a colon – we would have understood perfectly – but the full stop gives that extra relish and force! Thanks.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      If I were enjoined from enjambment, then I would have to start learning how to write poems all over again. I think a full stop is much better than a sappy “and furthermore.” Go heavy with the relish.

      Reply
  9. Cheryl Corey

    Both poems are deeply thought-provoking. The word “ontic” jumped out at me as quite striking compared to the rest of the poem’s diction. I’d be interested to know how you came to use such a unique word. One of the things I love about SCP is that I’m continually learning new vocabulary.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      “Ontic,” Cheryl, is simply part of my working vocabulary, no more arcane than, say, “elemental” or “entity.” I needed the word to express the idea of something more real than worldly phenomena.

      Reply
    • Joseph S. Salemi

      Ontic – having to do with being, existence, reality, and objective fact, as opposed to ideas, fantasies, illusions, dreams, thoughts, or mere phenomena.

      Explicatory example: Egalitarianism and utopia are illusory. Wealth and poverty are ontic.

      Reply
  10. Alan Orsborn

    I also noted and liked “ontic,” a word I will now place in my vocabulary flashcards. I knew ontological, but not it’s ontic roots. Ontological questions and metaphors while floating in an ocean seems very human, we’re always floating in a sea of ontic questions.

    I also very especially liked how the the second poem opened and hearkened back to “many years ago in days of childhood, I used to play till evenin’ shadows come, and wanderin’ down the old familiar pathway…”, Anyway, you get the picture. The idea of a transcendent Blue Grass duchy is so incongruous…

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      As the songs go, Alan, when I die I want them to carry my bones back to Kentucky, and any place there’s bluegrass is home sweet home to me. You might not know this, but not too long ago bluegrass (Poa) was chosen to represent the entire grass family (formerly Gramineae).

      Reply
  11. Susan Jarvis Bryant

    C.B., just to say “An Incomplete Account of How Things Are” describes beautifully and perfectly where I’m at with my life at present. Frustratingly, I tried to put it into words but couldn’t – where this topic is concerned, I’m out of sync and ink. For me, this poem couldn’t be more complete… the narrator has let me know I’m not the only one… and that makes me feel whole. Thank you.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      Much is expected of scribblers like us, but who among us is capable of solving the entire universe? We do what we can, eradicating one weed at a time, but the weeds will always be with us. Chin up!

      Reply
  12. Daniel Kemper

    They do seem meant to be read together as certain sets of parables are. As far as an ontic point of reference, the floating in the sea is a never un-fresh metaphor, especially The Salt Sea with its historic resonances.

    Regarding this: “What reason could there be to innovate.” One could equally recognize heaven as a place of perpetual innovation, renovation, renewal!

    Back to the ontic point of reference. I had a little mischievous fun in a lit theory class recently. Going through all the Derrida/Kristeva semiotics which cannot find a point of ground, they then declare, in black swan fashion, that there must be none.

    “Did they ever consider the word, “word,”? I not-so-innocently asked. Much developed after, but not to hijack the thread.

    “The world seems not what once it was—
    __I’m out of ink …”

    I keep hearing Amazing Grace, somehow: The world will soon dissolve like snow, C.B run out of ink/That’s not quite how the stanza goes/At least that’s what I think…”

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      A great comment, and I am very interested. All claims are arguable, and everything is grist for the mill.

      Reply
  13. Joshua C. Frank

    I especially love the form of the first one. I’ll have to try something like that myself.

    Reply
    • C.B. Anderson

      Nonce forms are sui generis and free for the making. The craft consists of following through in successive stanzaic iterations.

      Reply

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