By Michael P. Collins
selections from a book-length sequence
Sunrise
Morning. Alone by the water. Walking through dreams seeming
to mean nothing in this waking. Water still as ever. Absent
the slightest breeze. Little birds skittering
over the tiny harbor bed islands, revealed, abandoned
only by low tide, as if they fear disturbing what I wish
into this picture perfect mirror: Two suns. One still
ascending, beginning to sweat my skin, the other
trapped by water on its surface, an image burning
without heat. A nebula of tiny bugs claims my sight.
Can’t reason these worlds back together.
Genesis
by the water in the summer winter seems a nightmare
i welcome in near ecstasy wind whipping through
your cool fingers brushing as if to persuade me
sweat from my forehead from delicate images
your breath whispering of ever gentle immortals
conch songs over my ears exquisitely dreaded
the force of your greater immanent expressions
being pressed against me angel i know you here in flesh
i will not release you until you bless me
Self-Portrait
The sun’s warmth had once seemed to blend all waters
together in one harbor; winter’s star lends
only light, and ice remembers that it is
a separate temporal being, slender life struggling
to live within the patient, quiet currents
as they give it shape, their movements keeping it
translucent; otherwise he could not look down
and see the dark waves palpitate their rhythms
underneath it, could not perceive this giant,
ancient heart through that impossible eyesight
the soul guides from here into its other world,
disclosed by what imagines to contain it.
Seawall
I walk along the mortared stones
designed to contain high tide.
White flecks speckle their surface;
once they were clams’ shells cast down
to be shattered by hungry gulls
with eyes and instincts and no words
to name an act murder. Nature, pure
transformation. Instantly
the world is only this cycling;
there is nothing
I must render.
The Importance of Arts, Culture & The Creative Process
The creative process begins when we offer our conscious attention to some other phenomena that cannot be fully understood. Whether the initial, connective spark of insight or perspective arises from our own meditations or contemplations, observations of our social or natural worlds, or others’ work, our own creative process begins in deep attention. On the one hand, the creative process by which we make something from these engagements is important because it allows others to experience such novel prisms of new understanding; however, the creator is also transformed in their interactions with and considerations of their work, newly awakened to enmeshment within a world with many other lives, views, and mysteries. We often focus on the created work as a contribution to culture and society, but the sharing of the creative process itself is just as important a way of offering continual reinvigorating challenge and connection to each individual.
Tell us something about the natural world that you love and don’t wish to lose. What are your thoughts on the kind of world we are leaving for the next generation?
The poems I have selected from my second full-length collection, Appearances, were inspired by different images and experiences that introduced themselves on walks near the harbor shore close to my home. Some are images that seemed, to me, related to consciousness itself, often consciousness in the process of perception and self-perception. Some poems are framed by the images themselves; others explore natural movements that similarly connect with, mirror, or simply inspire the genesis and cultivation of creative work. Although the poems grew out of deep experiential and meditative connection with the observed natural world, the collection points beyond itself to the many unfathomable worlds in and around Earth. To be sure, the natural world provides essential, life sustaining resources, some of which, from my perspective, are the kinds of engagements with the deeper self that I write about, in which nature offers pathways of psychological and spiritual exploration and insight that are different from those in other contexts. That said, every time I interact through poetry with material from the natural world, I am reminded of what a small microcosm I am actually encountering, how many worlds of worlds unimaginable to me are interconnected with this small, perceivable window I am looking though in my physically located senses and reflections. This sense of included smallness may seem naïve or quaint, as we have also used our powers of creation to cultivate the power to destroy these worlds, yet, it is possible that our valuing of our relationship with the world of our arising may even deepen through our understanding of our deep psychological need for connection with it, our necessarily conscious choices to care for its wellbeing as our own.
