Chris Rice Cooper
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Michael
Fitzgerald-Clarke’s Poetry Anthology Let
the Sea Find its Edges:
“The Edges of The Human Spirit”
Christina Murphy in the forward “Prooemium” describes the poetry
collection as “a volume of poetry that explores the
philosophical, metaphorical, and psychological implications and meanings of the
sea.”
Murphy further writes: “The
original core of Let the Sea Find its
Edges began as the 101 sonnets Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke wrote in
exploration of the sonnet form and also the sea as metaphor. Upon the completion of the sonnets,
Fitzgerald-Clarke invited a number of his poet friends to write poems that also
used the sea as a key image.”
As I read this poetry collection I
noticed that the majority of the poems do not mention the sea literally or
metaphorically. I asked Michael
Fitzgerald-Clarke via an email interview what his definition of the sea is and
how all of the poems in this collection apply to his definition of the
sea. His response is italicized in
blue below :
“For me, the
sea is a symbol, in the broadest, most expansive way. I see it as, in
part, an element (along with fire, earth and air), in part a representation of Carl Jung's (far right) collective unconscious, in part an expression of the universal feminine,
and more. I've heard it said that we know more about the surface of the
moon than we do about the bottom of the ocean.
Ocean.
Sea. They have a similar cadence with me. The main distinctions I'm
latently mindful of are that seas can be landlocked (the Dead Sea, the Caspian
Sea, and so on), they can be part of an ocean, but an ocean can't be part of a
sea.
The genesis
of the book is that I set myself to pen one hundred sonnets in twelve
months. Initially, the sea theme wasn't articulated. A Canadian
friend coined the book's title some way in, from a line in one of the sonnets,
and for reasons of her own. Yes, my sea symbolism has the risk, in this
context, of being near-infinitely elastic and losing meaning. I
acknowledge that, and the contrast of yin and yang, each being different
yet intrinsic.
So, yes, in
practice the poems didn't need to mention the sea. I trusted in the
Unconscious. (right, "More" by Edward Tomek 1971) I believe that poetical meaning is not always known to the
poet as they write. I wish my works to allow as many levels as a
reader can find.
I am an
admirer of the Surrealists. (left Andre Breton, founder of the Surrealist Movement) The order of the sonnets was determined from
a lucky draw by my friend Irina. Yes, a numbering of 1 to 100 in conventional order was an obvious way to do it, but I believe that in our
waking dream, the "randomness" of the book's order is a manifestation
of the Unconscious. The book as published allows the reader to enjoy
these synergies, or not. I myself almost always will read poetry books
randomly, not from cover to cover in order. (Below "The Persistence of Memory" by Salvador Dali)
As the book
evolved -- I shared the sonnets on e-mail as I penned them -- it seemed a good
idea to have some of my literary friendship group contribute their take on
it. At the writing's conclusion (other than the “Prooemium”) it was my
call to have the two parts in their published order. Some of my
friends and contributors felt it would be best to have my work first. I
felt that I didn't want my friends' work to be seen as an afterthought.”
In
the prose poem “Let the Sea Find its Edges" (page 5) Gaetane Burkolter describes
the sea as being a stranger to herself in a foreign land.
The sun, the air, the
water, the food, the people, the very ‘way
we do
things round here’ are all so different from what I have known for
more
than three
decades. So different from what I
imagined, too. I started to wonder not
whether I knew this place, but whether I knew myself.
In
“Boundaries” Glenda Ferguson describes the sea as the moody person trying to seek
his or her outermost limit or highest expectations.
So where are the edges
of the sea? Just about anywhere the sea
decides
its edges will be,
depending on its mood. I see this as a
metaphor for
people, our goals and
aspirations and our interactions with each other.
An edge can be
considered a boundary – something that defines a space
and time occupied by a
person, a mind, a heart. But are these
boundaries
constant? Are they finite? I would argue that people are like
the sea, constantly
seeking to find their edges.
In
the next to the last stanza she gives advice to the individual how they should
handle the sea within themselves and within other people.
So perhaps we should approach others as we do
the sea – with some
expectations based on our past experiences (after
all, the sea is always
the sea – it is the edges that change) but realising
that the boundaries we
think of as encompassing others may have
changed and we need to
keep an open mind and an open heart
Glenys
Dawn McIver (August 2, 1949 – November 16, 2015), in her poem “Let The Sea Find
Its Edges" (Page 14), describes her dying self as literally the space between
the continents that shift erratically.
She is the sea, the space between the continents; and the shifting
continents are her boundary – always changing – but always the boundary of
death.
My hospital life is
between continental plates which are shifting fearfully,
hit me with jagged edges, but do not submerge me. There is
nothing
labeled “joy”, but I can see some patterns I call acceptance, fear, relief,
terror. They may also
be pearls and sea glass.
McIver yearns to see the sea but due to
her illness she cannot. Even still the
sea is still within the boundaries of her brain where she is able to remember
the sea’s waves like sparkling jewels.
She then compares the jewels of the sea to her sick body and the
medicine that does not seem to be working properly.
Organs of the body find their new
equilibrium. The nurses call my drug
“Gem” and while meditating
I see a golden jewel.
In
the last stanza McIver differentiates the sea from the ocean; finds the
strength to see the sea through Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke’s 101 Sonnets; and
finds the wisdom to see the sea as a peaceful place for her to inhabit, even
after death.
I read Michael’s
sonnets and try to imagine the whole of the ocean, but
the word “sea” brings
me back to a smaller, more gracious expanse.
There are inland seas
as well as those of the ocean. They find
their own
edges, as will I.
It
is important to note that the moon determines the tides and gravitational
effects of the sea, the ocean. (above, attributed to George Grie. FU) In Thom the World Poet’s poem “Let The Sea Find Its Edges" (Page 17) the sea is in the
belly of the speaker of the poem and the moon calls this sea into a journey or
experience of new self-identification.
water sloshes in my
belly
wishing release. As soon as free
rushing through earth
to sea
Moon calls me. Eye follow tides
to some waved
beach. Sap and return
Learn movement and
form
Time as a measurer of
itself alone
Stones later with this
brief life’s barometer
eye drink oceans sans
salt as soda and as cola
Sugar dissolves. Slat sweats deserts. I am this planet.
Dennis Thomas’s “Cutting through Time” which
could be described as a flash prose poem, is an example of Fitzgerald-Clarke’s
definition of the seas as applied to the Unconsciousness of Carl Jung.
In
the poem parts of the sea separate from other parts of the sea which results in
an earthquake type of experience described as flames, water, celestial
activity, vegetation affecting every sense of the human mind until there is
death or reincarnation into a perfect nothingness in the form of rosy beads
dissolving in the speaker of the poem’s hand.
In the end this perfect nothingness is the new identity of the sea now
reincarnated into fireflies shining in the speaker-of-the-poem’s hand over the
expanse of the Zodiac or sky or space. The
turbulent fragmented sea is no longer turbulent but calm and full of light in
the darkness of the turbulent. It is
almost a paradox – how can a hand of shifting turbulence hold fireflies at
peace?
Crossed stage, flames
burning so bright, subjugation in ideals moor
quivers, water, in
breathing tides, starts above, muddle, perfect transit,
night cancellation,
reborn, in luminous mirror, as tides blow in
vegetation pleasure,
odd smell, lush, renewal, nostrils quiver, incense
home, instance smell,
night change, recedes, deepens, fragments of
wisdom, old days lost
inside slide, rosy beads, dissolving in my hand,
fireflies, flooding,
in darkness, in a shifting zodiac.
The second portion of the book consists
of 101 sonnets by Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke.
In “Sonnet 18 for Roby” the speaker
of the poem is watching the people he cares for suffer and then helps them heal
through spiritual means.
Then the speaker of the poem walks along
the harbor and studies the reflection in its waters. The reader is not told what the speaker of
the poem sees. Could it be a reflection
of himself? A reflection of the
sky? Or the heavens? Or the people he
cares for? All we know is that as he studies these reflections he experiences a
spiritual freedom.
With this spiritual freedom the speaker
of the poem is able to offer spiritual assistance to his fellow man. It is this spirituality that enables him to
open many cages and free his fellow human man.
The speaker of the poem then describes
himself as a boat that produces its own light – and this light reflects “waters
of self” a new identity that includes all who share in this spiritual realm
This
poem could have been in the voice of the four fishermen who Jesus called to be
His disciples: Peter and his brother
Andrew; and brothers James and John. (far left, "The Call" by Jorge Orlando Cocco Santangelo)
Sonnet 18
for
Roby
I listen and I
offer. Sydney is a cornucopia
or a nightmare of
chance; your lives are
known to me because
your cards were dealt
adversely – as another
hand is played, I help
you heal, knowing life
will play many more
roiling tricks; for
which my gift to you is spiritual
centredness;
equanimity. As I walk in the bright,
sultry evenings, I
watch the reflections on the harbor,
and drink in its
freedom. I have opened many cages;
helped nourish many to
wholeness, and they all are
with me now, invisible
connected companions.
It is only when my
head is upon my pillow that
I merge beyond human
connection: I am a boat,
I am many lights
shining up the waters of self.
In “Sonnet 20” the speaker of the poem
prays for those who cross his path, mostly strangers he sees in a mall; and
he asks God if he can meet the people he prays for in Heaven. This prayer makes all of us a part of this
great ocean and its unlimited boundaries; and it makes us realize that in the
poetry world and the spiritual world there are no strangers.
Breath. Love. Breath. Love.
Dear God of many strange,
wondrous things, thankyou for each stranger
on our multifarious,
Earth,
