The Scent of Me

January 28, 2016 By in Art, Poetry Tags: , , , , , , , 38 Comments

~

Dark, my scent the smoke of wood fungus

Hidden, my intimate flesh the sugared amber sap of trees

Returning, my under arms the rotting nurture of fallen leaves

~

The fertile air tentacles

leaving traces

of spores and maple and mold.

Some leave quickly and some take hold.

~

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Poem and painting … j.h.white.

38 responses

    • I appreciate everyone’s comments Bonnie. We are vulnerable, we fleshy ones, without fur, scale, feather or bark. I woke to our first snow this morning! Good thing we have sweaters….!

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  8. the
    seeds
    the woods
    used to scare me
    ~
    I could smell my fear
    ~
    but
    over time
    solitude and interactions, quiet leaves
    dancing frantic spirals in the wind
    ~
    spores, maple, mold
    growth and decay
    order and chaos
    take and hold
    me

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    • Thanks Geo. They do, don’t they….

      I was startled the other day, Geo. I don’t startle often but this realization stopped me. I’ve never asked “nature” (in my heart of hearts)…. “How has it been for you”?

      I’ve always assumed nature to be resilient and somewhat ultimately impervious to human singularity, despite the dents and destruction.

      In physics singularity means. ..”a point at which a function takes an infinite value, especially in space-time when matter is infinitely dense, as at the center of a black hole.”

      And I thought.. perfect description.

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  9. Gorgeous painting, I love the vivid colours and the expression of finding a secret treasure on her face, is wonderful. I wonder what she is thinking. Your poem answers, she has been allowed to see the interior, coursing through her veins.
    It was good to think this through Jana, I hope my interpretation is acceptable to you.

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    • You crack me up Teri…You know how it is. Hearing someone’s interpretation opens up, broadens, expands ones own.

      “Secret treasure” for sure though. Just the wonder of it all, huh? The relevance of the spaces in between things has been coming up lately. What transpires when we allow ourselves to “be there”. Open, responsible for our contribution, and cognizant of response. A cultivated sensitivity in relationship…and with situations beyond our immediate understanding and comfortable reference. Meet you on the trail, Teri!

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      • And what about bubbles – there is inside the bubble and outside the bubble, but what is in-between (this is an excerpt from a short story for children that I have been working on).
        Oh yes indeed Jana, meet you on the trail of many wonderful twists and surprising turns.

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        • Bubbles…I’m going to have to think about this one, Teri. You’ve posed a really good question. I chose to live in places that are set apart …that give the distinct feeling of being separate from the homogeneous cultural collective…whether it’s a piece of land or a city. I think of them as bubbles. I like bubbles…. Wow, good question. I’m hoping you share your story. I can’t wait to read it.

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  10. Enjoying the exchange Jana. I like your thinking of places as bubbles, this is interesting. Lie yourself, I chose to live on the edge of the cultural collective, couldn’t bear to be swallowed in the mix of suburbia, but still take part, albeit on my terms of separateness.
    We have our own bubbles of familiarity, family in this one, friends/lovers in another,etc. and if something occurs that is not in one of our bubbles, we should’nt let it affect us. Safe thinking perhaps, but what happens when the bubble is burst, a new way to be safe has to be found. Perhaps, as your post suggests, some things leave quickly and some take hold.
    Once we know how to read in-between the lines, the trail is full of signposts, and it is so wonderful learning the language.

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  12. Thanks for the wiki-link to Martin Buber. I have come across him before but not really delved into his philosophy, will take another look. Jacques Derrida holds my interest and also, as you say, exploring the spaces in between through the eyes of a child, their simple truths can be quite mind-blowing.

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    • I have always found the natural world erotic, John. Its language is physical and exquisitely sensual. Similar to the wonderful feeling of smearing paint on a surface… especially with my fingers.

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