The New2 Sincerity? The New Spirituality?
I’m in casual conversation with Weston Cutter over on the Kenyon Review blog this week. Here’s a link to Part 1:
This seems to be what the zeitgeist is saying right now: “We meant it as a goof but somewhere on the way we became believers.” Or something like that.
My earlier post on the subject, for context:
Here are a couple poems to go along with. First, an example of what might be called New2 Sincerity:
You are in a very high tree.
If you jump
you will live a full life
You will get married
to a hummingbird
and raise beautiful part-
You will die of cancer
I will not lie.
It will be painful.
You are a brave little boy
And second, an example of New Spirituality:
Hawk perched low on a hedge of vine.
On hunt for what hid
in the tangle
The small citizens, mouse and gopher.
Body of Ra the hawk signified.
In the symbol book, which I opened after climbing the stairs,
after the hawk fanned out its banded tail like I should
pick a card—
The book was a prisoner of my ardor for the dark—through it I stalked,
It was a character out of a Victorian novel—Symbol Book, an
imbecile, a Dutch inventor.
Saying, You must bow
to the Hippogriff (half raptor, half horse), it must
lower its head to your hand.
Halcón Pradeño. Mexicano. Come to me for my winter ground.
According to Whatbird.com.
Hawk perched low on a hedge of vine. Going
heel to toe, so as not to startle.
Cloud unhooding body of Ra a pale pearl of winter sun—
often stamped their wares with hooded falcon,
emblem of the dungeoned seer.
That “hope for light” the darkened nourish.
Closed books, post tenebras spero lucem along the spine—
I found the phrase in the Office for the Dead, in the Latin Vulgate:
after darkness I hope for light—
Then: hell is my house, and in darkness I have made my bed—
I thought of my father and mother and sister being dead, I was so sick
of feeling anything about it—
The hood stood for hope of liberty.
Of wanting to swoop and soar over enormous swells,
as in my dream.
I hovered high, I could see the mammals in the raucous waters, their slick
of danger and wonder.
My soul hath thirsted, the Vulgate said, He hath put a new song
into my mouth.
The hawk appeared. Unhooded.
An auspice, from auspex, avispex, “one who looks at birds”—
I’d been wanting to know if it was all right to live.
An ascensional symbol on every level, the symbol book said.
Body of Ra. Solar victory. If one can believe the book
And when I’m saying “new” here, there is the air of a “new take” but I want to downplay that a little. Perhaps it’s just a new interest as much as anything else. (I’m hedging a little, yes. I’m aware of that.)