Resonant frequency
Posted: 07 November 2014
Word Count: 186
Summary: Inspired by an experiment I heard on the radio recently where they recorded a message in a cave, played it back, recorded the play back, time after time until the message had virtually disappeared and all that was left was the resonant frequency of the cave. Weird.
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In a car’s wake
leaves skip like jumping jacks.
A gold road,
where tree’s bones lurch
out of blinding sun.
Oils of rich lichen blues,
soft moss patches
on walls that line a route
between here and somewhere.
I was there once, I think,
with you.
In a fire’s shadow
dark corners wither an evening.
Stuttering wood,
red as a gothic novel,
heats us a little.
A carriage clock chimes unseen.
We are talking,
voices soft stringed, lute-like,
not about love, but loving.
A sun sets in your eyes.
A bend in a river.
It is morning,
mist loiters over the water
and a first frost
turns threadbare.
Sudden wind on my cheek
and leaves fall, yellowing.
One lands on your shoulder.
“That’s lucky” you say.
The rest are taken by the water,
round the bend to…..
somewhere else.
These images seem clear,
yet sharp corners are rounded off,
if they were ever sharp at all.
I hear myself breathing,
smell your perfume,
sense a sequence reducing
to meet my mind’s resonant frequency.
When I do, will I bottom out
on some unknown mud flat?
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 James Graham at 19:27 on 09 November 2014
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Hi Nick – I’m going to ask you a couple of things about this poem, but just let me say first of all that it’s a bit special. In almost every line there’s a telling phrase or image, and it never loses its vitality. I doubt it’s going to need much revision, maybe none at all.
I would like to check with you that the way I see the poem is more or less the way you see it. It’s a series of memories, what you might call ‘memory clips’- highlights of certain days in our lives, moments that the memory holds on to while forgetting where we were going or what else happened. They’re all real, nothing imaginary. They’re all memories of autumn, including the indoor scene in the second stanza. The special moments are not being recalled inwardly; they’re being talked about to someone else, the narrator’s lifetime partner. It’s implied that she will empathise and understand. The question at the end, what will happen when it’s all reduced to the ‘mind’s resonant frequency’, is addressed to her – and she may be able to answer, or reassure.
In the last stanza, are you thinking in terms of the failure of memory in old age? A mental state such as dementia in which one’s past life becomes very cloudy, and even the best memories seem to slip away? Maybe you don’t mean something as specific as that; maybe ‘will I bottom out’ is a speculative question: is it possible these memories will fade, like the recorded message in the cave? The narrator doesn’t know, but wonders and is rather disturbed by the thought.
Let me know if this general reading of your poem is much the same as yours, or if any of the above isn’t what you meant.
There are one or two bits and pieces of the poem I’m not sure about. In the line
Oils of rich lichen blues
do you mean lichens of such a rich blue they might almost be painted in oils?
I think ‘When I do’ in the second last line should be ‘When it does’, referring back to ‘sequence’.
The last two lines don’t seem quite the right image to end with. A mud flat doesn’t seem right; where the mind ends up should be more like the cave. A mud flat is sort of two-dimensional, whereas the mind that has lost its memories can be imagined as a desolate place certainly, but a three-dimensional one. The solid rock that forms the cave is like a skull, but the space within is dark and empty.
It will be very interesting to discuss any or all of this with you. This isn’t a case of ‘Here’s your critique, next poem please’.
Are you publishing nowadays? I know you had several poems in EDP and the EDP anthology, but that’s out of commission just now. Do you have other outlets? This poem (it’s not the only one) deserves to be out there.
James.
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 nickb at 17:17 on 10 November 2014
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Hi James,
thanks for your thoughts on this. Your interpretation is pretty much spot on. It intigues me why some days stick in your memory whilst others totally disappear. Moreover, I'm convinced that the ones that do stick change over time. Certain key elements remain but some of the detail disappears, and the further away the event happened the more "fuzzy" it all becomes. It may be a bit of a liberty comparing this with the resonant frequency experiment but in a curious way I feel they both are trying to find a state of equilibrium - a sort of sound or mental entropy. There is no science behind this of course, just a hunch, and I thought it might be an interesting comparison.
I wasn't thinking specifically about conditions such as dementia but I can see why you might come to that conclusion.
I agree with you about "oils", it's not right. I was thinking of oil paintings but it is too vague here. I like your thoughts on the ending. A mud flat is perhaps too bleak and two dimensional, but I liked "bottomed out" to summarise the end of the process. I'll have to think about that one.
Thanks again,
Nick
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nickb at 20:06 on 10 November 2014
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James,
I meant to say that I haven't got round to sending anything for possible publishing since EDP stopped but it would be interesting to try. Any suggestions as to where?
Nick
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James Graham at 18:53 on 11 November 2014
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Re the last two lines, having thought about it ‘bottom out’ does seem the best expression. I can see that the last line works too, in a particular way: it’s a subtle echo of the image at the end of the previous stanza. The river carries away the yellowing leaves, ‘round the bend to...somewhere’ – to some unknown alluvial plain. So time carries away remembered moments. The second-last stanza anticipates the last.
There’s so much to appreciate in this poem that I could go on and on about it – quote almost every line and praise it. ‘Trees’ bones’ beside a ‘gold road’ (trees’ not tree’s by the way!), ‘In a fire’s shadow’ (an image that makes you wonder why nobody ever thought of it before), and others that leap off the page, e.g.
mist loiters over the water
and a first frost
turns threadbare
More generally, the special quality that strikes me most is the autumn theme, the way falling or fallen leaves represent both the passing of the seasons and the passing of the events of our lives. The chiming clock is an inspired touch – it adds our human way of marking the passage of time to the seasons which are nature’s way.
The whole indoor scene is very evocative, and it comes across as the most cherished of all the memories:
We are talking,
voices soft stringed, lute-like,
not about love, but loving.
A sun sets in your eyes.
I guess you could leaf through an anthology of contemporary verse and you wouldn’t find anything better than this. ‘Not about love, but loving’ – talking about love isn’t necessary because the love between them is so sure. And what exactly they were talking about doesn’t matter, it’s the feeling that is remembered. Your evocation of the lute, its gentleness and intimacy, is very telling. These lines are an evocation of happiness, not an easy thing to do successfully. Outstanding poem.
James.
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James Graham at 19:03 on 11 November 2014
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Publishers: the first that comes to mind – you may have seen Oonah’s notices in WW about it – is The Linnet’s Wings. www.thelinnetswings.org. It’s a quality print magazine. Oonah is the poetry editor. Trouble is, the deadline for submissions for the winter issue is Friday 14th. Even so, if you have poems ready there might still be time. Just go to the website and use the submission system.
I’ll have a think and see if I can come up with any more.
James.
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nickb at 16:39 on 12 November 2014
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Thanks for your warm and encouraging words James. I've made a couple of small changes but largely the same. I've submitted it to Linnetswings and will see what happens.
Nick
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 Bazz at 14:47 on 13 November 2014
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Hi Nick, just wanted to agree with James here, this is a remarkable piece, full of brilliant lines and an intruiging philosophical tone. I like how the "frequency" of memory bends into poetry (perhaps all poetry is is the frequency of how we interpret our own observations)
If you're interested in where to send this, or any other poems, there's a great website here http://www.poetrymarkets.com/ that lists different poetry magazines, its very new and up to date. (maybe James would like to make a thread out of it? should be interesting reading for anyone looking to get published)
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nickb at 19:54 on 13 November 2014
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Thanks Barry. I'll take a look at the web site, sounds interesting.
Nick
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