Blog

AM Inspiration: The Remembered Earth and N. Scott Momaday

Today let's talk of lost loves. Not in terms of relationships with people, but relationships with places. I came across this poem the other day that captured a very important yet often overlooked dimension of life: attention. Attention is at a premium these days...we feel guilty if we're doing only one or two things at a time, and yet it is so easy to shuffle around completely disconnected from the environment. And then there are the exceptions that stand out in our memories: the house lived in for just one summer whose yard at dusk is forever burned in the memory. The many faces of a familiar desert landscape. A childhood home. A pond or path that was once "yours." When you begin to sort through these places that became woven into the fabric of your memories, they seem both too many and too few. Where are the words to express them, and what was happening during the gaps between?

N. Scott Momaday, a Native American (Kiowa) writer perhaps best known for his novel House Made of Dawn, has also  written some very beautiful poetry, including The Earth. The poem makes you want to run outside and start soaking up as much of your surroundings as possible; it resonates with some deep, ignored twin need to notice and remember. Because after all, when we're rushing down the street, "late", where are we if we aren't somewhere? What responsibility have we neglected during each unseeing dash to or from all our other responsibilities? What's stopping us from creating another loved landscape, another well-inhabited place? Whatever it is, let Momaday remind you how to remember.

The Earth

Once in his life a man ought to concentrate his mind upon

the remembered earth, I believe. He ought to give himself up

to a particular landscape in his experience, to look at it from

as many angles as he can, to wonder about it, to dwell upon

it.

He ought to imagine that he touches it with his hands at

every season and listens to the sounds that are made upon

it. He ought to imagine the creatures there and all the faintest

motions of the wind. He ought to recollect the glare of noon and

all the colors of the dawn and dusk.

For we are held by more than the force of gravity to the earth.

It is the entity from which we are sprung, and that into which

we are dissolved in time. The blood of the whole human race

is invested in it. We are moored there, rooted as surely, as

deeply as are the ancient redwoods and bristlecones.

Tags: Appreciation, Attention, Environment, Memory, Native american, Poetry

« Back to Blog

Comments

No Comments

Add a Comment