Blinded at Birth, poems by Diane Croft

The epigraph from Plato sets the tone -- "we acquired our knowledge before out birth, and lost it at the moment of birth, but afterward, by the exercise of our senses upon sensible objects, recover the knowledge which we had once before..."  Hence the title "blinded at birth" refers not to physical blindness, but to a sense of loss -- that there was a kind of sensitivity and knowledge that we had access to before we were born, or before we developed rational thinking, and which, at rare moments, we recall.

These poems hover around the place where the tactile and the abstract meet. Ordinary events and sensations ignite images and phrases that sparkle where before there was only darkness.

Looking at the horizon at the end of twilight, when night begins "waiting for the last whisper of light to hide behind the line that separates sea and sky", she focuses on the stillness inside herself. "...only then can I make my way inside the stillness that tells me everything I need to know without asking."

Wordsworth, too, gets quoted at the beginning "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting." And the tone here sometimes echoes Wordsworth: "I was part of nature's call before I slipped into this mindfulness," and sometimes with a playful ironic twist, "I cannot sleep; wide awake in my unconscious."

Elsewhere the conjunction of tactile and abstract recalls e.e. cummings and Paul Valery. For instance, her "I can touch the time before we spoke", and later "I want to sink into the silence that is your hands" and also " these lines [on my face] mark the time I spent in idle worship of things that matter less than your walk" call to mind cummings' "no one, not even the rain, has such small hands" and Valery's "Tes pas, enfants de mon silence, saintement, lentement place..." [Your steps, children of my silence, placed slowly and sacredly..."].

But the tone is not imitative. Here is a fresh new voice, discovering anew the wonders of the self -- that inner place that we all have in common, the oneness that we share and are only rarely reminded of.

Her words gently lead you from the familiar to the unimaginable, for instance, "as I crawl through this space barely wide enough to fit my whole being..." Likewise, the moment that rain turns to snow prompts her to think of longing
"to be part of the cosmic cycle,
changing in one moment
from bitter to soft
accepting the pain of metamorphosis."

The rhythm is soft but compelling. The wording is simple and direct. Often it reads just as well written out in sentences, as it does broken into lines.

Sometimes a poem consists of a single unexpected and striking image, such as:
"maybe there is a point
some purpose
in the breaking of a heart
exploding in tiny pieces
shooting across the floor
like a necklace of pearls
torn from the bosom
scattered in all directions
each piece waiting to be found
reclaimed
one by one
restrung in a less elegant way
like something from a church bazaar
like life."

Likewise:
"when roses bloom
they do not ask permission
they open wide their mouths
to the sun,
exposing their inner core,
and then they die."

And another favorite of mine:
"when one life has been lived
it falls into another,
a brand new baby cries
with the first breath
an instinctive knowing
that tears are the beginning
and the end,
a transition between lives
human rain."

These so carefully chosen poems belong together. They are arranged in sections by seasons, and are illustrated with photos of trees, some amazingly and provocatively misshapen. Often an image from one poem is echoed or carried further in the next. And sometimes a poem feels like a commentary on a photo that appears nearby. For instance, near a photo of the topmost branches of a group of leafless trees, covered with newly-fallen snow appears:
"black veins sketched across a winter sky
naked
as if scorched by fire, standing ready
in anticipation
knowing life will be renewed
to its lovely tendrils
branched out like God's hands
forcing its way into my consciousness
showing me what I thought
I could not see."
In a case like this, the photo helps to make the image all the more concrete, making the abstract and religious implications all the more palpable.

Some of the poems seem to be about nature, others about love, and others about God. They are all explorations of that same still, inner place, where glimmers of what we may have known before birth remain, a realm of experience we all share. The implication is that hints from nature, strong emotions like love, even strong religious feeling can awaken those hidden memories and feelings. And once unleashed, the emotional repercussions can be powerful and unexpected. But Diane doesn't dwell on this experience pedantically. Reflecting on such extraordinary moments, she is both reverent and playful:
"God hides
so we must seek
sneaking in Moses' ark
sliding down Mother Therea's
rosary beads
staining the edges of the Bible
red
looking out
from a dog's eyes
Heavens, you were staring right
at me.
why be found,
the game would be over
Oh, there you are;
what shall we play now?"

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