Poet-philosophers

I’m about to give a talk on Thoreau’s Walden to folks in American Studies. Musing on Thoreau’s decades writing, well before natural science, poetry, and philosophy had become distinct disciplines, I wondered once more how to articulate what made Thoreau at least a poet-philosopher — as I agreed with myself to set aside claims that he has fathered the green movement or has reincarnated himself as a yogi or holy man towing a religion unnamed.  I opened a very good book on Walden by an English literature professor who takes his critical innovation to be finding the poet in Thoreau — so there was a lot about symbols, repeated images, metaphors.  Why not?  Well, Thoreau leaves us with philosophy even though he abjures the ‘view from nowhere,’ the stance where one is set to capture all time and eternity in a pellucid system.  I decided that I needed an image of Thoreau on-the-go, on a walk, or a row, and a philosophy that revealed reality by sharing what the world looks like to a very sensitive observer, recorder, singer.  Of course the world flows like streams and winds (though occasionally sitting still, like the bottom of Walden or the top of Mt Greylock).  But sits still for how long?  For more than an instant?  And if neither we nor the world sit still, how do we recover for ourselves or for others that sense of movement-and-stasis?  We just do our best.  And what do we do with the hankering for semi-permanent ‘results’ in a philosophy on the go, in motion in a mobile world?  Learn to live with it, and don’t let it rule.

Preparing for my talk, I thought of a term of appraisal that might work to capture Thoreau’s wonderfully transporting passages.  So many of his captivating and transporting sentences must form something like  “befitting reveries.”  I want a reverie that is not ‘just a day dream” or “just a fantasy,” things to dismiss once we awake.  I want a reverie that awakens us, that is more than a mere day dream or fantasy.  I want to hold up for praise, one by one, those reveries that so befit our condition at the moment, and are so befitting in moving us to new appreciations of the world, that we wouldn’t trash them, ever.  And if a befitting reverie is really befitting, it carries forward an insight and orientation we cherish.  It contains something we can be true to, and beyond any pretense to verisimilitude to this or that object, it is an unabashed truth we can live for.

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2 comments on “Poet-philosophers

  1. dmf says:

    There is unknown dust that is near us,
    Waves breaking on shores just over the hill,
    Trees full of birds that we have never seen,
    Nets drawn down with dark fish.

    The evening arrives; we look up and it is there,
    It has come through the nets of the stars,
    Through the tissues of the grass,
    Walking quietly over the asylums of the waters.

    The day shall never end, we think:
    We have hair that seems born for the daylight;
    But, at last, the quiet waters of the night will rise,
    And our skin shall see far off, as it does underwater.

    “Surprised by Evening” by Robert Bly from Eating the Honey of Words

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