by Bacopa Literary Review 2021 Poetry contributor Holly M. Hofer
The title, “The Landscape Listens,” comes from “There’s a certain Slant of Light” by Emily Dickinson.
In a “found words” exercise in my creative writing class in college several years ago I picked a few interesting words out of some journals my professor passed around. I began writing and the piece took shape as a reflection on discontentment, intrusive thoughts, religious ideas, personal history, and included some much-needed reassurance from talking flowers. Years and many edits later, I reflect on some of why I might have written what I wrote . . .
Connections between our feelings and thoughts and how we perceive the natural and human-arranged world are not just the stuff of metaphors and similes. There’s a balance, a mystery -- how much we are projecting our internal thoughts and feelings on to the world around us, and how much the external world around us is influencing our bodies and minds.
If we only listen hard enough or observe more carefully, will we hear or see the answers to console us or lead us to more meaningful lives? Is our external “landscape” attuned to us enough to give us these answers we seek, or to surprise us when we’re not seeking at all? Are we only hearing our own voice, in the end, whether it is condemning or consoling?
We’re not always in proximity to beautiful surroundings to soothe our spirits. And even the lovely things of life can seem sad, or insulting, if we’re in a difficult season. In my poem, the descriptions of a “sore colored bug with round black bruises” or an arrogant cardinal seem to be distortions of the speaker’s discontent mind more than an accurate depiction of the state of the bug and bird in her garden. The extent to which we do this is perhaps not quantifiable, but I’m pretty sure it happens all the time at different levels.
If the negative perceptions of the speaker are of her own making, how does she get out of it?
The turn of the negative thinking at the end of the poem, with the flowers reminding the speaker that they and she never have flown like the birds or ladybugs, seems to have come from disruptive new source -- so was it the flowers captivating beauty speaking to her? Or was it the speaker’s own mind reacting to some sweets she just ate? Some new will power? Was it deus ex machina or the holy spirit? Does the landscape really listen, and can it respond?
Holly M. Hofer, a native Floridian, currently works in the building engineering field. She's been published in Welter, The Avenue, and The Flagler College Review.
