April for the Earth and the Words
Kindness and Cruelty in Perfect Harmony
“April is the cruelest month, breeding
lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
memory and desire, stirring
dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers…..”
T.S. Eliot, from The Waste Land
As a young child, I know I loved the Spring, though I don’t remember being aware of or measuring time in such a way. The seasons were pronounced in Michigan, and while Winter was my favorite by far, I know I welcomed the potential of Spring, when the bugs and birds and fishes slowly came out of hiding, like seeing old friends again. When outside playtime became more simple. A bounty of newness - sensory magic. Summers were maybe the only time that matched Winter in its fun-ness, though Spring was the catalyst which started it all. In that way, April was the kindest month.
When I was a little bit older and we lived in New York City, my relationship with Spring shifted in a way I didn’t fully understand while it happened. Winter was still my favorite season, and I found that signs of Spring unlocked a slow anxiety, noticeably growing in its discomfort with each new year. I remember walking through the streets on the first sunny days, and the feeling of the air, seemingly pleasant and lovely, would captivate in a way that left me physically sick, strangely fearful. I remember that specific feeling so clearly, as though I could pinpoint the frantic movements of my cells, a strange and granular panic on the atomic level, deep and secret in its uneasiness. In those years of my life, I grew to dislike Spring and all that represented it, even the very existence of flowers. I turned away from them all and grieved the shelter and quietude of Winter. In that way, April was the cruelest month.
As an adult, my entire relationship to time and seasons has shifted and evolved as I continue to discover my own passionate missions and heal the wounds of my childhood heart. Among these changes, April: Earth Month and Poetry Month, became one of my favorite times of year. I love April because of its contrast, because of these polarizing ideas associated with its power, its harmonious blend of kindness and cruelty. These things are neither good or bad and don’t need to be measured and quantified. They are just here. Here for us if we want or need them, as any other day and time of year.
When T.S. Eliot wrote those words about April, he was talking about many things observed in post WWI London, the strange fruitlessness of modern life, the despairing ruins, fear and bleakness shaping the future of our world. April as something cruel and punishing because it starts over the cycle of things, the meaningless new beginnings of hurt and sadness, grief and failure. Maybe in subtle ways there are offers of hope at the end of The Waste Land, (I sat upon the shore/Fishing, with the arid plain behind me/Shall I at least set my lands in order?) hints of light extending a familiar hand, if not shouting then at least whispering not to give up, to keep stepping forward in our old boots, to remain faithful and purposeful, continuing to access that warm and beautiful glow inside us all which is love. To remember that love is always there, it’s the very thing that puts the light of life into our eyes. To remember that we are not separate from it all, to remember that we are protected and connected, that we actually are it all.
So here we are, in the midst of April. I thought I would have written this at the start of the month, but time flowed on, and I’m here today just where I ought to be. There have been beautiful moments of celebration and magic. Of course we had the Antiquarian Book Fair April 4-7, and I had the opportunity to serve as the fair’s first Ambassador. During that moment we had that strange and stirring earthquake, which literally shook the physical matter of things, and also our sense of balance and safety. It made us pause and think, it instilled a moment of fear and reflection into many of us. A message from the Earth. We also had the solar eclipse, which united the world in study, whether from an astronomical or astrological viewpoint. I spent the day before it with the brilliant Rose Theodora, observing the stars and planets, comprehending the mightiness and ancient history of these celestial phenomena in a way that left me completely at ease in the chaotic storm, like sending your poor mind on vacation after an attempt to fathom the ocean. I’m grateful for Rose for gifting her knowledge as she always does with generous heart, sensing there is something needed and showing up with all the tools and treasures. She has the gift of shift - igniting a vigorous fire when stagnation is taking over, or putting systems at ease when peace is desperately needed. This time it was the peace - that peace you feel right after the urgency, when you realize there’s actually nothing you have to do in this moment but let the Earth be, and simply allow yourself to be part of it, because you are.
On April 12, we helped to bless our dear friend Walton Ford’s new exhibition at the Morgan Library as it opened to the public. I say that with a little smile, as the work of course doesn’t need our shepherding, but we were still so happy to be part of its unveiling. It was a perfect Earth and Poetry Month moment, to celebrate our friend’s latest triumph, continuing his legacy of standing in humble representation of the animal kingdom and the divine and strange stories it tells in all its wildness. I love his Morgan show in particular because of its vulnerability and honesty, as Walton shares his sacred process with us all, a generous gift that artists don’t usually have the opportunity or desire to share with the world. After seeing the exhibition (which I hope you will visit too), we performed there in the lobby, 2 songs and a sweetly sorrowful poem chronicling the story of the Dodo, chosen with care for Walton and for his work: this mission seemingly sent to him directly from above, and which he has listened to with whole self, following through with indefatigable service.
What else happened in April? Life unfolded and folded up again, continued as it always does, whether the season is cold or sunny. Taxes, appointments, learning and study, working towards big goals, reading, talking, planning. Love, magic, grief, longing. All of those terrestrial things that happen here on planet Earth. Yesterday my mom’s new paperback was released, which my godmother took the cover photo of, so it was a nice day of celebration. Today is another book signing in Brooklyn.
Monday is Earth Day, and we will have an evening gathering at our beloved Elizabeth Street Garden, incorporating music and poetry (earthly words as Joseph is calling them) set before the gazebo, surrounded by the cozy grace of our garden’s blossoms. I hope you will join us if you’re in NYC. Becky and I will play cello and piano, share poems and words, joined by local poets and friends. There will be a seed giveaway too, so we can all take home some new beginnings.
April 22 - Earth Day
April 26 - Arbor Day and Audubon’s Birthday
April 29 - Poem in Your Pocket Day
Do you have any plans to observe these nice days? How do you feel about April and the onset of Spring? How does your body feel when you think about Earth Month and Poetry month coexisting together right now as we speak?
I keep thinking about Fernando Pessoa and his poems that talk about nature. They are different from any of the other nature poems I love by writers like Emily Dickinson, Emerson or Thoreau. Not observations of nature and its details, but of his own non-relationship with it all, and the way that we label things that aren’t labeled by those things being labeled by us. I’ll leave you with one of these poems and we can think about it as the season continues.
When spring comes,
If I’ve already died,
The flowers will bloom in the same way
And the trees won’t be less green than they were last Spring.
Reality doesn’t need me.
I feel incredibly happy
When I think my death has absolutely no importance.
If I knew I was going to die tomorrow,
And Spring came the day after tomorrow,
I would die peacefully, because it came the day after tomorrow.
If that’s its time, when else should it come?
I like it that everything is real and everything is right;
And I like that it would be like this even if I didn’t like it.
And so, if I die now, I die peacefully
Because everything is real and everything is right.
They can pray in Latin over my coffin if they want to.
It’s alright with me if they dance and sing all around it.
I don’t have any preferences about when I won’t even be able to have preferences.
What comes, when it comes, will be what it is.
Fernando Pessoa, by way of Alberto Caeiro
Hi Jesse, thank you for this new post! I'm delighted by this way of seeing April as an embodiment of kindness and cruelty. It seems so fitting a description! At the beginning of the month, I basked in the Spring sun on my balcony, feeling the first warmth of the year. I smelled the first lilacs and wisteia in bloom. Then today, temperatures dropped and we just had a hail shower in Metz, France. The sky turned a slate grey, yet the sun was still shining, the most perfect combination. In times of such temperature fluctuations, I always feel tired. I accept that more easily now. The older I get, the more I appreciate the cycle of seasons and the changes they bring in and around me. As for Spring, it's always been a joyous moment for me. In my childhood, it meant going back to the woods on Sundays to walk with my parents and my sister, sometimes even friends, and pick flowers. When I lived in Paris as a student in my twenties, I would go in search of Spring in the Parc Floral de Vincennes. May is the month of lily of the valley with its heady scent, an all-time favorite of mine, and roses. As we alternate between colder and warmer temperatures, sunny days and rainy days, burst of energy and bout of fatigue, I'm letting myself feel it all. Like Pessoa (thank you for sharing his wonderful poem), I rejoice in things going their way without any consideration for my self. I like being ignored by nature.
Thank you, Jesse for the memories of spring in NYC. I remember bleak streets and chill in the air. Even if the sun broke out, that slanted light that cast itself wide and watery, caused one to pull up and clutch their collar. But the best memory of spring was, to me, those Saturday mornings riding the subway to-the Village, and bookstores and coffee shops. But , Jesse, that was about 62 years ago, and it may not be the same today. Today I live in the farmlands of PA and outside my window as I write, are a Cherry tree, almond tree and dogwood in full bloom —dark pink. Light pink. Creamy white. All this you brought to me in your words. Enjoy the day and the day you have shared. 🙏C