Gentle Now, Don’t Add to Heartache by Juliana Spahr

Gentle Now, Don’t Add to Heartache

I.

We come into the world.

We come into the world and there it is.

The sun is there.

The brown of the river leading to the blue and the brown of the
           ocean is there.

Salmon and eels are there moving between the brown and the brown
           and the blue.

The green of the land is there.

Elders and youngers are there.

Fighting and possibility and love are there.

And we begin to breathe.

We come into the world and there it is.

We come into the world without and we breathe it in.

We come into the world.

We come into the world and we too begin to move between the
           brown and the blue and the green of it.

II.

We came into the world at the edge of a stream.

The stream had no name but it began from a spring and flowed
           down a hill into the Scioto that then flowed into the Ohio that
           then flowed into the Mississippi that then flowed into the Gulf
           of Mexico.

The stream was a part of us and we were a part of the stream and
           we were thus part of the rivers and thus part of the gulfs and
           the oceans.

And we began to learn the stream.

We looked under stones for the caddisfly larvae and its adhesive.

We counted the creek chub and we counted the slenderhead darter.

We learned to recognize the large, upright, dense, candle-like
           clusters of yellowish flowers at the branch ends of the
           horsechestnut and we appreciated the feathery gracefulness
           of the drooping, but upturning, branchlets of the larch.

We mimicked the catlike meow, the soft quirrt or kwut, and the
           louder, grating ratchet calls of the gray catbird.

We put our heads together.

We put our heads together with all these things, with the caddisfly
           larva, with the creek chub and the slenderhead darter, with
           the horsechestnut and the larch, with the gray catbird.

We put our heads together on a narrow pillow, on a stone, on a
           narrow stone pillow, and we talked to each other all day long
           because we loved.

We loved the stream.

And we were of the stream.

And we couldn’t help this love because we arrived at the bank of the
           stream and began breathing and the stream was various and
           full of information and it changed our bodies with its rotten
           with its cold with its clean with its mucky with fallen leaves
           with its things that bite the edges of the skin with its leaves
           with its sand and dirt with its pungent at moments with its
           dry and prickly with its warmth with its mushy and moist
           with its hard flat stones on the bottom with its horizon lines
           of gently rolling hills with its darkness with its dappled light
           with its cicadas buzz with its trills of birds.

III.

This is where we learned love and where we learned depth and where
           we learned layers and where we learned connections between
           layers.

We learned and we loved the black sandshell, the ash, the american
           bittern, the harelip sucker, the yellow bullhead, the beech,
           the great blue heron, the dobsonfly larva, the water penny
           larva, the birch, the redhead, the white catspaw, the elephant
           ear, the buckeye, the king eider, the river darter, the sauger,
           the burning bush, the common merganser, the limpet, the
           mayfly nymph, the cedar, the turkey vulture, the spectacle
           case, the flat floater, the cherry, the red tailed hawk, the
           longnose gar, the brook trout, the chestnut, the killdeer,
           the river snail, the giant floater, the chokeberry, gray catbird,
           the rabbitsfoot, the slenderhead darter, the crabapple, the
           american robin, the creek chub, the stonefly nympth,
           the dogwood, the warbling vireo, the sow bug, the elktoe,
           the elm, the marsh wren, the monkeyface, the central
           mudminnow, the fir, the gray-cheeked thrush, the white bass,
           the predaceous diving beetle, the hawthorn, the scud, the
           salamander mussel, the hazelnut, the warbler, the mapleleaf,
           the american eel, the hemlock, the speckled chub, the whirligig
           beetle larva, the hickory, the sparrow, the caddisfly larva,
           the fluted shell, the horse chestnut, the wartyback, the white
           heelsplitter, the larch, the pine grosbeak, the brook stickleback,
           the river redhorse, the locust, the ebonyshelf, the giant water
           bug, the maple, the eastern phoebe, the white sucker, the creek
           heelsplitter, the mulberry, the crane fly larva, the mountain
           madtom, the oak, the bank swallow, the wabash pigtoe, the
           damselfly larva, the pine, the stonecat, the kidneyshell,
           the plum, the midge larva, the eastern sand darter, the rose,
           the purple wartyback, the narrow-winged damselfly, the
           spruce, the pirate perch, the threehorn wartyback, the sumac,
           the black fly larva, the redside dace, the tree-of-heaven, the
           orange-foot pimpleback, the dragonfly larva, the walnut,
           the gold fish, the butterfly, the striped fly larva, the willow,
           the freshwater drum, the ohio pigtoe, the warmouth, the
           mayfly nymph, the clubshell.

And this was just the beginning of the list.

Our hearts took on many things.

Our hearts took on new shapes, new shapes every day as we went
           to the stream every day.

Our hearts took on the shape of well-defined riffles and pools, clean
           substrates, woody debris, meandering channels, floodplains,
           and mature streamside forests.

Our hearts took on the shape of the stream and became riffled and
           calmed and muddy and clean and flooded and shrunken dry.

Our hearts took on the shape of whirligigs swirling across the water.

We shaped our hearts into the sycamore trees along the side of the
           stream and we let into our hearts the long pendulous
           polygamous racemes of its small green flowers, the
           first-formed male flowers with no pistil and then the later
           arriving hairy ovary with its two curved stigmas.

We let ourselves love the one day of the adult life of the mayfly as
           it swarms, mates in flight, and dies all without eating.

And we shaped our hearts into the water willow and into the eggs
           spawned in the water willow.

Our hearts took on the brilliant blues, reds, and oranges of breeding
           male rainbow darter and our hearts swam to the female
           rainbow darter and we poked her side with our snout as she
           buried herself under the gravel and we laid upon her as she
           vibrated.

We let leaves and algae into our hearts and then we let the mollusks
           and the insects and we let the midge larvae into our heart
           and then the stonefly nymph and then a minnow came into
           our heart and with it a bass and then we let the blue heron fly
           in, the raccoon amble by, the snapping turtle and the
           watersnake also.

We immersed ourselves in the shallow stream. We lied down on the
           rocks on our narrow pillow stone and let the water pass over us
           and our heart was bathed in glochida and other things that
           attach to the flesh.

And as we did this we sang.

We sang gentle now.

Gentle now clubshell,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now warmouth, mayfly nymph,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now willow, freshwater drum, ohio pigtoe,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now walnut, gold fish, butterfly, striped fly larva,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now black fly larva, redside dace, tree-of-heaven, orange-foot
           pimpleback, dragonfly larva,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now purple wartyback, narrow-winged damselfly, spruce,
           pirate perch, threehorn wartyback, sumac,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now pine, stonecat, kidneyshell, plum, midge larva, eastern
           sand darter, rose,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now creek heelsplitter, mulberry, crane fly larva, mountain
           madtom, oak, bank swallow, wabash pigtoe, damselfly larva,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now pine grosbeak, brook stickleback, river redhorse, locust,
           ebonyshelf, giant water bug, maple, eastern phoebe, white
           sucker,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now whirligig beetle larva, hickory, sparrow, caddisfly larva,
           fluted shell, horse chestnut, wartyback, white heelsplitter,
           larch,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now white bass, predaceous diving beetle, hawthorn, scud,
           salamander mussel, hazelnut, warbler, mapleleaf, american
           eel, hemlock, speckled chub,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now stonefly nympth, dogwood, warbling vireo, sow bug,
           elktoe, elm, marsh wren, monkeyface, central mudminnow, fir,
           gray-cheeked thrush,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now longnose gar, brook trout, chestnut, killdeer, river snail,
           giant floater, chokeberry, gray catbird, rabbitsfoot,
           slenderhead darter, crabapple, american robin, creek chub,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now king eider, river darter, sauger, burning bush, common
           merganser, limpet, mayfly nymph, cedar, turkey vulture,
           spectacle case, flat floater, cherry, red tailed hawk,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now black sandshell, ash, american bittern, harelip sucker,
           yellow bullhead, beech, great blue heron, dobsonfly larva,
           water penny larva, birch, redhead, white catspaw, elephant
           ear, buckeye,

don’t add to heartache.

Gentle now, we sang,

Circle our heart in rapture, in love-ache. Circle our heart.

IV.

It was not all long lines of connection and utopia.

It was a brackish stream and it went through the field beside our
           house.

But we let into our hearts the brackish parts of it also.

Some of it knowingly.

We let in soda cans and we let in cigarette butts and we let in pink
           tampon applicators and we let in six pack of beer connectors
           and we let in various other pieces of plastic that would travel
           through the stream.

And some of it unknowingly.

We let the runoff from agriculture, surface mines, forestry, home
           wastewater treatment systems, construction sites, urban yards,
           and roadways into our hearts.

We let chloride, magnesium, sulfate, manganese, iron, nitrite/nitrate,
           aluminum, suspended solids, zinc, phosphorus, fertilizers,
           animal wastes, oil, grease, dioxins, heavy metals and lead go
           through our skin and into our tissues.

We were born at the beginning of these things, at the time of
           chemicals combining, at the time of stream run off.

These things were a part of us and would become more a part of us
           but we did not know it yet.

Still we noticed enough to sing a lament.

To sing in lament for whoever lost her elephant ear lost her mountain
           madtom

and whoever lost her butterfly lost her harelip sucker

and whoever lost her white catspaw lost her rabbitsfoot

and whoever lost her monkeyface lost her speckled chub

and whoever lost her wartyback lost her ebonyshell

and whoever lost her pirate perch lost her ohio pigtoe lost her
           clubshell.

V.

What I did not know as I sang the lament of what was becoming lost
           and what was already lost was how this loss would happen.

I did not know that I would turn from the stream to each other.

I did not know I would turn to each other.

That I would turn to each other to admire the softness of each other’s
           breast, the folds of each other’s elbows, the brightness of each
           other’s eyes, the smoothness of each other’s hair, the evenness
           of each other’s teeth, the firm blush of each other’s lips, the
           firm softness of each other’s breasts, the fuzz of each other’s
           down, the rich, ripe pungency of each other’s smell, all of it,
           each other’s cheeks, legs, neck, roof of mouth, webbing
           between the fingers, tips of nails and also cuticles, hair on toes,
           whorls on fingers, skin discolorations.

I turned to each other.

Ensnared, bewildered, I turned to each other and from the stream.

I turned to each other and I began to work for the chemical factory
           and I began to work for the paper mill and I began to work for
           the atomic waste disposal plant and I began to work at keeping
           men in jail.

I turned to each other.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I replaced what I knew of the stream with Lifestream Total
           Cholesterol Test Packets, with Snuggle Emerald Stream Fabric
           Softener Dryer Sheets, with Tisserand Aromatherapy Aroma-
           Stream Cartridges, with Filter Stream Dust Tamer, and
           Streamzap PC Remote Control, Acid Stream Launcher, and
           Viral Data Stream.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I put a Streamline Tilt Mirror in my shower and I kept a crystal
           Serenity Sphere with a Winter Stream view on my dresser.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I bought a Gulf Stream Blue Polyester Boat Cover for my 14-16 Foot
           V-Hull Fishing boats with beam widths up to sixty-eight feet
           and I talked about value stream management with men in
           suits over a desk.

I didn’t even say goodbye elephant ear, mountain madtorn, butterfly,
           harelip sucker, white catspaw, rabbitsfoot, monkeyface,
           speckled chub, wartyback, ebonyshell, pirate perch, ohio
           pigtoe, clubshell.

I just turned to each other and the body parts of the other suddenly
           glowed with the beauty and detail that I had found in the
           stream.

I put my head together on a narrow pillow and talked with each
           other all night long.

And I did not sing.

I did not sing otototoi; dark, all merged together, oi.

I did not sing groaning wounds.

I did not sing otototoi; dark, all merged together, oi.

I did not sing groaning wounds.

I did not sing o wo, wo, wo!

I did not sing I see, I see.

I did not sing wo, wo!


Juliana Spahr was born in Chillicothe, Ohio in 1966. Her books include This Connection of Everyone with Lungs (U of California P, 2005), Fuck You-Aloha-I Love You (Wesleyan U P, 2001), Everybody's Autonomy: Connective Reading and Collective Identity (U of Alabama P, 2001), and Response (Sun & Moon P, 1996). She co-edits the journal Chain with Jena Osman (archive at http://www.temple.edu/chain) and she frequently self-publishes her work (archive at http://people.mills.edu/jspahr/ and http://www2.hawaii.edu/~spahr/).

Juliana Spahr - Gentle Now, Don’t Add to Heartache