As I Proceed to Give You What You Need: Ol' Gal Is Back!
ol' Sister Killjoy
When I was in the 11th grade my English teacher Mr. Lewis used to make me read William Cullen Bryant’s poem “To a Waterfowl” aloud because I still had a semblance of a British accent, having only left England a couple of years prior. I would enunciate and curl each word with every Britishness I could muster; I was a showpony flexing my muscles with articulated beauty and oratory grace. As I read the poem, I imagined a sunsetting orange and smoky grey evening, my father walking home with his briefcase after a long day of teaching, papers to grade in hand and my mother in her nursing uniform carrying groceries, her feet dusty from travel. I would also see myself, exhausted from school, kicking loose gravel and hoping for a home cooked meal and chatter with my sisters. As I read the poem for the class I too imagined that I would take certain flight “through the boundless sky” after a long day.
William Cullen Bryant’s “To a Waterfowl” is part of his 1821 poetry collection and is said to have been inspired by him seeing a duck fly across the sunset while walking from Cummington to Plainfield in Massachusetts. At least that’s what Google says and I am inclined to take it at face value because I vaguely remember Mr. Lewis saying the same thing, bear in mind 11th grade was a long time ago.
You may have noticed (maybe not) that I haven’t written in almost a year. I gave it a rest because frankly my life was in turmoil, I was slouching towards meaning and summoning hope amidst being severely ill (more on that later). But I am back and I am reminded of the Biggie Smalls sample on Kendrick Lamar’s 2014 song “I” “as we proceed to give you what you need.” On this renewed journey towards making a home for my voice, I hope to express a meaningful wander through art and literature that you will find entertaining, thoughtful, and interesting.
I know that “To a Waterfowl” is about transition and some read it as a transition from this mortal coil to indefinite stasis because it is often paired with his poem "Thanatopsis”. But I write this substack on Halloween (a day when the space between life and death confluence into a singular experience) as I prepare to travel to Kingston, Ontario to kick off my PhD and I imagine, like I did many years ago, that this poem is one of hope and reassurance. I have curled beneath the warmth of convalescence for the past year and it's time to stretch out and take off (literally, I take off tonight).
