Finding the Pearl: An Anatomy of an Extraction

SETTING: A poetry reading is unfolding in a small art gallery ina mid-size city in Japan.
Inside the gallery, a bioluminescent light glows over some odd pictorial poems by a
deceased poet and artist. Four friends wander through this gallery, half-interested, 
hald-indifferent. In the case of Jules, we can also say partly intoxicated. The sound 
of a fog horn echoes in the distance as the group stares at an image on the screen.

IMAGE: A waving oyster shell undulates in a pale ocean seascape with a strange luminescence at its umbo. 

Farre from the Ancient Umbo
Whare our journey began -
Et dicatur numquam incepit.

Past the pea-sized pericardium,
Pumping moon-blood through shifting sands,

Beyund taut abductors, 
Connecting soft tissue like harp-strings
To filigreed calcite lace.

Near delicate labial palps
Sifting delicate saline currents 
A nacreous orb awaits-
Sunt omnes thesauri morte interimi?

Triassic Relic
Calcium Carbonate Trove
Aragonite Diamond
Wildly Iridescent Clove
& Covenant of Light and Loss.

Alas!
For our pearls are we mercifully hunted,
Pried open with cruel blades—
Our treasures bartered in distant shores:

In this world beauty is a debt
earthly sums can never repay.


Jules:    (sniveling, then theatrically looking up at the ceiling) Is this pseudo-poem or a pulpit sermon?

Ellesha:  (creasing her brows and repressing a frown) Well, good poems have multiple dimensions.
           Why shouldn't literature have many layers and multiple meanings?
           Fine poems are like cathedrals vaulted with questions and stained with meanings.

Jules:    (speaking slowly, carefully) Philosophy too frequently clouds poetry.
	       Why can't this writer just describe an oyster without didactic preaching?
	       Let living creatures breathe without the iron lungs of philosophy. 

Ellesha:  (looking directly at Jules intently while tensing her collarbones) You have such critical eyes. 
          What feeds your skepticism? Are you fond of intellectual scalpels?

Jules:    (waving dismissively) Au contraire! Most hearts are barnacled with sophomoric praise.
	      They’re caught in a state of—what shall I call it?—conditioned helplessness.
	      It's a mediocre state of existence, breeding only ennui and obedience.
	      
Andrei:   (chuckling) Isn’t that precisely those in power want? That is what the throne-keepers pray for!


=====================================================================================
from _Let the waters be my witness: Messages about our watery world_ by T Newfields
SUMMARY: Some houghts on beauty, eco-exploitation, and oysters.
KEYWORDS: inner treasures, eco-poetry, nacreous awareness, oyster metaphors, iridescence and value,
          critiques of modernity, ancient wisdom, artistic expression

Begun: 2000 in Táiběi, Taiwan  / Finished: 2023 in Yokohama, Japanese
Creative Commons License: Attribution. {{CC-BY-4.0}} Granted
by T Newfields [Nitta Hirou / Huáng Yuèwǔ]

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