As a child, I was an insomniac. I would lie awake for hours after my purported bed time, and stare at the ceiling. Nothing helped me sleep except "Blizzard"--a game I played that pitted my brain against my skin.
I was lost. Lost in a blizzard. It was cold. I was cold. How long could I go without a blanket?
I Had Been a Polar Explorer
I had been a polar explorer in my youth
and spent countless days and nights freezing
in one blank place and then another.
Of course I had to read this poem, no matter if the speaker's explorations were real while mine were the product of sleep deprivation and sheer weirdness. There was a kinship.
"I Had Been a Polar Explorer" is the second poem in Man and Camel, and it continues the same quiet, casual tone as the first poem. Unfortunately, I continue not being very excited. It's too soon to say there's a pattern but, well, by god there's a pattern.
Say something a little interesting, but not truly vivid. Talk a little about it. Finish with something a little poetic but quiet. The end.
There is, so far, a coldness, a distance with Strand's poems, as if the polar ice is a thin crust. You can see flesh underneath, but you can't quite feel it.
But when I raised my hand to say hello,
he took a step back, turned away, and started to fade
as longing fades until nothing is left of it.
The fading out of longing, of passion, is the fading away of opportunity as well. It's the slow loss of imagination, of lying awake playing games that look like dreams.
