Arthur Sze - "Transpirations" "have you lived with utmost care?"

 

Transpirations

By Arthur Sze

Leafing branches of a back-yard plum—

branches of water on a dissolving ice sheet—

chatter of magpies when you approach—

lilacs lean over the road, weighted with purple blossoms—

then the noon sun shimmers the grasses—

you ride the surge into summer—

smell of piñon crackling in the fireplace—

blued notes of a saxophone in the air—

not by sand running through an hourglass but by our bodies igniting—

passing in the form of vapors from a living body—

this world of orange sunlight and wildfire haze—

world of iron filings pulled toward magnetic south and north—

pool of quicksilver when you bend to tie your shoes—

standing, you well up with glistening eyes—

have you lived with utmost care?—

have you articulated emotions like the edges of leaves?—

adjusting your breath to the seasonal rhythm of grasses—

gazing into a lake on a salt flat and drinking, in reflection, the Milky Way—

(published 4/13/2020 in The New Yorker)

Transpiration is "the passage of water through a plant from the roots through the vascular system to the atmosphere"; which is referred to in the middle of the poem; to transpire also means "to happen."

I love how the poet includes so many senses.  And, like a haiku, so many lines reference seasons.  I like the "rhyme" ((or the "seasonal rhythm"?) of ideas line to line -- branches in the first two lines, the leaning of lilacs and grasses, igniting fires and wildfires -- To me, this is a poem about being aware of details of the natural world.