Metamorphoses by Elana Wolff
by Steven McCabe
Some are born human, most have to humanize slowly.
I want to say I’m on my way > at this point: pelican;
in time, perhaps: writer. It seems every act of writing
is compensation for a shortfall of some sort; that to become
a writer one not only has to work hard at the part, but also
be a little less than human. Ideas like these weighed heavily
on Franz K. much of his truncated life. In fact, under their
anvil, he forged one of the few perfect works of poetic
imagination of the 20th century—according to Elias
Canetti. I don’t wish to create the impression my mind
is turned wholly toward becoming other. I also peck at my
breast and reproach myself for succumbing, now and then,
to nihilistic piety. Mostly I’ve stayed upbeat in dark times—
satisfied to fish and fly. If, on occasion, I’ve felt the pull
of despair for having been bequeathed such an insignificant
tail, I’m grateful to have been compensated with a large
mouth-pouch and useful bill. Also with the vision to see:
my feathers molting, over the open sea.
Elana Wolff is a Toronto-based poet, editor, essayist, and designer and facilitator of therapeutic community art courses. Her poems have appeared in journals and anthologies in Canada, the US, the UK, and France. Her bilingual collection of selected poems Helleborus & Alchémille, (Noroît, 2013; translation by Stéphanie Roesler) was awarded the 2014 John Glassco Prize for First Translation. Her essay “Paging Kafka’s Elegist” won The New Quarterly’s 2015 Edna Staebler Personal Essay Award, and Everything Reminds You of Something Else, her fifth solo collection of poems, is forthcoming with Guernica Editions.
Notes on the images: I thought of the poem as reflective, as an alchemical & silvery process, like a moon above the light (and darkness) of Kafka & the transformative, the animal/human, & the becoming a writer theme. I wanted to create a parallel narrative that ‘set off’ the poem as opposed to a more literal depiction. The spoons seem soft and malleable while being alert and individualized. Also silver is an excellent conductor of electricity. If they were to touch each other… a reaction would occur. I included the contrast of darkness & coloured light as a suggestion of Creation parable. I wanted to catch something of the spiritual and psychological realities of metamorphosis in visualizing this poem. I see the spoons not so much as actual spoons. More like ‘markers’ or ‘signifiers’ of the poetic thoughts.
poemimage 
I like all so much, your imagen, the poem and your words about the poem
I like so much your images, the poem and your words about the image!
Thank you very much Alejandra.
A thought provoking post Steven, and so visually striking. This quote from the Elana’s poem..
“It seems every act of writing is compensation for a shortfall of some sort; that to become a writer one not only has to work hard at the part, but also
be a little less than human” … “less than human”? was mystifying to me since writing to me illuminates ( or compensates for ?…) what it is to be human. That is, until I looked at this from a pelican’s point of view. Brilliant!
And I am a great lover of silver flatware. I grew up having occasional glimpses of silver nestled in velvet. (The last image is so reminiscent of this.) A personal consideration, and choice now, is that silver spoons should be used every day not kept in the darkness of a wooden case. So your images have this surreal effect on my retinal screen of memory juxtaposed with the present. Then I noticed all the faces in the spoons! The spoons are transformed… you understand your spoons, Steven!
It occurred to me silver spoons locked away & unnoticed might be like objects (poems, paintings, etc…) not being noticed. Akin to the latency of sub-atomic particles that (apparently) react differently when noticed. Perhaps artistic thought(s) made manifest as objects, or in some form, resonate ‘force fields’ or properties that, when observed, respond to attentiveness (magnetism… electricity…).
Well…I like the direction of your considerations. Like sour dough starter that enchants living bacteria in the air. It’s a most natural segue. We are so much more than just human.
It has always perplexed me that we stopped short after that old song…”the hip bone is connected to the thigh bone”… Take it away, Steven…
Thank you Jana,
I like how you approached Elana’s poem with 3 dimensional thought. As with the images; including memory!
It didn’t dawn on me to think from the perspective of the pelican!
And – I must be honest here – I didn’t consciously create faces on the spoons. Did your imagination & memory interpret shapes, like shifting clouds, as identities speaking to you?
However it works, your interpretation extends and elaborates. Growing the life of the work on the page.
Thank you very much for your insights!
oh great Steven! Am I becoming one of those people that sees faces in everything? LOL ….Well my friend just commented that I do draw a lot of them.
I saw the faces too (after you mentioned it). But your observations were multi-dimensional! And you saw far more than faces!
I very much enjoyed reading your “Notes on the images”. It is fascinating to follow the thread of your processes as you translated words and symbols into images. I think there is some truth to the idea of writing making you less human, although only for a time. Writing can be analytical, and therefore distancing. Even if the impulse to write comes from passion, it takes a cooler head to form (and reform) the words and sentences.
Thanks you mrsdaffodil for your thoughts on thoughts concerning the images. I generally formulate such reasonings after the fact. I notice that Elana commented on your thoughts on the writing. Thank you for writing!
Thank you for pointing out Elana’s comment. I’m glad you brought her poem to our attention.
wolff’s poem and your response are interesting. it occurred to me that the pairs of spoons echo the pairing of the poem and visual artwork.
That’s an interesting thought sanberdooboy. Sort of a meta-spiraling going on. Thanks for this thought.
Dear Steve,
It’s fascinating to follow the thread of these responses to my poem, your illuminations, your Notes. As you know, I was at first puzzled by your illuminating the poem through spoons — bringing the “less than human” line from the animate ‘down’ to the inanimate and manmade (perhaps suggested by the inclusions “anvil,” “forged,” “useful bill”…). I suppose I was (still am) struggling at the ‘soul level’ of the living / organic. Seeing the spoons prompted an email exchange and your Notes, which I requested be posted along with the poem and images. Your written response is an enlightening accompaniment — helpful to readers (I note mrsdaffodil’s reply in particular) and to me, tremendously. I’ve been pondering it — the continuum of being and how our humanness is all caught up in the cosmos, with the minerals and the moons and the manmade spoons. And the conductivity electric, literally, when we touch each other by picture & word. Thank you again.
Thank you Elana. I very much enjoyed working with your poem. I have appreciated my fellow bloggers’ comments on your poem and this pairing of works. Your thoughts too on your work/ and the relationship of these images to your words/ open a window into the author’s mind (well, yours) which illuminates the discussion many levels of dimensions.And I will say thank you again for the poem and the opportunity to explore the poem: a very rich piece of writing and insight.
Love the way these complement each other – and the way they both depict reality at a remove. Very rich.
Thank you Richard. Love the line ‘reality at a remove.’
Great post! A clear correlation between the poem and the image; you can always see upside down, transformed faces on the spoon.
-Some are born human, most have to humanize slowly – Definitive but lots of room to reflect.
-To become a writer one not only has to work hard at the part, but also be a little less than human. – To become a professional means to become a virtuous, thus less human. Perhaps a statue; perfect and still.
-Also with the vision to see: my feathers molting, over the open sea.- There’s nothing more painful and depressive than a transition of any sort. This image is darker than Kafka’s work. Unlike Gregor Samsa who woke up one morning to see himself completely transformed into an insect, here the pelican can witness his own metamorphose, from bird to human –over the open sea- (undefined objects cause the worst terror).
Thank you for your thoughts Malinda. Your reading of the poem is very incisive and illuminating. Thanks for getting inside it and reporting to us what you have found. I appreciate that the images work with the poem for you.
Thank you for your perspicacious comments, Majlinda. I don’t know if I can ‘out-dark’ Kafka, but you have alertly picked up on that terror-moment at the close of the poem. It’s a bit of an Icarus image too. Nice that Steve’s shining illuminations offer some reprieve.
Hi Elana,
Long, long time ago, an Albanian lyrical poet, Lasgush Poradeci wrote a poem “The death of the pelican”. In a few words, the pelican personifies the poet who pecks and bleeds his chest to feed its brood. An wonderful, dramatic poem about the role and the mission of a poet in life. This is the second time I ran into this image but in a totally different view.
Back to your poem again: I have no doubts you never heard about L. Poradeci. He was translated very little into English only after 1990. The poem I am referring to it’s not translated yet, I think. His last publication was before revolution, on 40’s. He didn’t get along well with the regime of that time, he refused to write and publish for almost 40 years until he died in 1987. People thought he was dead for years and they were surprised to hear that actually he passed away on late 80s. Anyway, what I am trying to say is this: there must be a common conscience that makes great writing of different times and places having the same impact on readers.
Now I am recalling another example that I think proves this hypothesis: On 60s, a great Albanian storyteller M. Kuteli (sorry if I am annoying you with too much Albanian details 🙂 ) , wrote a novel ” The autumn of Mr. Jeladin” . Shorter after this, the author died. In 1975, Gabriel Garcia Marques published “The autumn of a Patriarch”. The motifs, the atmosphere, the message is so similar like you cannot believe. This was a huge discussion in Albania back on 80s: how is it possible, that two writers who never met each other, never heard of each other, no technology to make it possible to knew what was going on at the other side of the planet etc etc, – so how can they write almost about the same thing?
I strongly believe this mysterious synchronicity comes not only from similar historical, social and political circumstances but also from the fact that people around the world, especially writers are part of a collective memory. More or less their fate and mission is the same: spread as much light as they can, make this life bit more bearable than it really is.
Dear Majlinda, Thank you for this illuminating post! Common consciousness, mysterious synchronicity, collective memory. I can ascribe to it all. It’s about converging artistic sensibility. If we tap into our deepest selves, we meet the other — collapsing borders of time and space. We need not come from similar historical, social or political circumstances, as you point out. We need only be open and authentic and committed. Thank you again, Steve, for initiating this illumination. Who knew…
stunned and torn…
grazie John….
“Some are born human, most have to humanize slowly.” Elana Wolff’s opening words struck me right away. We are born human, yet our personal journey is filled with opportunities to become more humanized with each meaningful and significant experience. We are spoon fed as infants until we learn to feed ourselves. This is how I regard the visuals by Steven McCabe connecting to Elana’s poetic message.
Thank you for your visit to the page and this interpretation Gun Roze. You have enriched the conversation.
Very good to hear. My pleasure.
Beautiful artwork! I’m re-reading the fragments of Heraclitus in Greek in preparation for my next book, and in looking at the images of the spoons I can’t help but be reminded of his celestial shells containing ignited vapors, that is, what we see as heavenly bodies, with Heraclitus’ divine fire in its various forms as the fundamental, all-pervading element in the universe. McCabe mentions metamorphoses in his description of the images, and again we see a bird motif in Wolff’s writing (in this case the transmogrified pelican/poet, endowed with vision, sailing over the open sea and transcending the nihilism of a troubled age). An allusion to Ovid’s Icarus? Beautiful writing, Elana!
Thank you Thor for your visit and this enlightening contribution to the page.
Yes, Thor. Ovid’s Icarus is in there at the end of the poem. I like how you liken Steve’s spoons to “celestial shells containing ignited vapors.” This comparison embraces the beauty and ethereal quality of the images and reflects the sensitivity of your own writing too!