undercurrent. Rita Wong

      

      undercurrent

      undercurrent

      rita wong

      with drawings by cindy mochizuki

      2015

      Copyright © Rita Wong, 2015

      all rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright, the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, www.accesscopyright.ca, [email protected].

      Nightwood Editions

      P.O. Box 1779, Gibsons, BC, V0N 1V0, Canada

       www.nightwoodeditions.com

      typesetting & cover design: Carleton Wilson

      cover art: Marika Swan • interior drawings: Cindy Mochizuki

      

      Nightwood Editions acknowledges financial support from the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publisher’s Tax Credit.

      This book has been produced on 100% post-consumer recycled, ancient-forest-free paper, processed chlorine-free and printed with vegetable-based dyes.

      Printed and bound in Canada.

      library and archives canada cataloguing in publication

      Wong, Rita, 1968-, author

      Undercurrent / Rita Wong ; with drawings by Cindy Mochizuki.

      Poems.

      “A blewointment book”.

      Issued in print and electronic formats.

      ISBN 978-0-88971-308-6 (pbk.).--ISBN 978-0-88971-045-0 (pdf)

      I. Title.

      PS8595.O5975U54 2015 C811’.54 C2015-901130-2

      C2015-901131-0

      “We do not own the water. The water owns itself.”

      – Lee Maracle

       The water belongs to itself.

      “Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless, like water. If you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup. You put water into a bottle, and it becomes the bottle. You put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. That water can flow, or it can crash. Be water my friend.”

      – Bruce Lee

      我

      很

      感

      謝

      這

      裡

      的

      原

      住

      民

      –黃錦兒

      pacific flow

      water has a syntax i am still learning

      a middle voice pivots where it is porous

      foraminifera punctuate ocean floors

      salmon streams double as human & bear lifelines

      an underlying platform marine reclaims its own

      from trough to crest hypersea rolls through meme

      tidal rhythm sings convoluta roscoffensis

      silica circuits iodine invokes thyroid

      saltiness grows over eons plankton provide half our oxygen

      what we cannot see matters as kin

      fever speeds us up churns soluble toxins, insoluble plastics

      strikes gulls spikes trawls

      choppy waves warn hazardous passages

      abound from city sewage

      mess amasses dissonant grammar

      wail overfished bluefins tune

      benthic beholds watches & weights

      learning curves gurgles to the surface

      borrowed waters: the sea around us, the sea within us

      the great pacific garbage patch is not just a mass of floating plastic junk the size of ontario, jostling about with jellyfish and starving squids in the ocean, but a dead albatross mirrors us back to ourselves. it is a manmade network, toxic magic in the making, branching into your bathroom with its plastic shampoo bottles & toothbrushes, into local plastic factories, into the fast food restaurants that sing the convenient song & inconvenient truth of disposable forks & styrofoam containers, into the plastic beverage bottles belched out by nestle, coca-cola, pepsi, visible tip of the corporate iceberg. it is embedded in mutual funds & stock investments. it is soap dish & lawn chair, eyeglasses & twist ties, hospital food trays & squeezable honey bottles, lighters & lipstick tubes, all bobbing & decomposing in a great big salty home. it is formidable & humble, far away & intimate, outside & inside, all at once.

      both the ferned & the furry, the herbaceous & the human, can call the ocean our ancestor. our blood plasma sings the composition of seawater. roughly half a billion years ago, ocean reshaped some of its currents into fungi, flora & fauna that left their marine homes & learned to exchange bodily fluids on land. spreading like succulents & stinging nettles, our salty-wet bodies refilled their fluids through an eating that is also always drinking. hypersea is a story of how we rearrange our oceanic selves on land. we are liquid matrix, streaming & recombining through ingesting one another, as a child swallows a juicy plum, as a beaver chews on tree, as a hare inhales a patch of moist, dewy clover. what do we return to the ocean that let us loose on land? we are animals moving extracted & excreted minerals into the ocean without plan or precaution, making dead zones though we are capable of life.

mongo mondo midday at midway, sun glares plastic trashed, beached, busted bottle caps, broken lighters, brittle shreds in feathered corpses heralded by the hula hoop & the frisbee, this funky plastic age spins out unplanned aftermath, ongoing agony mostly unseen, brilliant in the midst of daylight polestar shines on, guiding proper motion tortoise, albatross, crab & dolphin pod brace against onslaught: how long will it take the clan to learn? convenience not worth cancer’s long soft leak into lungs, brains, bellies distended, grotesque imitations of feeding hidden hunger can’t be satisfied by junk tossed after one use, to be carried by wind & waves into random access memory through online photographs into inhaled weather, ingesting hormone scrambling seafood trapped in massive ghost nets, angry flails are human, yet won’t get us out concerted cutting, strategic to the source, might avert our own disposal

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