'Waving' by Pat Boran

Another poem from my commonplace book, dated 4th April 2004. 

I suppose the central theme that appeals to me is how, in the final section, the poet compares such a simple and straightforward and easily understood set of ideas - quantum physics - with the infinitely more complicated facts of awareness, recognition and reflection: consciousness. 

In these curious times where contemporary science posits the bizarre and risible idea that 'consciousness' is a by-product (epiphenomenon) of the most advanced bit of kit in the universe: the human brain. 

The poet leads us gently away from the madness of an anthropomorphised cosmos?

Or have I got it wrong?

Here is Pat's website.



Waving

As a child I waved to people I didn't know.
I waved from passing cars, school buses,
second floor windows, or from the street
to secretaries trapped in offices above.
When policemen motioned my father on
past the scene of a crime or an army checkpoint,
I waved from the back seat. I loved to wave.
I saw the world disappear into a funnel
of perspective, like the reflection in a bath
sucked into a single point when the water
drains. I waved in greeting to things that vanished
into points. I waved to say, 'I see you, can you see me?'

I loved the notion of an ocean 'that could wave',
of a wave that rose up to see the onlooker
standing on the beach. And though the sea
came towards the beach, it was a different sea
when it arrived; the onlooker had changed.
They disappeared, both into points of time. 
So that was why they waved to one another.
On the beach I waved until my arms hurt.
My mother waved her hair sometimes. This
I know, seems to be something different, but
when she came up the street, bright and radiant,
her white hair like a jewel cap on her head,
it was a signal I could not fail to answer. 
I waved and she approached me, smiling shyly.

Sometimes someone walking beside her
might wave back, wondering where they knew me from.
Hands itched in pockets, muscles twitched
when I waved. 'There's someone who sees me!'
But in general people took no risk with strangers.
And when they saw who I was - or wasn't-
they felt relief, saved from terrible disgrace.

Now it turns out that light itself's a wave
(as well as a point or points) so though the waving's
done, it's really only just beginning. Whole humans -
arms, legs, backs, bellies - are waving away,
flickering on and off, in and out of time
and space, pushing through streets with heads down,
smiling up at office windows, lying in gutters
with their kneecaps broken and their hopes dashed,
driving, loving, hiding, growing old, and always 
waving, waving as if to say: 'Can you see me?'
I can see you - still..still... still.....'