257: Walking with Ruskin

Over the decades, sometimes people ask: Why this enduring fascination (obsession?) with Ruskin? I usually answer with one of two responses; often both. “It is because, with Ruskin,” I always say, firstly, “I have been given a rare privilege: a chance to walk a few steps, every day, with genius.” Then I follow with this second response: “There have been many geniuses in world history, of course, but, with Ruskin, I get to walk these steps with someone who always tells me the truth, who always says things that lift my spirits, make my heart warmer, make me glad to be alive and have the privilege of breathing this earth’s good air. Some are truths I should have known before, and perhaps did at some sub- or semi-conscious level. But many are wholly new, direct my attention to things I have never thought of, never perceived. But he had thought of them, perceived them, and, so seeing, had taken pains to tell me about them! It is such revelations that make so many of his pages shine with golden light! Other great writers provide such illuminations occasionally. But with Ruskin it is different. Every book he ever wrote, every lecture he ever delivered; indeed, every letter he ever sent, had, at its core, this impulse to contribute something to our greater enjoyment of Life. As I say, a privilege!!

Then there is Robert Cording. Poet. Professor. Indeed, award-winning poet! Some time ago, I came across a reference to his collection, “Walking with Ruskin” (2010). Naturally, given the title, I was intrigued. Although I read poetry regularly, I had never heard of Professor Cording. And so, the internet being what it is these days, I hunted up a copy of this collection, ordered it, and I’ve been reading it ever since. It certainly does not disappoint. His poems (mostly of the prose variety– at least in this collection)–soothe, teach, inspire. There is nothing in the volume which tells us when Cording found Ruskin or why he became important to him. But that is of little matter. What is of matter though, is that he is deeply knowledgeable about this great genius of the 19th century. His poems. often about nature, sometimes about life and the hardships encountered along its complex way, are illuminating. I highly recommend the collection it if you can locate a copy (which you can). Below, following a picture of the poet himself, is a reproduction of the cover of his collection, chock full (Mr. Ruskin would be pleased!) of sweet images from Nature. And so, with these thoughts in mind, I thought I would offer for your reflection–and, hopefully, temptation–the title poem of Professor Cording’s fine collection. Do let me know what you think. Discovering this little book was a living instance of our wonderful word, “serendipity,” of the unanticipated pleasures that unexpectedly emerge when one “walks with Ruskin”!

Walking with Ruskin

(1.) Each day I walk for an hour or two;
what started as exercise is now a matter
of devotion. Or, less grandly:
walking gives me something to do,
a kind of discipline, since I don’t know
how to move towards any of those
big intangible goals–wholeness, God,
forgiveness, justice–but I know how
to walk. Sometimes I bring Ruskin along.

(2. ) Despite his holy striving and cloying
superlatives (“the greatest thing
a human soul does in the world is
to see something,” or “art springs from
the most profound admiration”),
I like the way he forgets himself
in his concern for what is particular
about an eagle’s beak or the green-brown
coppery iridescence of a pheasant’s feather.

(3.) He’s teaching me a kind of readiness
for what comes along as it pleases:
a line of ants carrying the remains
of a red emerald butterfly, or
a brook in winter moving under ice
like the one-celled life found in a drop
of water under a microscope.
I like to compare notes with him,
to count the shades of blue,

(4.) On a kingfisher’s back or the three
different kinds of wing feathers,
but I’m still learning to look at things
with Ruskin’s respect for fact
and his love for what’s being seen –
this beetle, say, that’s crossed our path,
its two topside eyes ringed in white,
the lacquer of its shell a depth
of black and darkest greens.

(5.) Today, the late July pond water looks
like used car oil, and the roadside grass
is a pointillist study of greens
and the bright white coffee cups of
Americans who run on Dunkin’.
Ruskin and I are looking at clouds,
a kind of medicine. Ruskin says they calm and purify, if only because
the sky is large and we are not.

(6.) And if I’m always half-thinking of
my credit card debt, or if I’m seven
to ten years of mortgaged life
away from retirement, I go on–
crouching down for a beetle
that doesn’t care if it’s seen, though
my seeing it makes the day more real
to me. Nothing much, but something
I’m always thanking Ruskin for.

🙂

Until next time, good friends. please do continue well out there!

 

Jim