by Terry Heick
I just lately attended a screening of a documentary on Wendell Berry on the Louisville Pace Artwork Museum.
Drew Perkins and I took in what was then referred to as ‘The Seer’ again in July. Now titled ‘Look and See” out of, if I’m not mistaken, Berry’s reluctance to be the centerpiece of the movie, by far probably the most transferring bit for me was the opening sequence, the place Berry’s sage voice reads his personal poem, ‘The Goal’ in opposition to a dizzying and incredible montage of visuals making an attempt to replicate a number of the greater concepts within the strains and stanzas.
The change in title is smart although, as a result of the documentary is basically much less about Berry and his work, and extra in regards to the realities of recent farming–key themes for positive in Berry’s work, however in the identical sense that farms and rustic settings had been key themes in Robert Frost’s work: seen, however most powerfully as symbols in pursuit of broader allegories, moderately than locations for which means.
See additionally Learning Through Humility
Anybody who has learn any of my very own writing is aware of what a rare affect Berry has been on me as a author, educator, and father. I created a sort of faculty mannequin based mostly on his work in 2012 referred to as ‘The Inside-Out School,’ have exchanged letters with him, and was even fortunate enough to meet him last year.
Proper, so, the movie. You may purchase the documentary here, and whereas I believe it misses on framing Berry for the widest potential viewers, it’s a uncommon take a look at a really non-public man and thus I can’t advocate it strongly sufficient when you’re a reader of Berry.
The issue of mixing consumerism (advertisements, promoting DVDs, promoting books) isn’t misplaced on me right here, however I’m hoping that the theme and distribution of the message outweigh any inherent (and woeful) irony when the entire items listed below are thought-about in sum. Additionally, there’s a stanza that appears to be lacking from the voice-over that I included within the transcription beneath.
The poem is taken from ‘A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems’ 1979-1997 printed by Counterpoint Press in 1998.
The Goal
by Wendell Berry
Even whereas I dreamed I prayed that what I noticed was solely worry and no foretelling,
for I noticed the final recognized panorama destroyed for the sake
of the target–the soil bulldozed, the rock blasted.
Those that had wished to go house would by no means get there now.
I visited the workplaces the place for the sake of the target,
the planners deliberate at clean desks set in rows.
I visited the loud factories the place the machines had been made
that will drive ever ahead towards the target.
I noticed the forest lowered to stumps and gullies;
I noticed the poisoned river–the mountain solid into the valley;
I got here to town that no one acknowledged as a result of it appeared like each different metropolis.
I noticed the passages worn by the unnumbered footfalls of these
whose eyes had been mounted upon the target.
Their passing had obliterated the graves and the monuments
of those that had died in pursuit of the target
and who had way back perpetually been forgotten,
in keeping with the inevitable rule that those that have forgotten
overlook that they’ve forgotten.
Women and men, and youngsters now pursued the target as if no one ever had pursued it earlier than.
The races and the sexes now intermingled completely in pursuit of the target.
The once-enslaved, the once-oppressed,
had been now free to promote themselves to the very best bidder
and to enter the very best paying prisons in pursuit of the target,
which was the destruction of all enemies,
which was the destruction of all obstacles,
which was to clear the way in which to victory,
which was to clear the way in which to promotion,
to salvation,
to progress,
to the finished sale,
to the signature on the contract,
which was to clear the way in which to self-realization, to self-creation,
from which no one who ever wished to go house would ever get there now,
for each remembered place had been displaced;
each love unloved,
each vow unsworn,
each phrase unmeant
to make approach for the passage of the group of the individuated,
the autonomous, the self-actuated, the homeless with their many eyes
opened towards the target which they didn’t but understand within the far distance,
having by no means recognized the place they had been going,
having by no means recognized the place they got here from.
From ‘A Timbered Choir: The Sabbath Poems’ 1979-1997, by Wendell Berry, Counterpoint, 1998
‘The Goal’ As Learn By Wendell Berry
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