Fire and Silk; poems and artwork

Chico author and artist Meghan Irene Turner, survivor of the Camp Fire, recipient of a Ph.D. from the Institute of Metaphysical Humanistic Science, and ardent observer of the natural world, finds in poetry “a way to communicate with the soul.”

That communication is highlighted by her drawings and paintings in “Fire & Silk: Poems & Artwork” ($19.99 in paperback from Chico-based Quoir, facebook.com/quoirpublishing, or from the author at poetmirene@gmail.com).

Turner notes in the Preface that the meaning intended by the author, either of poetry or the black-and-white illustrations, may be very different from what the reader discovers. So the book is presented “not so that any person can decipher the absolute meaning of each poem, but so that each can explore the many worlds that creativity establishes.”

The book is designed to be taken in slowly, each poem a contemplation that invites heightened awareness of everyday experience: “Wearing sandals and shorts/,” the poet writes, “in the abyss of the ordinary// I make my bed, then pour a cup of coffee.”

Elsewhere, in “a crack in the divine,” the entire poem reads: “My head, a shell,/ filled with the yolk/ of yesterday// My bones, branches,/ a resilient nest/ for tomorrow// My spirit, albumen,/ awkward ethereal globule,/ of intuition.”

In “ptsd,” remembering the fire: “small globules of sweat form on my neck// I can feel the sensation of panic/ as the planes fly like eager hummingbirds over head … my hands come up to cover my head,/ and protect me not from the massive tanker filled with water,/ but from my mind and the memories encased there … ”

Yet when the awful vision ends, and the poet returns to the present: “Even if just momentarily. Even if just for a brief second./ I am reminded of liberation,/ the absolute freedom of witnessing beauty before that fiery autumn.”

One’s connection with nature is a humbling, sometimes heartbreaking reality: “I am no greater than the dust, and not less./ I am infinite with the ground.” In another poem: “I see eternity/ in a speck of dust.” Yet later, contemplating the stars: “The place from which we came/ The place to which we go// Dust and luminescence….”

Dan Barnett teaches philosophy at Butte College. Send review requests to dbarnett99@me.com. Columns archived at https://barnetto.substack.com