“I will have to insult the darkness with torchlight”… Mmmm… delicious!
David, you have spoken an old and almost unconscious feeling that I have had since I remember: a deep longing to stay in the mysterious Dark long enough to truly “see” without the insult of artificial light. Thank you for the medicine and for sharing your superb writing!
What a lyrical and intriguing initiation story: a young boy being instructed into the secret of 'seeing in the dark' by a wise river elder. When I first read the title of your writings ' Elvers by Moonlight' I knew magic was afoot! And to be sure, we've all had such a taste of it in the last few months. Now we know its deep and wondrous source!
As a person who marvels in the silent rhythmic slow dance of fly fishing,
I am in awe of your words. In return , I will remind you of the last scene of my favorite movie of all time. You know the one. The scene is set; the narrator stands in the midst of the river. An old man now, tying on a fly in second nature, imprinted from his youth.
“…in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.”
Your phrasing, your timing, your metaphors, your subjects. I think of myself as a decent writer...I stand in awe, David. Yours is poetry in prose form. Thank you for sharing it.
You always give such encouragement, thank you. It is so interesting , the crossover between poetry and prose. I've spent a lot more of my time in poetry than prose over the last decade or so - specifically Gaelic poetry and the translation of it into English (apologies to anyone who thinks that is an intrinsically bad thing to do - I do it when asked and with reverence). Anyway, the process involves, amongst other things, trying to re-capture phrasing, pace and rhythm in a fundamentally different language. Endless reading out loud, trimming, re-arranging, re-ordering, reading out loud again. I guess it has become a bit of a habit. Far be it for me, with a handful of short substack posts, to be opining about how to write. But I'm surprised how rarely the 'how to ...' guides recommend reading out loud. And I mean really reading out loud, not listening to the voice in your head. Your tongue and lips and throat and nose - all the bits of you that move to make speech - they've been doing this stuff forever and they are superb editors.
Wow, what an amazing piece of advice re reading aloud, thank you. I've done that with my academic work but never with my personal writing. Time to try it, perhaps?
A must! Perhaps it’s from past lives as a music and classroom teacher, teacher-librarian, and children’s book author ( where those words will be read aloud over and over), but it’s almost second nature to me—trying for first. 😊
Ach, there you go. You were ahead of me all along. In Gaelic they have a saying which translates roughly as - 'the lamb trying to teach the sheep how to bleat' ;-)
I love your stories, they transport me completely. Standing in the water with you I remembered being ten years old and lying on a warm rock by the side of a stream in Vermont, the occasional pickup truck rumbling through the covered bridge high above , my arm dangling in the sparkling water, fingers gently tickling the belly of a trout that was idling in the water below.
(Oh, and my grandmother taught me a similar skill, that of threading a needle in the dark…truly useful now that I need spectacles to see fine detail, but not likely to lead to such an exquisite experience as you described!)
Oh heavens. You have the guddling gift? I always wanted it so badly and near froze my arm many times in the Dart and the high streams of Exmoor. But it never came to me. I assumed for a long time that I was secretly cursed and never dared tell anyone. Now, perhaps, I see that the lesson of that specific failure was more valuable than all the books I ever read.
I wonder. Do you thread a needle the way I thread a hook?
I think the fish I tickled knew that I didn’t want to catch them, I just wanted to play with them (though I must admit I was in awe of the children I read about in books who could catch their dinner that way!).
As to threading, I pull the thread between my thumb and index finger (held together) until I feel it is about to “disappear” and then bring the eye of the needle to it. I always giggle if there’s a movie scene in which an actor is trying to thread a needle by holding a needle in the air and bringing the thread to it….
Oh that's very different - and more intuitive. Because the 'thread' I'm using is a bit less floppy than, say, cotton, I was taught a different way. Hold the hook by the bend and hold the line just sticking out from between the forefinger and thumb of the other hand. Stick out your tongue, just a little bit. Hold the eye of the hook against the very tip and gently poke your tongue with the protruding end of the line. Adjust as you feel necessary ...
Your writing takes me to lost places of my childhood; fields and lakes, buzzing meadows, and the secret snowy cathedral woods with a brook going through, steepening its polite banks year by year. It’s lyrical and feet-in-dirt all at once. A summer night of a waxing moon and cricketsong. Thank you.
Thank you for reading. I was buoyed by the advice behind your 'Materials and Meltwater'. And the fox skull (or some animal like a fox). I have such a skull in front of me here.
Your writing is the most amazing combination of tranquil and riveting. Thank you
“I will have to insult the darkness with torchlight”… Mmmm… delicious!
David, you have spoken an old and almost unconscious feeling that I have had since I remember: a deep longing to stay in the mysterious Dark long enough to truly “see” without the insult of artificial light. Thank you for the medicine and for sharing your superb writing!
What a lyrical and intriguing initiation story: a young boy being instructed into the secret of 'seeing in the dark' by a wise river elder. When I first read the title of your writings ' Elvers by Moonlight' I knew magic was afoot! And to be sure, we've all had such a taste of it in the last few months. Now we know its deep and wondrous source!
"I fumble in the pockets of my memory" is a phrase worth remembering. Thank you.
Absolutely beautiful, exquisitely observed, very deeply moving - please keep writing!!
Beautiful! Thank you 😊!
Sublime
As a person who marvels in the silent rhythmic slow dance of fly fishing,
I am in awe of your words. In return , I will remind you of the last scene of my favorite movie of all time. You know the one. The scene is set; the narrator stands in the midst of the river. An old man now, tying on a fly in second nature, imprinted from his youth.
“…in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise. Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.”
Always brings tears…
Thank you for yours.
Oh now you've done it. Many tears. Thank you.
Welling of waters
of deep appreciation …
So much lives in these waters
salty or fresh …
These rivers that run
along wrinkles …
Grateful for all who can manage
to let words flow laminate
(my new word today
along with elvers…)
Grateful David Knowles for your invitation to join in moonlight adventure and wonder. My life and world is all the richer. 🙏
Thank you for this, David. I'm savoring your words; they are so nourishing.
What a magical piece this is, David! Thank you for sharing. 🐟
Your phrasing, your timing, your metaphors, your subjects. I think of myself as a decent writer...I stand in awe, David. Yours is poetry in prose form. Thank you for sharing it.
You always give such encouragement, thank you. It is so interesting , the crossover between poetry and prose. I've spent a lot more of my time in poetry than prose over the last decade or so - specifically Gaelic poetry and the translation of it into English (apologies to anyone who thinks that is an intrinsically bad thing to do - I do it when asked and with reverence). Anyway, the process involves, amongst other things, trying to re-capture phrasing, pace and rhythm in a fundamentally different language. Endless reading out loud, trimming, re-arranging, re-ordering, reading out loud again. I guess it has become a bit of a habit. Far be it for me, with a handful of short substack posts, to be opining about how to write. But I'm surprised how rarely the 'how to ...' guides recommend reading out loud. And I mean really reading out loud, not listening to the voice in your head. Your tongue and lips and throat and nose - all the bits of you that move to make speech - they've been doing this stuff forever and they are superb editors.
Wow, what an amazing piece of advice re reading aloud, thank you. I've done that with my academic work but never with my personal writing. Time to try it, perhaps?
A must! Perhaps it’s from past lives as a music and classroom teacher, teacher-librarian, and children’s book author ( where those words will be read aloud over and over), but it’s almost second nature to me—trying for first. 😊
My read aloud has usually been in my final edit stage. I will think of Elvers as I move it to the earliest stages. Thank you.
Ach, there you go. You were ahead of me all along. In Gaelic they have a saying which translates roughly as - 'the lamb trying to teach the sheep how to bleat' ;-)
Learning all I can from you! You have, as they say, stepped up my game!
Indeed!
I love your stories, they transport me completely. Standing in the water with you I remembered being ten years old and lying on a warm rock by the side of a stream in Vermont, the occasional pickup truck rumbling through the covered bridge high above , my arm dangling in the sparkling water, fingers gently tickling the belly of a trout that was idling in the water below.
(Oh, and my grandmother taught me a similar skill, that of threading a needle in the dark…truly useful now that I need spectacles to see fine detail, but not likely to lead to such an exquisite experience as you described!)
Oh heavens. You have the guddling gift? I always wanted it so badly and near froze my arm many times in the Dart and the high streams of Exmoor. But it never came to me. I assumed for a long time that I was secretly cursed and never dared tell anyone. Now, perhaps, I see that the lesson of that specific failure was more valuable than all the books I ever read.
I wonder. Do you thread a needle the way I thread a hook?
I think the fish I tickled knew that I didn’t want to catch them, I just wanted to play with them (though I must admit I was in awe of the children I read about in books who could catch their dinner that way!).
As to threading, I pull the thread between my thumb and index finger (held together) until I feel it is about to “disappear” and then bring the eye of the needle to it. I always giggle if there’s a movie scene in which an actor is trying to thread a needle by holding a needle in the air and bringing the thread to it….
Oh that's very different - and more intuitive. Because the 'thread' I'm using is a bit less floppy than, say, cotton, I was taught a different way. Hold the hook by the bend and hold the line just sticking out from between the forefinger and thumb of the other hand. Stick out your tongue, just a little bit. Hold the eye of the hook against the very tip and gently poke your tongue with the protruding end of the line. Adjust as you feel necessary ...
Now that is very clever indeed. Respect.
He was a clever old man :-)
No flies on him 😉
Silvery magic. At last I learn what is an elver by moonlight, a story unlearnable from any dictionary. I dropped a berry in a stream….
Oh crikey. Dropping berries or nuts into streams - you are a person who knows their way to the magic :-)
Like you, I was put in mind of the Song of Wandering Aengus…
Your writing takes me to lost places of my childhood; fields and lakes, buzzing meadows, and the secret snowy cathedral woods with a brook going through, steepening its polite banks year by year. It’s lyrical and feet-in-dirt all at once. A summer night of a waxing moon and cricketsong. Thank you.
Thank you for reading. I was buoyed by the advice behind your 'Materials and Meltwater'. And the fox skull (or some animal like a fox). I have such a skull in front of me here.
Thanks so much, David. The skull on my wall is a coyote.
Oooh, coyote. Serious magic :-)
Yesss!
You write with the voice of river and tree, fish and moon, and I become one with them through your words. Thank you.
They are kind enough to let me borrow them, now and then :-)
There’s deep attentive listening involved that allows for speaking the non linguistic languages of the eartheaven realm.
Here's where I wandered after reading: https://www.the-ies.org/analysis/eels-river-thames. Fascinating! And it adds to the magic of your piece, for me.
You're absolutely right. They are such wonderful creatures, right under our noses the whole time.