A Life so Strange
In a world beyond belief,
Beyond imagination even,
A life so concentrated, so ancient, so strange,
Stirs in the deep.
Beneath the cover of rock and weed
Her eye opens into pitch darkness.
An intelligence shaped over millions of years,
She casts her wild curiosity out
Into the old growth forest of the ocean.
Naked and vulnerable as a newborn,
It’s hard to imagine how she will survive a day
In this place of unknown terrors and appetites.
All at once
The octopus ripples into life.
Eight strong tentacles unfurl in one seamless motion,
Pushing her out into a liquid vastness.
How must it feel, in her three beating hearts,
to move so quickly
from the compression of her den
to this infinite expanse of water?
Seeing her in this moment of release,
A wave breaks over me.
Part longing, part terror, part grief,
Its swell feels familiar.
I realise that I know her from somewhere,
From sometime long ago.
Her vulnerability, her aliveness, her complete immersion,
Ripple recollection through my being.
In a world beyond belief,
Beyond imagination even,
A life so concentrated, so ancient, so strange,
Stirs within me.
This poem was inspired by a hauntingly beautiful piece of music for piano, composed by my friend Michael Csanyi-Wills. It also draws on a searing memory of close encounter with an octopus curled beneath a rock in the coral reefs off the coast of Malaysia. The poem is a tribute to the profoundly moving 2020 Netflix film ‘My Octopus Teacher’.
The three central stanzas follow an eight line form, in honour of the octopus’ eight tentacles. Each limb can ‘think’ for itself, performing tasks like tasting, touching, and moving without direction from the central brain (which is also capable of taking control when needed). And yes, the octopus does indeed have three ‘hearts’.
Image ©NationalGeographic
