Craigville Leadership Council
I thought to get out & explore I’d
have to say something about the
eleven year old girl badgering
the nine year old brother to join
her in the water, nonstop needling
& wheedling that had me wishing
he’d go in & hold her under for
a few minutes—but the father was
on her side. He pushed the boy
into a beach chair & scolded him
for setting up expectations then
disappointing them. Then he
& the daughter swam out to the
raft. Along the way she resumed
the call. “Come out, brother.
Why don’t you come into the
water?” The week has trajectory:
beginning, middle & end, & we’ve
been here year after year, repeating
the same hopes & headaches—
the longings & dissatisfactions—
mortifications with modifications
that seem to make no difference.
Because this year there is one.
This time—thoughts are clear.
The luck has been fought for.
The boy’s fear & the girl’s
need to call attention to it, without
using the language of belittling
—keeping cajoling, wheedling
& needling free of even the
tone associated with calling
someone chicken—the message
contained only in the
insistence that he join her in
the water—let the viewer &
listener draw their conclusions—
it’s there –the magnificent
midweek realization that time is
short—only this time too short
to waste on regret & resentment
—best to plunge in—divulge
it all or keep it all hidden—just
get it done. Does the
boy know the audience is on
his side? Is he deliberately
bringing out the pain-in-the-ass
in his sister so that the
world at large will hate her? I’m
not sure. I don’t believe the world
outside the family exists for any
of these people. I’m not sure
the world outside the family
exists for me. I keep looking
but so far I only encounter
families—other families, perhaps,
but the same families in the
sense that their weeks follow
the same trajectories—undergo
the same hopes & headaches,
awaken to the same realizations
that time is short, that there is
absolutely no difference between
effort & effortlessness. That
will & lack of will are almost
indistinguishable, that unmanaged
anger is the troublemaker for sure
—that disrespecting family
—or at least disrupting its
flow—will keep us from
attaining status—that
natural born leaders don’t like
interruption. That natural
disrupters are perhaps more
dangerous to themselves than
they are to leaders & followers.
That some are not natural-
born, but self-selecting—Can
anyone tell them apart—the
natural born & self-selecting
—it’s important to know
whether a natural born leader
self-selects a follower’s or
disrupter’s path—or whether a
natural disrupter self selects
to lead. What makes it
complicated—sometimes a
family does the selecting—
sometimes some are born great,
others have it “thrust upon
them.” You’d expect most
success when all stars align
—nature, self, thrust into
greatness by a well-placed
family, while failure or
worse awaits the follower
who chooses leadership:
the rest of the world treats
her like an interrupting child.
| Gerald Yelle |
|
levelheaded: Craigville Leadership Council
It is funny (and unpredictable) the way some moments can blossom into huge fractals of philosophical thought and others can die on the vine. And it’s funny the way Gerald Yelle’s “Craigville Leadership Council” moves from light, narrative lines like “I thought to get out & explore I’d / have to say something about the / eleven year old girl” to the choppy, philosophizing voice found in “it’s important to know / whether a natural born leader / self-selects a follower’s or / disrupter’s path.” Even if this speaker’s thoughts walk a fine line between sense and nonsense, the poem attests to philosophy’s necessary rootedness in human experience.
But, if philosophy is rooted in human experience, it is also solidly stuck there. Yelle’s speaker can’t escape his own head. When he says, “I don’t believe the world / outside the family exists for any / of these people,” he reminds us of the limits of his own perception. In its several variations, the phrase “wheedling & needling” excellently summarizes the modus operandi of Yelle’s speaker. He is inching us toward some philosophical conclusion that either does not exist or defies summary.
By the end of the poem, the speaker reduces his philosophy into a single image of an interrupting child. Not only does the image indicate the frustration in not being able to speak, but the speaker’s reduction of this lengthy poem into a single image enacts the frustration outright. The image is a disappointment. It is a let-down. But the poem is not its finale. Instead it’s the mental carnival ride toward its finale. And as with many carnival rides, when we come to the end, we are disappointed not only by the caliber of the ride but also by the end arriving so soon.
– The Editors
