Can we break away from anthropocentrism by understanding
a plant's perspective and its perception of the world?
Gεντλε πυλλ φρομ δοων βελοω
Ωηισπερσ ανδ ηιντσ συβτλψ.
Rαμιφιεδ ροοτσ οφ διρεχτιον
Ι ρεαδ τηε λιγητ ωεαϖινγ φρομ αβοϖε.
Αττραχτιον φρομ βοτη εξτρεμεσ
Τυγσ ατ μψ σεαμσ εϖερ σο λιγητλψ.
Vεερινγ μοϖεμεντσ οϖερ τιμε
Γραϖιτψ ιμπλιεδ, γεστυρεσ το με.
Iντανγιβλε, υντουχηαβλε το μοστ,
Σενσε οφ πλαχε Ι’μ λοστ ωιτηουτ.
Τενδερ δελιχατε ροοτσ Ι’λλ εξτενδ.
Ινϖισιβλε φορχε Ι ωαιτ φορ ψουρ χαλλ.
Yεαρ−ρουνδ περφεχτ οριεντατιον
Φεελινγ μψ λοχατιον ασσυρεδ.
“Author”: Garlic
(Allium sativum)
Gentle pull from down below
Whispers and hints subtly.
Ramified roots of direction
I read the light weaving from above.
Attraction from both extremes
Tugs at my seams ever so lightly.
Veering movements over time
Gravity implied, gestures to me.
Intangible, untouchable to most,
Sense of place I’m lost without.
Tender delicate roots I’ll extend.
Invisible force I wait for your call.
Year-round perfect orientation
Feeling my location assured.
“Author”: Garlic
(Allium sativum)
Sπεχτρυμ οφ τηε ϖισυαλ. Οπτιχαλ Αρραψ.
Λυστρουσ συμμερ δαψσ βοοστ μψ φολιαγε.
Iντριχατε παττερνσ οφ βριγητ ανδ δαρκ.
Ωιτη συχη ηυεσ οφ ρεδσ ανδ βλυεσ,
ωηψ χαρε φορ πιχτυρεσ?
Gλεανεδ ινφορματιον βεχομεσ ιν με
Αν οδε το συρϖιϖαλ, α ρεαλιζεδ ασπιρατιον.
Hαρμονιζεδ βεαμσ οφ περχεπτιον
Υνβεκνοωνστ το μοστ.
Tηρουγη μψ τιπσ ψου βυιλδ μψ ωορλδ,
Τραϖελινγ ιλλυμινατιον.
“Author”: Tobacco
(Nicotiana Tabacum)
Spectrum of the visual. Optical Array.
Lustrous summer days boost my foliage.
Intricate patterns of bright and dark.
With such hues of reds and blues,
why care for pictures?
Gleaned information becomes in me
An ode to survival, a realized aspiration.
Harmonized beams of perception
Unbeknownst to most.
Through my tips you build my world,
Traveling illumination.
“Author”: Tobacco
(Nicotiana Tabacum)
Sυρϖιϖαλ χομπελσ με, Ι πυτ φορτη...
Βεχκονεδ. Σπεχιαλιζεδ φραγρανχε τηατ χουρτσ.
Mοορεδ ανδ βουνδ το νε’ερ φεεδ ον λιγητ.
Αν οβλιγατε παρασιτε Ι χλυτχη φιρμλψ το λιφε,
Eντανγλεδ δεεπ ιν οτηερσ’ σηοοτσ
Λοοτινγ στεμσ ανδ ροοτσ τηρουγηουτ.
Lοστ ιν δοομ ωιτηουτ α ηοστ,
Ατ σχεντ’σ μερχψ λιεσ μψ σεαρχη.
Lατχηινγ φιερχελψ το τηισ τραιλ,
Ι ηολδ ον τιγητ. Ι δον’τ λετ γο.
“Author”: Dodder
(Cuscuta Pentagona)
Survival compels me, I put forth...
Beckoned. Specialized fragrance that courts.
Moored and bound to ne’er feed on light.
An obligate parasite I clutch firmly to life,
Entangled deep in others’ shoots
Looting stems and roots throughout.
Lost in doom without a host,
At scent’s mercy lies my search.
Latching fiercely to this trail,
I hold on tight. I don’t let go.
“Author”: Dodder
(Cuscuta Pentagona)
Tουχη−με−νοτ τηεψ χαλλ με
Τιμιδ, βασηφυλ, σηρινκινγ.
Oβλιγεδ βψ ταχτ Ι ρεαχτ
Ρετραχτ μψ λεαϖεσ ασ στεμσ δεσχενδ.
U ιν Πυδιχα,
Σηψ ιν Λατιν.
Cονσταντλψ αδϕυστινγ ασ Ι λεαρν,
Ι δεχιδε ηοω θυιχκλψ το υνφολδ.
Hοω χουλδ ψου εϖερ υνδερστανδ...
Ανδ σο Ι ηιδε, μψ ρεασονσ ωηψ.
“Author”: Mimosa
(Mimosa Pudica)
Τouch-me-not they call me
Timid, bashful, shrinking.
Οbliged by tact I react
Retract my leaves as stems descend.
U in Pudica,
Shy in Latin.
Constantly adjusting as I learn,
I decide how quickly to unfold.
How could you ever understand...
And so I hide, my reasons why.
“Author”: Mimosa
(Mimosa Pudica)
Tριχκψ τιμεσχαλε σλιππινγ αωαψ,
Σλοω το ρεσπονδ, ασ μψ χελλσ γροω.
Iντερναλ χομμιτμεντ τηατ τιχκσ ανδ τοχκσ,
Χλοχκ οφ βιολογιχαλ μοϖεμεντσ.
Mινυτεσ το ηουρσ: Ψουρ ηουρσ το μψ δαψσ,
Ψου χουλδ νεϖερ βεατ μψ στεαδψ παχε.
Eλυσιϖε παττερνσ οφ μψ ιντριχατε δανχε
Λοστ ιν τιμε το τηε ιμπατιεντ σουλ.
“Author”: Monstera
(Monstera Deliciosa)
Tricky timescale slipping away,
Slow to respond, as my cells grow.
Internal commitment that ticks and tocks,
Clock of biological movements.
Minutes to hours: Your hours to my days,
You could never beat my steady pace.
Elusive patterns of my intricate dance
Lost in time to the impatient soul.
“Author”: Monstera
(Monstera Deliciosa)
Afterword
While most people are familiar with the five human senses, few know about the more complex sixth and seventh ones. The former, called the vestibular sense, is concerned with the perception of bodily position and motion. In other words, our balance and coordination center. The latter, known as proprioception, refers to our internal awareness of every part of our body in space.
It hardly seems a coincidence that we are less familiar with the senses that don’t have a straightforward corresponding bodily organ, unlike the other five: I have eyes that allow me to see; I have a nose that allows me to smell; I have ears that allow me to hear; etc. This lack of organ-equivalence is precisely the case for plants and all of their intricate senses, which might be somewhat responsible for why they seem so foreign. An element that further contributes to this is the drastically different timescale in which they operate.
This work looks to achieve a new form of perspective-taking by presenting a series of poems “authored” by plants, as imagined by me. In my choice of senses, I’ve focused on three that we know well (sight, scent, and touch), one that we are largely unfamiliar with (proprioception, referred to in this project as gravity), and one that is an additional sense I propose that both humans and plants use to perceive and navigate through life (time).
Gentle pull from down below
Whispers and hints subtly.
Ramified roots of direction
I read the light weaving from above.
Attraction from both extremes
Tugs at my seams ever so lightly.
Veering movements over time
Gravity implied, gestures to me.
Intangible, untouchable to most,
Sense of place I’m lost without.
Tender delicate roots I’ll extend.
Invisible force I wait for your call.
Year-round perfect orientation
Feeling my location assured.
“Author”: Garlic
(Allium Sativumm)
Spectrum of the visual. Optical Array.
Lustrous summer days boost
my foliage.
Intricate patterns of bright and dark.
With such hues of reds and blues,
why care for pictures?
Gleaned information becomes in me
An ode to survival, a realized aspiration.
Harmonized beams of perception
Unbeknownst to most.
Through my tips you build my world,
Traveling illumination.
“Author”: Tobacco
(Nicotiana Tabacum)
Survival compels me, I put forth...
Beckoned. Specialized fragrance
that courts.
Moored and bound to ne’er feed on light.
An obligate parasite I clutch firmly to life,
Entangled deep in others’ shoots
Looting stems and roots throughout.
Lost in doom without a host,
At scent’s mercy lies my search
Latching fiercely to this trail,
I hold on tight. I don’t let go.
“Author”: Dodder
(Cuscuta Pentagona)
Touch-me-not they call me
Timid, bashful, shrinking.
Obliged by tact I react
Retract my leaves as stems descend.
U in Pudica,
Shy in Latin.
Constantly adjusting as I learn,
I decide how quickly to unfold.
How could you ever understand…
And so I hide, my reasons why.
“Author”: Mimosa
(Mimosa Pudica)
Tricky timescale slipping away,
Slow to respond, as my cells grow.
Internal commitment that ticks and tocks,
Clock of biological movements.
Minutes to hours: Your hours to my days,
You could never beat my steady pace.
Elusive patterns of my intricate dance
Lost in time to the impatient soul
“Author”: Monstera
(Monstera Deliciosa)