Category Archives: Ethel Mortenson Davis

The Meaning Between the Images: Ethel Mortenson Davis and the Poetrics of Juxtaposition

I suppose I shouldn’t be writing essays about Ethel Mortenson Davis’s poetry.  After all, she’s been my wife for close to 59 years now.  But what I’ve noticed over the years is that too many people, though obviously not everyone, sees a poem of hers and feels a certain spark of delight at the image it sparks in their head.

A short poem she just wrote (so many of her poems are short) brought that to the front of my thoughts:

Pollen-Sacs

A frenzied flock of thrushes,

thin and desperately looking for food,

left us worried and wondering.

A bumble bee with huge pollen-sacs

attached to his legs

struggles to fly homeward—your eyes flash.

Like so much of her poetry, you can read this poem, or better yet, listen to Ethel read it out loud, and you can see the two images:  The starving flock of thrushes and the bumble bee with huge pollen-sacs.  But the question is, what is in the poem beyond the images?

Years ago, even before we were first married in Grand Junction, Colorado, I learned to distrust my first reaction to both her poetry and her art.  What you see is inevitably there, but if you leave what’s there at that, you probably are reacting to what’s there rather than understanding the depth of what’s there and the meaning.

In this particular poem, it’s easy to read the first stanza, see that it is about thrushes frenzied in their desperate search for food, go to the second stanza and see the word “struggles” and assume that it is a poem about creatures that are struggling, maybe from the Canadian or western U.S. wildfires so prominent in the world today.

Certainly, there is a layer in the poem that suggest that global climate change might be affecting the thrushes who are in a state where they are desperately looking for food, but pollen sacs are larvae food, providing essential protein, fats, and vitamins that baby bees need to grow.  A bumble bee struggling to carry two of them attached to his legs is not struggling in the sense the frenzied flock of thrushes are.  The bee has collected abundance and are struggling to get what it has gathered of richness found inside flowers it has visited home.

Another element in the poem is that the pollen in the pollen sacs is essential to life on the planet earth since, as the bee flies from flower to flower, the pollen brushes off on the next flower, helping with the pollination process that is necessary to so much food production around the world as well as the diversity of plant-life that in turn feeds into the diversity of insects and animal-life that keep the entire natural world vibrant.

Therefore, the poem is constructed of a parallelism, one image juxtaposed with another.  This creates a complexity of meanings that, admittedly, demands some understanding of science but creates an even deeper level of poetic meaning, exploring all kinds of issues overwhelming our current world.

Therefore, the poem does contain an implied warning.  The thrushes desperate for food leave us wondering why they are desperate?  What has caused that in a world that flows from the bee as part of the chain of events that creates diversity and. even throughout so much of history, fecundity in the natural world?  Are they migrants from wildfire or severe drought or some other disaster?  The poem doesn’t give us a clue.  It just gives us the image of a fact.

But it also gives us a lesson about bees and the larger importance of diversity in a time when the idea of protecting diversity found in either the natural world or human populations is under attack. 

The bee with pollen sacs so heavy that it struggles to make it home causes your eyes to flash.  The bee is a symbol of hope.  It is flying home to feed the larvae that is going to propagate the hive into the next generation.

That hope is contrasted with the desperate flock of thrushes.

What looks like a simple image or even set of images is not always simple, especially in poetry and art, especially Ethel’s poetry and art.

The Chinese Tradition of Poetry

At the heart of what Ethel tries to do in so much of her poetry does flow from two major sources:  the major one is the traditional Chinese tradition of poetry where concrete images, juxtaposition, suggestion, and meaning are generated through the relationship between images.  There needs to be an intuitive leap by the reader to take the images, juxtaposition(s), and suggestions presented by the poem to discover the meaning of the poem. 

In this sense, the aesthetic convergence of a poem, or even a work of art, can be much more interesting, and an act of discovery, as direct influence.  In Archibald MacLeish’s poem, “Ars Poetica”, he claimed that a poem should mean, not say, although that’s admittedly not the exact phrase from the poem. Poetry is not generally deductive science, making hypotheses and then testing those until hard truths are either proven or disproven.  It is the art of seeing the universe in a blade of grass, which comes out of Walt Whitman’s line, ““I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars…”

The Imagistic Tradition of Poetry

The second major continuity in Ethel’s body of work is the modern imagistic tradition starting with Ezra Pound.  Pound had several ideas about what a poem should be when he first started writing about imagism.  According to Pound, a poem should:

 Direct treatment of the “thing,” whether subjective or objective.

 Use absolutely no word that does not contribute to the presentation.

 As regarding rhythm: compose in the sequence of the musical phrase, not in sequence of a metronome.

In applying this sense of poetic construction, Pound defined an image, which should, at least in his view, be at the heart of modern poetry, as “that which presents an intellectual and emotional complex in an instant of time.”  That means that an image in poetry is made up of:

 what we literally see;

 an emotional response;

 an intellectual recognition;

 associations that aren’t explicitly stated;

 relationships to other images.

In Ethel’s poem, “Pollen-Sacs,” the title leads us to notice that this is the central image.  The thrushes give us hunger, desperation, uncertainty and perhaps ecological disturbance.  The bumblebee gives us effort, abundance, fertility, reproduction and continuity.

But the poem doesn’t explain those things. It presents them.  The reader experiences the relationship between them.

The Value of Empty Space

I want to end this essay by talking briefly about Chinese art.  Traditional Chinese landscape painting often isn’t about reproducing a landscape photographically. It creates a relationship among elements—mountain, water, tree, mist, human figure, empty space—so that the viewer enters the painting and completes the experience.

Even in her abstract pastels and paintings, Ethel usually tries to do the same thing.  This is part of what relates her poetry to her art.

In her poetry she gives us the image (or thing in Pound’s formulation).  In the case of “Pollen-Sacs” we have the thrushes and the bumble bee.  Then she leaves a conceptual space between them.  This is designed to lead us into first a visual and emotional reaction, then to a question (why are the images so different from each other?), which leads, hopefully, to thinking about the poem’s meaning.

Conclusion

I suspect that this is what I have been learning from Ethel for nearly 59 years. I have learned not to rush to explain what I see in her poems or paintings either to myself or others. I have learned to stay with the image for a while, to look at what is there and then to pay attention to what is not there and to let others discover what they can find and understand for themselves.

The meaning is often in that space.

In “Pollen-Sacs,” the thrushes and the bumblebee never meet. Ethel doesn’t tell us what connects them. She doesn’t tell us whether the thrushes are victims of a changing world, whether the bee represents hope, or whether the two images are part of some larger warning about the fragile web of life. She gives us the images and leaves the space between them open.

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Ethel Davis: Mastering Metaphor in Minimalist Poetry

By Thomas Davis

Ethel Mortenson Davis is a poet that has published eight books of poetry and been published in literary journals and anthologies. The Wisconsin Library Association named her book, Under the Tail of the Milky Way Galaxy, a significant book of poetry by a Wisconsin poet. She has also been a poet laureate for Door County, Wisconsin.

Ever since I have known Ethel, and realized that she is a better poet than I will ever be, I have been fascinated by how she can condense power and meaning into so few lines they are almost, though not quite, haiku. What brought this to the top of my mind was a poem she presented to the poetry group we attend once a month:

Pain

She pulls me from
my deepest sleep.
I tell her leave me alone
where I am happy and safe.

But she gets her way and
stretches me to the top of
of some canyon wall
and tells me,
this is your reality now.

The power of this poem is, at least to me, undeniable. It expressed in 9 lines what so many people, especially as they get older and face the ravages of arthritis or other ailments, have to confront as they struggle to deal with what they cannot escape. It also contains the yearning within the complex of pain for the happiness and safety that is still in the deepest memory of the poet inside "deepest sleep."

When Ethel first showed me what she had written, it reminded me of another powerful small poem, "blackness"

blackness
seeps
in my room.
he crawls up
onto my lap
like the uninvited guest
he always is.

i keep hoping
he’ll leave
before dinner.

originally published in her collection, A Letter on the Horizon's Poem, published by Kelsay Books.

This poem is more metaphorical, of course. Blackness is a metaphor, but the poem again expresses what so much of humanity faces at different times in their lives and, with a touch of humor, in ten lines explores and expresses a dilemma and experience that is at the heart of all of our lives as we journey toward the inevitability central to our existence as human beings.

One of Ethel's early poems that I first read before I had met her in Grand Junction, Colorado when she drove with her sister Pat to visit her sister Lorraine helped to make me aware of what an extraordinary poet the person I was about to meet really was

White Delirium

Oh,
how the white delirium
has set in me.

Memories ache in my throat.
Sweetness stains my mouth.

I cannot forget
your eyes
that cried out to me,
the end of us!

In many ways, Ethel is an imagist poet. Certainly the images she paints can be almost overwhelmingly powerful. "Memories ache in my throat.". The creative force of that image is then paired with "Sweetness stains my mouth." Then the last four lines that makes us construct the meaning out of the poem, as does the blackness poem, by giving us an image that is startling and powerful as it communicates separation and the delirium accompanying a separation that is, what? The creator of delirium or the result of a relationship that was delirious in its substance. We have to create the meaning of the poem as it relates to our own experiences and lives, all in nine lines. This was originally published in A Letter on the Horizon's Poem.

The truth is that Ethel's poetry of ten lines and under could fill an entire volume itself, and the resulting collection would be amazing. One of my favorites of all her small poems is "Night Sky", originally published in Rimrock Poets Magazine that Richard Brenneman and I put together when we were young in Grand Junction, and I was just getting to know Ethel.

Night Sky

The stars laugh and laugh,
laughing in an ocean of laughter,
moving-water laughter,
until the sky can hold no more
and joins in laughing
with black face and shining teeth.

Just the joy and the power of the image and the expression of support for the naturalness and importance of blackness during a time of racial injustice has delighted me ever since I first saw it in Ethel's handwriting on a brown piece of newsprint.

As I said, Ethel's small poems would fill an important volume of poetry. I have always wondered why she isn't among the most famous poets in the country, although I am her husband and that maybe makes me prejudiced. Still, I also have an academic background in English and American literature and am also a poet, so I have the right to think what I think.

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Ethel’s Birthday

May the poetry and art and wonder of who she is continue to flow over the years!

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Audio Book: Meditations on Ceremonies of Beginnings

Tribal College Press has just released an audiobook version of my book of narrative poetry called Meditation on Ceremonies of Beginnings.

According to a review by someone I have never met on amazon, Thomas Cannon, “Meditation on Ceremonies of Beginnings is both intensely local and powerfully global. The tribal college and world indigenous higher education movement described in these poems have their roots and growth in Wisconsin, home of poet Thomas Davis, as well as in many other places, including Minnesota, South Dakota, Hawaii, and New Zealand. The poems are set in many of these places, often at meetings of leaders in the movement. I enjoyed this collection of poems dealing with the early days of the Tribal College Movement.
“The Tribal College Movement is an important part of history and has a big impact today. This history is interesting in itself, but Davis brings it to life by sharing in poems. In this way, he brings together biographical information about the people involved, the implications of the movement, and the culture this movement takes place in.” sd

As is true of all movements, time is the great erasure, and unless the people and events of a movement during its starting years are written about and captured in real time, much that should be available for both contemporary and future generations is lost. I hope that those who read or listen to this book will

I spent weeks recording the poems and text at home in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, doing my best to provide Tribal College Press with as clean a recording as possible. Then the press went through an extensive editing process to clean up the technical challenges with my work so that the book could be published by Audible. My grandson Will helped me by making sure I got the right equipment to do the recording. He earned a degree from the University of Wisconsin-Oshkosh in music and sound engineering.

The tribal college movement is one of the most significant education movements of the late 20th and early 21st centuries. The difference it has made in tribal lives throughout the United States is profound and long-lasting, helping to create and maintain both an economic and artistic renaissance throughout Indian country.

I hope that those who listen or read this book will be entertained by the stories, enlightened by the wisdom of Native voices, and learn about the miracle of both the tribal college and universities movement in the United States and the world indigenous higher education movement worldwide. Imbedded in these movements, in my opinion, is part of the hope of a world that sometimes seems way too dark and foreboding.

The art on the cover was done by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Fall Colors in Potowatomi 2025

Photos by Ethel Mortenson Davis

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Hummingbirds in New Mexico

When we lived in Continental Divide, New Mexico, one of the many glories of the area where we lived at the foot of the Zuni Mountains were the great hummingbirds that were in the area from spring to fall. Sometimes in the pinion trees outside our house, hundreds of hummingbirds gathered and then dive bombed, perched, and hovered around the red feeders that Ethel filled multiple times a day. Gold, green, brown, and red flashed in the special New Mexico light as a celebration of life and living darted here and there all over our yard and into the field where horses were grazing out the back window. Sometimes Ethel would go out to water the wildflower garden she kept going until winter set in through the hottest of summer days. The hummingbirds didn’t seem to have any fear of her, but buzzed within inches of her head as they dipped in and out of the spraying water. The high desert is so dry so much of the year, and you would think that life had to have an almost impossible time surviving. Yet, the hummingbirds, beautiful and raucous, were only part of what was present in this unbelievably beautiful place with its small mountains and soaring red cliffs. Birds, elk, mountain lions, mule deer, antelope, jack rabbits, and a host of other life survived among the pinion and juniper forests that spread out over the land. Sometimes we’d even have a stellar jay landing beneath our apple trees, its dramatic crown and blue fire startling as it strutted in the small shade. This was hummingbird heaven–a place where we could sit in our living room as a fiery sunrise blazed on the eastern horizon and watched dawn glint off hummingbird wings.

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I was amazed

by Thomas Davis

At the Door County Published Author Book Fair last weekend, I was amazed. Four different people came up and told me that In the Unsettled Homeland of Dreams was the best book they have ever read. One person told me that The Prophecy of the Wolf was their favorite book. Ethel’s new book, The Woman and the Whale, was also popular, especially with her pastel on the cover, and, I suspect, outsold any other poetry book at the fair.

I remember spending so many years writing and writing and having absolutely no luck at all. If either Ethel and I had sold five books at that point in our lives, we would have been so excited that we would have probably floated into the air and shined more brightly than the sun. These days those days seem like a distant past, but this blog was established partially because we both wanted readers. Our beloved son Kevin (Alazanto) Davis had died, and we felt lost in a bewilderment of emotions. When we started getting readers and then more readers, some as eminent as John Looker, the wonderful English poet, we started to believe in our writing with more optimism in our spirits.

Both of us have always written from childhood on. Ethel’s art and poetry has always been a magic part of who she is. I published my first poem in The Daily Sentinel in Grand Junction, Colorado during my first year at Mesa College. With Richard Brenneman, I had also helped put together a small poetry journal in Grand Junction called The Rimrock Poets Magazine that included work by Ethel. Sometimes during those years, a poem would appear in a literary journal or magazine, but those were rare, rather than common instances, even though Ethel was, and clearly is, a major, major talent as a poet.

Not long after founding this blog, Ethel decided we would publish her first book using the new ability to self publish. I Sleep Between the Moons of New Mexico was quickly followed up by White Ermine Across Her Shoulders. I kept trying to get published with little success until I wrote the epic poem, The Weirding Storm (a book that I still think is perhaps some of my best writing), which was published by Bennison Press in Great Britain. By then our blogging friend, John Looker, had introduced me to Bennison Press, and I took a wild chance and sent the manuscript to Deborah Bennison, the publisher.

I love selling books to people person to person at book fairs and book events at book stores and other places. I suspect my father’s spirit gave me that love when he had us boys work at the grocery store he and my mother ran for all the years we were at home. I wish I had some skill at marketing beyond that skill. Still, these days I feel like I have arrived as a writer, especially in the Sturgeon Bay area where we now live and the part of New Mexico where we used to live. What a wonderful joy that has become in my life.

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James Janko Review Ethel Mortenson Davis’s Newest Book, The Woman and the Whale

James Janko is one of the most significant authors in the United States. His newest novel, Wired, is on pre-order now. I’ve ordered it. When he wrote to me telling me that he thought Ethel was one of the most important poets in the world, he directed me to a review he’d written about her latest book of Poetry, The Woman and the Whale. I couldn’t agree with him more. I think a superb writer recognizes superb writing and is a wonderful judge of what he reads.

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Reflections of a Country Girl for Her Mother

by Ethel Mortenson Daivs, published in Letter on the Horizon’s Poem

Once, when the creek
had swelled its banks in spring,
and I had run to meet its new boundaries
to build a raft
that could carry me down the Little Sandy
towards lands unknown,
I was sidetracked by a patch
of blue and yellow violets—
too many to let go unnoticed,
found among the wet and shady places—
and I forgot about the countries unseen.

And in fist-fulls I came running,
sharing them with you—
and you received them well,
arranging them in glass jars,
teaching me to love
the spring beauties and things,
the funny-faced Holstein calves,
and the timid chickadees
who came in December
to snatch your winter’s crumbs.

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The Metaphors in “The Healing Journey” by Ethel Mortenson Davis

Thomas Davis

I don’t know that I have ever written anything about one of Ethel’s poems. She’s my wife, after all, and my love for her is as deep as it was the day we were married over 57 years ago, but I thought I’d write on the Easter at least a note about this particular poem. It’s not the only poem she’s written that deserves an essay, of course. You could write a book on the poems that are meaningful and/or powerful enough to deserve commentary.

“Healing Journey” is about a particular place, at least on the surface. Ethel was raised on a dairy farm not too far from Wausau, Wisconsin, and near her parent’s farm is a park called Eau Claire Dells. It’s a beautiful place with black stone, waterfalls, a small canyon, and the deep woods of Wisconsin’s northern mixed hardwood conifer forest. Large maples, basswood, and other hardwood trees are mixed with a scattering of conifers.

The poem starts out with a rich description of the Eau Claire Dells, “the glacial forest” on a warm and humid day. The poet is climbing the high trail that leads to a bridge that spans the highest part of the small canyon that has a river in its depths, “black granite waters.” As daylight fades, “the moss-covered boulders looked like giants strewn/by some ancient glacier eons ago.” At this point, the poem takes on its metamorphic character. Time suddenly encompasses the ancient world as well as the present-day world. In the present, “the cold air rose around my legs” and “Water trickled down everywhere — through the moss carpet/thick with the red mushroom.”

The strong, specific nature of image are characteristic of all Ethel’s poetry, of course. The sense of water in the river and trickling “down everywhere” gives us a feeling of richness, of a different place where time is stretched out while still being as fluid as water, as the “everywhere” notion that is so powerful in this particular stanza. Time becomes a landscape, preparing us for the mysticism that is at the heart of what is to follow..

What is to follow is encompassed in “I had come here before, hoping to resolve a riddle,/but now I had a disease within my body and needed help.” The poet is not well, and the disease she has is troubling her, is a riddle she feels like she must solve. She needs help.

After this line the poet comes to a bridge over the canyon. The metaphors are obvious here. There are dark waters below as they run through dark granite. A bridge takes from one side to another. A canyon in a lot of Ethel’s poetry is a symbol that has to do with a depth that must be crossed. Granite is an age-old symbol of permanence, of rock the wears away only slowly over the ages, so the poet has come to a transition over the darkness of the deep (of death? Of the darkness in the world?) while she is ill, looking to cross over from all she is experiencing.

In these troubled times, it is not difficult to see the poet as a symbol for all humanity, ill, facing a chasm where dark waters are rushing over the dark river that is always next to its journey or below its passage.

The description of the bridge, “. . .black and strong,/made with spaces between the floor planks wide enough/to see the great height at which I was,” allowing the poet to see the river as “a black granite ribbon glistening in the dim light,” is a comforting image. The bridge is strong even if it’s boards are spaced wide apart and won’t collapse if the poet steps from the path she is in on to brave the crossing she intends to make.

Then she sees across the bridge in a clearing in the forest, the wilderness, “a large crowd of people./Their faces were as warm as their hands.” The symbol of hands is interesting here. A hand is also a bridge between human beings. We reach out our hand to help someone that needs that reaching out. In this cases the crowd of faces is also reaching out as the poet crosses the bridge, the chasm, and the dark river.

Then another character enters into the poem. There is no transition here. The nightingale doesn’t appear in anyway. Instead, it whispers: These are people that have helped you/In some way throughout your life.” In classic literature the nightingale is symbolic of beauty, love, and melancholy. It’s known for its beautiful song, which has been linked to spring, mourning, and love throughout history. In the contemporary world it often represents the muse or, sometimes, spiritual purity. I suspect Ethel is using the metaphor to represent the muse inside her without losing the older use of beauty, love, and melancholy. Crossing the chasm and the dark river is not celebratory. It is a spiritual journey that has a sense of purity inside it.

After seeing the people who have helped her during her life, day turns to night, but this is not the night of the dark waters in the river below the chasm. She turns around and crosses the bridge, and “the moon was beginning to shine on the water,” but not only in the water, but also in the poet. She has crossed the bridge and now is crossing it again, changed, especially in her spirit, in a significant way.

In that crossing, the poet “felt as if the sun was beginning to rise.” The dark waters and the chasm still exist, but as in the lines of “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Simon and Garfunkel, crossing the bridge has eased her mind–as well as her spirit.

“Healing Journey” is a quintessential Easter poem. Many people reading Ethel’s poems see only the surface created by the powerful, often beautiful, images she evokes. However, like most great poets that deserve a wide audience, there’s often more than one way to read her poems. In a recent review of her latest book, The Woman and the Whale, Estella Lauter, the poet and critic, said that many of her poems are metaphors, and there is truth in that statement.

The resurrection from the fear/anxiety of illness, whether it is in a single human being or humankind as whole, to the spiritual purity in experiencing the whisper of the nightingale (whether it is a muse or spirituality–and what is the difference between these?), sings into any reader who looks this deeply into this poem.

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