"Flying's like poetry in motion", Jim said, and I went with him for a while down that road, as he spoke of the fluidity that comes with the automaticity of 43 years behind the control column... everytime still, it is a wonder... whether flying a cessna or a giant, commercial airline... you are rolling down the runway, then you rotate and climb, and suddenly there you are, gliding through the air like the lines of a poem dance across the page, defying gravity, and continuing to defy gravity until you land the aircraft again.
My mind turned to music, in particular, to a certain summer morning many years ago... I was 17, maybe 18 at the time, at Dalhousie for the summer, in Halifax, at a national music camp. Our jazz teacher, drummer Jerry Granelli, had toured with the Dead a decade or two earlier, and the stories he told...! But it was his desire for us to defy gravity with our music that reminded me now of flying. Jerry insisted that each of us solo, even before some of us were ready, even for 4 bars at a time, just to get the sensation of the poetry of it all. He wanted us to become less aware of the bass line, of the sizzle of the hi-hats, of the impendingly returning head, and more aware of the synergy of all these things and more as a "whole". The poetry of the music, into which we could insert our particular adjective for a few bars, before passing the proverbial pen to the next writer.
The synergy of the flight controls is what I crave. My pilot friend talked today about the almost subconcious turn of the control column to counteract crosswind during take-off, for example, or the slightest correction of yaw with just the right amount of rudder.
Argh! Everything is still so darned CONSCIOUS for me... I wonder if I will ever be able to write poetry in the air like my wisened pilot friend?
The other issue is the cost: But why should poetry in motion be for the wealthy only? Poor poets abound! And my jazz analogy supports me -- Some of the best music of this genre came from the poverty-stricken streets of New Orleans or other hovels from where the master musicians played through their pain.
Why should flying be any different then? Surely the sacrifices made to pursue the beauty of the clouds need not cause so much suffering that no one else can reap the benefits of the would-be pilot? Surely the joy incurred is equal to or greater than the cost?
I discovered recently that a former student teacher of mine was given flying lessons as an opportunity to expand his horizons -- as part of an anti-poverty campaign, this fellow learned how to fly a Cessna as a teenager for 2-3 years. But now, like over 70% of pilots (according to the data quoted by my poetry in motion quipping pal), he never flies. It's too expensive.
What is the cost of defeating gravity? Do I have to give up the "good" life to fly? Do I have to abandon changing the world, and become a paper pusher, to finance my new hobby? Or is the miracle of flight big enough to encompass and somehow support my passion?
Why should only the wealthy fly?
The "lower" classes make great music too.
And all that Jazz.
As a superintendent friend once told me, "What is for you cannot be un-for-you"!