Loxodonta Africana, Loxodonta Cyclotis
by Ethan Milner
for Hezy Shoshani
Ten years on, in a world
at once the same and misshapen
after his death, a cohort of
scientists, in cooperation with a
global network of symbiotic
inquiry, confirmed that the object
of Jeheskel Shoshani’s lifelong
dream—the African Elephant—lived
in parallel as two distinct species,
unhinged in history a half-million years
prior. When nobody else would,
he traversed a warzone to study
the lives of those gray giants
that carried with them an unseen
history of becoming. But in 2008,
a minibus explosion in Addis Ababa
killed him. It was the last morning
before a full moon, when his life
force dispersed to unite
those in search of something truer
than a reformation. Even with his
traces he would tauten the disparate
strands of life that barely
cling to the surface of the earth.
No further echo rings
of the laughter that once lilted
in his lungs like an
oxpecker’s call. He joins silently,
walks backward into the years,
along the border where the forest
and savannah split, to witness
the great house of African Elephants
divide to form two new,
shaping and reshaping life’s history
itself— knowing, taking note
of the bright becoming.
Ten years on, in a world
at once the same and misshapen
after his death, a cohort of
scientists, in cooperation with a
global network of symbiotic
inquiry, confirmed that the object
of Jeheskel Shoshani’s lifelong
dream—the African Elephant—lived
in parallel as two distinct species,
unhinged in history a half-million years
prior. When nobody else would,
he traversed a warzone to study
the lives of those gray giants
that carried with them an unseen
history of becoming. But in 2008,
a minibus explosion in Addis Ababa
killed him. It was the last morning
before a full moon, when his life
force dispersed to unite
those in search of something truer
than a reformation. Even with his
traces he would tauten the disparate
strands of life that barely
cling to the surface of the earth.
No further echo rings
of the laughter that once lilted
in his lungs like an
oxpecker’s call. He joins silently,
walks backward into the years,
along the border where the forest
and savannah split, to witness
the great house of African Elephants
divide to form two new,
shaping and reshaping life’s history
itself— knowing, taking note
of the bright becoming.
Ethan Milner is a writer and a psychotherapist in Oregon who works at school for youth with special needs. Ethan’s work has most recently appeared in Dream Pop and The Mantle.
Poets on Poems: Ethan Milner Discusses "Loxodonta Africana, Loxodonta Cyclotis"
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Poets on Poems is a series of brief interviews with Alegrarse contributors that will accompany their original work.
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Alegrarse Staff:
Hi Ethan! I thought we could begin talking about your poem first by discussing the structure. This is what drew me, and I assume what will draw others, to the poem immediately, how it accepts the notion of the couplet, but then stretches it to its limit by moving each line further and further apart from the one preceding it. Obviously, the form of the poem is well-suited to its subject; the form embodies ideas of division, but also an opportunity for togetherness (to me, the poem's shape seems to almost resemble the bottom half of a DNA double helix). I was wondering what led you to this organization, or really any of your thoughts on the idea of the poem's relationship to its form.
Hi Ethan! I thought we could begin talking about your poem first by discussing the structure. This is what drew me, and I assume what will draw others, to the poem immediately, how it accepts the notion of the couplet, but then stretches it to its limit by moving each line further and further apart from the one preceding it. Obviously, the form of the poem is well-suited to its subject; the form embodies ideas of division, but also an opportunity for togetherness (to me, the poem's shape seems to almost resemble the bottom half of a DNA double helix). I was wondering what led you to this organization, or really any of your thoughts on the idea of the poem's relationship to its form.
Ethan Milner:
Thanks for the question. I'm sure this will touch on other potential themes of discussion, but the content and form are intertwined, so hopefully I speak to its formal aspects well enough without too much trailing off.
I think you certainly hit on some of the visual themes of the piece, especially the way the couplets move: a little evocation of the double-helix structure, the drawing-apart and coming together of things. Part of the poem’s heart is entropic in the sense that life’s basic forces are always pulling apart, sometimes leaving us memory, absence— in the case of my godfather Jeheskel “Hezy” Shoshani’s death, a photo of a blown-up bus on an African news website. It takes years, decades sometimes to remind us of what emerges new from the cleaving. In this case, much of what Hezy did in his lifetime was to create a pathway, an infrastructure of inquiry, whereas before his pioneering, scientists would rarely even travel to the regions in Eastern Africa where he did his work. In his absence, ten years later, an international network of scientists finally confirmed through genetic research what had years-ago been postulated: that the African elephant was not a single species, but two, that diverged from one another in the regions he studied. Surely Hezy knew about these theories, and in his death I envision that he has borne witness to the original unfolding. Thus in the decoupling structure the reader is asked to bear witness to the poem unfurl, a mirror to this imagined moment of Hezy’s sublime witness. As these lines diverge, the poem’s own form takes its final shape, a further reflection on the interwoven nature of creation and loss.
Another important note regarding form is that in the poem’s creation I held the idea of a classical elegiac emotional progression, upon which I mapped the poem’s structure previously described. So there is this idea of grief to closure, of departing in a lyrical mode, and I think those influenced the arrival at a more peaceful and generative idea. I wanted avoid a purely negative and chaotic piece stuck in a mode of lamentation.
Thanks for the question. I'm sure this will touch on other potential themes of discussion, but the content and form are intertwined, so hopefully I speak to its formal aspects well enough without too much trailing off.
I think you certainly hit on some of the visual themes of the piece, especially the way the couplets move: a little evocation of the double-helix structure, the drawing-apart and coming together of things. Part of the poem’s heart is entropic in the sense that life’s basic forces are always pulling apart, sometimes leaving us memory, absence— in the case of my godfather Jeheskel “Hezy” Shoshani’s death, a photo of a blown-up bus on an African news website. It takes years, decades sometimes to remind us of what emerges new from the cleaving. In this case, much of what Hezy did in his lifetime was to create a pathway, an infrastructure of inquiry, whereas before his pioneering, scientists would rarely even travel to the regions in Eastern Africa where he did his work. In his absence, ten years later, an international network of scientists finally confirmed through genetic research what had years-ago been postulated: that the African elephant was not a single species, but two, that diverged from one another in the regions he studied. Surely Hezy knew about these theories, and in his death I envision that he has borne witness to the original unfolding. Thus in the decoupling structure the reader is asked to bear witness to the poem unfurl, a mirror to this imagined moment of Hezy’s sublime witness. As these lines diverge, the poem’s own form takes its final shape, a further reflection on the interwoven nature of creation and loss.
Another important note regarding form is that in the poem’s creation I held the idea of a classical elegiac emotional progression, upon which I mapped the poem’s structure previously described. So there is this idea of grief to closure, of departing in a lyrical mode, and I think those influenced the arrival at a more peaceful and generative idea. I wanted avoid a purely negative and chaotic piece stuck in a mode of lamentation.
Alegrarse Staff:
There's so much driving force behind complicating emotions in poetry, conflicting imagery, etc. You talked about moving from grief to closure, how this allowed you to arrive at a more peaceful and generative place. I want to talk about this idea of generation: How do you mix storytelling with more imaginative elements in poetry? What details do you think have to stay the same, and what details can be made fantastical?
There's so much driving force behind complicating emotions in poetry, conflicting imagery, etc. You talked about moving from grief to closure, how this allowed you to arrive at a more peaceful and generative place. I want to talk about this idea of generation: How do you mix storytelling with more imaginative elements in poetry? What details do you think have to stay the same, and what details can be made fantastical?
Ethan Milner:
I initially believed that the reader would need only enough context to understand the beautiful serendipity at play, so the story of his sacrifice being cosmically validated after ten years would be enough. But as the poem unfolded I started to be concerned that the narrative voice’s omniscience was distancing me from what felt real about Hezy, and I received excellent feedback on early drafts saying as much. It saddened me; I realized that I don’t have many memories of him because of his distance and dedication to the work. So remembering and reconnecting to his laugh in particular, and its reverberant familiarity in my memory, became necessary to animate him in the poem’s imagination. Once I felt reconnected to an embodied Hezy, the idea of fantasy became irrelevant. I could see him again, and I could walk with him anywhere in time. This lent to the elegiac form, allowing the poem to read less like a lamentation and more generative of possibility.
I initially believed that the reader would need only enough context to understand the beautiful serendipity at play, so the story of his sacrifice being cosmically validated after ten years would be enough. But as the poem unfolded I started to be concerned that the narrative voice’s omniscience was distancing me from what felt real about Hezy, and I received excellent feedback on early drafts saying as much. It saddened me; I realized that I don’t have many memories of him because of his distance and dedication to the work. So remembering and reconnecting to his laugh in particular, and its reverberant familiarity in my memory, became necessary to animate him in the poem’s imagination. Once I felt reconnected to an embodied Hezy, the idea of fantasy became irrelevant. I could see him again, and I could walk with him anywhere in time. This lent to the elegiac form, allowing the poem to read less like a lamentation and more generative of possibility.
Alegrarse Staff:
Thank you so much for these incredibly insightful answers--I love this idea of tension between memory and fantasy. The last thing I wanted to ask you was just if you had anything you wanted to share. Are there any projects that you are working on? Should we keep an eye out for new work from you at other venues? Any poems / poetry collections that you read that you want to recommend? Any forthcoming collections you're excited about?
Thank you so much for these incredibly insightful answers--I love this idea of tension between memory and fantasy. The last thing I wanted to ask you was just if you had anything you wanted to share. Are there any projects that you are working on? Should we keep an eye out for new work from you at other venues? Any poems / poetry collections that you read that you want to recommend? Any forthcoming collections you're excited about?
Ethan Milner:
I do have some critical and creative work slated for release in the near future, but it is still distant enough that it would be too early to announce. Thank you for the opportunity, though!
As far as what I am reading, I have plenty to gush on:
Natalie Eilbert’s collection Indictus is rewiring me. I am devastated and rebuilt in her language; the writing is visceral, brutal, challenging, and takes the kind of brain-scrambling left turns. It has been very personal too, in helping me to engage with my own issues of bodily trauma, and navigating human interaction in its wake. I don’t understand how this person can at once be so strong yet so generous with her wounds, but I aspire towards this kind of brilliant survival.
As far as single poems, I have been deeply enamored with Sable, by Kanika Lawton, in Cotton Xenomorph. It evokes the immediacy and urgency of childhood, how every emotion burns so brightly. Most of us grow out of having our feelings so charged, yet we’re often left with the memory of feeling so strongly. How do we engage with this dynamic when it intersects with life experience, like traumatic grief and loss? Lawton here transforms that energy somehow into a poem that sends me back, that challenges my imaginative engagement with poetry to feel what the poem feels, which is also how I used to feel when I was young. It is such urgent and vital language.
I also have of course been worshipfully reading my friend Jayme Ringleb’s poetry, and crumbling. His latest, Love Poem So Tall It Ends In Heaven, in Poetry Magazine is just another example. Besides maybe Robert Pinsky, Jayme might also be my favorite live-reader of poetry.
I do have some critical and creative work slated for release in the near future, but it is still distant enough that it would be too early to announce. Thank you for the opportunity, though!
As far as what I am reading, I have plenty to gush on:
Natalie Eilbert’s collection Indictus is rewiring me. I am devastated and rebuilt in her language; the writing is visceral, brutal, challenging, and takes the kind of brain-scrambling left turns. It has been very personal too, in helping me to engage with my own issues of bodily trauma, and navigating human interaction in its wake. I don’t understand how this person can at once be so strong yet so generous with her wounds, but I aspire towards this kind of brilliant survival.
As far as single poems, I have been deeply enamored with Sable, by Kanika Lawton, in Cotton Xenomorph. It evokes the immediacy and urgency of childhood, how every emotion burns so brightly. Most of us grow out of having our feelings so charged, yet we’re often left with the memory of feeling so strongly. How do we engage with this dynamic when it intersects with life experience, like traumatic grief and loss? Lawton here transforms that energy somehow into a poem that sends me back, that challenges my imaginative engagement with poetry to feel what the poem feels, which is also how I used to feel when I was young. It is such urgent and vital language.
I also have of course been worshipfully reading my friend Jayme Ringleb’s poetry, and crumbling. His latest, Love Poem So Tall It Ends In Heaven, in Poetry Magazine is just another example. Besides maybe Robert Pinsky, Jayme might also be my favorite live-reader of poetry.
