Denise Levertov, "Witness"

Denise Levertov's "Witness" begins thus: "Sometimes the mountain / is hidden from me in veils / of cloud, sometimes / I am hidden from the mountain..."

What an amazing presence, a mountain. I go through Denver International Airport once in a while, and I'll see people staring out the window at the Rockies in the distance. You're in this sleek, busy airport but the real attraction is the large, clear panes of glass which let you see snow-studded mountains in their rugged glory.

They're not just big lumps of rock. They are where plates of the Earth collided. They mark a titanic clash even as they hold fossils, ores, and creatures unique to them. When I think of something like Denali–I mean, Denali is so massive it has its own weather–I must single it out because it will be felt.

I enter Levertov's poem "Witness" with two questions on my mind: What is a mountain? What is witness? After reading her poem, I feel I need answers to both these questions. I do not want to lose out on the enormity of the sacred. But am I doing enough by being attentive? Or is witness something more than what I strive for daily?

Witness
Denise Levertov

Sometimes the mountain
is hidden from me in veils
of cloud, sometimes
I am hidden from the mountain
in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue,
when I forget or refuse to go
down to the shore or a few yards
up the road, on a clear day,
to reconfirm
that witnessing presence.

Levertov talks about the mountain as "hidden" "in veils of cloud" or being hidden herself "in veils of inattention, apathy, fatigue." I confess I have a different but related experience. When I have failed to appreciate "that witnessing presence," it has been because of a focus on the wrong thing. I'm trying to win a small battle, I'm not thinking about the largest stakes, I'm not wondering about how incredible it is I am even here. You might say "Isn't that inattention? Apathy?" Not quite. I'm trying to win what I can because it is a good upon which more can be built. Often, an extremely necessary good.

Those of you who teach can relate to what I'm talking about. Think about dealing with those who can't accept compliments or become uncomfortable when others show kindness. If you're planning to create an encouraging, positive climate, well, the mountain can become invisible. I should know. You need wins; neglect is brutal. Not everything can be symbolic.

Then again, the mountain is no mere symbol. It is sacred because it is a power. What is it I don't see or understand which sees me? A mass of earth formed by time itself? A seat of the gods? Maybe something altogether different. I've always wondered how the opening of Aristotle's Ethics works. About how to address the emotions of thinking through means, ends, and a hierarchy of goods around which we build life. What is an end-in-itself, an end that serves no other end? That feels closer to the mountain. There are some things life is built around which silently emanate. They are not merely present; they give themselves to everything else around them.

What is the mountain? It witnesses and demands witness. Not small battles but small gestures bring you to it. "...I [might] forget or refuse to go / down to the shore or a few yards / up the road, on a clear day, / to reconfirm." I believe the objects of witness can be multiple and variable, as everything contains a bit of mountain. Not all have the same value at the same moment, but all are majestic, gigantic, and nearly transcendent.

Lots of people read this poem as an expression of Levertov's Christianity. I'm partial to a different thought myself. The old gods have passed but will eventually reassert themselves. Mountains, for example, do not mean the same to us as they did to our ancestors. We have many ways of conquering or sidestepping them. We do not feel the need to worship them in order to prevent a lightning storm or protect our crops. Yet you cannot say that the piety they commanded has disappeared. Humanity's needs entail commonality. Inasmuch as friends hold all things in common, it is a greater fraternity to which the mountain bears witness, but a greater attentiveness is demanded.