Sara Miller, "Countermeasures"

On basic facts

When I ask people what the richest country in the world is, I pretty much hear "China" and "Dubai." Almost no one says the "United States," the country with nearly double China's GDP.

You might say this is the answer to a trivia question. Who cares what the richest country in the world is? But if the United States is the world's richest country, and 1/8 of its inhabitants need SNAP benefits, and affordable housing is an impossibility, it isn't hard to conclude that those driving the economy are being stolen from. Our rich aren't rich because they are job creators. Many must be thieves if there's that much prosperity and virtually no one can see it.

And that's really the key to the puzzle. It isn't ignorance leading people to think the richest country in the world is anywhere but the U.S. They don't experience the U.S. as a place with wealth. Those who aren't hungry themselves can still see how exploitative the jobs which provide a minimum of security are. At-will contracts, inconsistent health insurance, limited time off–these things don't create serious employment or a stable society. We are used and must be bitter. We are denied the ability to give back because of the tendency to keep labor in line no matter what.

In general, there are a number of basic facts people need to know before they discuss politics, but those basic facts are clouded by 1) the experience of living in the U.S. 2) the non-stop propaganda we are served. Consider a simple fact, such as that poverty and crime rates are closely linked, or that a rise in housing costs causes homelessness. Many will rise up in arms against either because of the ubiquity of true crime and fixer upper shows. They are convinced that serial killers abound and that they can win the housing market; they can solve the crime watching Dateline enough times and resell properties in a broken market with hard work. The propaganda plays to fantasies we indulge because no one wants to admit that their job is terrible, class mobility is nearly non-existent, and we are consistently dictated to by some of the worst people in the history of the planet.

What I've found helpful is making basic facts felt. You don't want to fight the framing that someone does not deserve government benefits. A fight about "who deserves" will result in no one deserving anything. But you do want to walk those who are open to it through the impossible situations people are in. How working people in poverty are forced to pick what bills they can possibly pay; how those with disabilities are doing magnificent, thankless work when they can. I do know some who will dismiss these stories, but I also know some incapable of making or keeping friends. Make no mistake, those addicted to Fox News are a lot more paranoid and lonely than they might seem.

Sara Miller, "Countermeasures"

Sara Miller's "Countermeasures" ends with lines I know we wish we could inhabit: "This is just one of the things / I noticed about my thoughts / as they passed easefully by." Thoughts which pass "easefully?" My jaw has reached a condition of permanent clench as I reflect on a President firing missiles at random boats for sport and many Americans committing to the proposition children should starve.

Miller plays with several thematic affects in "Countermeasures." There's absurdity: "I wish I could keep my ducks in a thought / or my thoughts in a duck." Comedy: "My point is that we all exist wetly, in the hunt." An intrusive reality, either centered around organization and sensibility ("thoughts in order... ducks in a row"), or centered around insecurity ("the minds of other and better men / and their constant companions, the women"). A calming nonsense, or in other words, the act of watching ducks float and believing each of them is a thought of yours.

I use the term "affect" for this specific reason: the poem doesn't just take you to distinct emotional states. It puts you in a space where you are actively playing with the language, actively taking on an emotion and a certain kind of thinking accompanying it. This sounds too fancy, I realize, but consider the effect. Miller tells us "The way of the mind is brevity" and romanticizes "these same tidy capsules" which she points to but does not quite bring into being. You may feel your body is doing the thinking, moving from various sorts of confusion to settling on ducks moving downstream, quacking at their leisure.

Countermeasures (from Poetry)
Sara Miller

I wish I could keep my thoughts in order
and my ducks in a row.
I wish I could keep my ducks in a thought
or my thoughts in a duck.
My point is that we all exist, wetly, in the hunt.
The ducks are aware of this
in their own way, which is floating.
The way of the mind is brevity.
There may be other thoughts on other days
in the minds of other and better men
and their constant companions, the women,
but these same tidy capsules — never.
This is just one of the things
I noticed about my thoughts
as they passed easefully by.

So let's talk a bit about how we get to thoughts passing "easefully." It begins with taking a cliched wish for productivity, "I wish I could keep my thoughts in order / and my ducks in a row," and throwing it in the trash. Why can't you put "ducks in a thought" or "thoughts in a duck?"

I mean, we have a response. All of us would like to create something at some point which speaks to someone or accomplishes something. We want results. Thing is, even a wish for calm is a wish for a result. You can't just reduce "ducks in a thought" or "thoughts in a duck" immediately to calm. All we are is, as a matter of fact, "wetly, in the hunt."

Thus you have to turn to the ducks. There is no choice. Maybe, to continue using a Spinoza-inspired framework, we can say that the ducks and us are different modes of the same, unified substance. Turning to them was inevitable; their sense is our sense. "The ducks are aware of this [existing wetly in the hunt] / in their own way, which is floating." Understanding this is accepting that "The way of the mind is brevity."

It's absurd! Comic! Dismissive of our notions of organization! Of common sense! It won't let us simply diminish in the eyes of others! That's the calm–not from the ducks themselves, not even from us, but in what is rejected. Consider that there is no real brevity. I am quacking away as if I am ruffling my feathers at the keyboard. What's important is what the poem isn't.

The "Countermeasures" give you relative calm, not absolute. You get "ducks," "tidy capsules," thoughts that float. But you'll be wondering about your relationships or the state of the world soon enough. For a moment, you tucked your thoughts into a duck, and it worked. What more can you do? Strangely enough, anything.