Geography Not Drawn To Scale Poem by gershon hepner

Hard to settle on a single self,
under cover
of my clothes. Many books, one shelf,
with theme of lover
that unifies all stories in my tale,
a mystery
whose geography is hardly drawn to scale
by history.

Inspired by a poem by Pablo Neruda “We Are Many, ” which Rabbi David Wolpe cites in an e-mail called “The Unfathomable Soul”:

How easy it would all be if we could solve the problems of the world and unknot the subtleties of our souls with a computer. In the 17th century, the philosopher Leibnitz speculated that in discussing philosophical problems, we would one day simply 'take up our pens, or sit down at our abacus, and say to one another — calculate.' He dreamed of an age when questions of meaning would yield to answers of mathematics. his poem We Are Many, Pablo Neruda envisioned that in time he would so clearly understand all the different parts of his complicated personality that, 'When I try to speak of my problems I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.' Finally yielding to clear borderlines would be all the confusion, conflict and romance of the self.
This is Neruda’s poem:
Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations
.

When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?

All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.

But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.

9/11/09