Horizon by Billy Collins
You can use the brush of a Japanese monk
or a pencil stub from a race track.
As long as you draw the line a third
the way up from the bottom of the page,
the effect is the same: the world suddenly
divided into its elemental realms.
A moment ago there was only a piece of paper.
Now there is earth and sky, sky and sea.
You were sitting alone in a small room.
Now you are walking into the heat of a vast desert
or standing on the ledge of a winter beach
watching the light on the water, light in the air.
My thoughts:
This only describes the European worldview of a horizon. In Asian art, the perspective moves upward as you go further away from your starting point. Instead of vanishing toward the horizon from the top and bottom of the painting, you vanish toward the horizon as you raise your eye. Not all works of art follow this principal, but this is seen more often in Asian art than European art. Also, horizons did not come into vogue until just the past 1,000 years or so (maybe even less; I am no art history scholar).
I'm not sure I like the contrast between the Japanese monk and the racetrack. True, a more obvious contrast would be dopey and cliche . . . but what is the effect of this contrast? And why is it a Japanese monk in particular?
I do like the thought of elemental realms; it reminds me of realms of science and magic more than it reminds me of the realm of earth and sky. It's almost like the earth and sky can never touch within a painting. The line keeps everything safe and separate.
To me, this poem speaks to potential, separation, and compartmentalization. You can be anywhere, but you have to make a choice and be somewhere.