A few weeks ago, Joseph Bottum’s Poems Ancient and Modern substack shared John Saxe’s “The Blind Man and the Elephant.” This 19th-century comic verse describes six blind men trying to understand an elephant by touch. The poem reaches what Bottum calls an “obvious” conclusion — that none of them can be completely right because of their common impairment. The story is not new; Saxe retells a parable used to illustrate the limits of human perception. As is often the case, the poem reiterates that limitation as blindness.
While this poem is metrically capable, Saxe offers a tiresome analogy. Once again, blindness is marketed as a stunted knowing, a partial view of a (sighted) reality. If we cast the six blind men as speakers of another language or ambassadors from another culture, we might more clearly understand the harm that occurs when we employ disability as shorthand for ineptitude.
Though the poem is old and a little silly, its idea still reverberates today. I could give you a list of examples, but I’ll offer two.
When I published my first book of poems, a reporter couldn’t understand how I was able to use color and imagery as a blind poet. He reached out to my former professor to check whether my visual details were valid. When the professor defended me, the reporter interviewed me. His headline (which may have been the creation of an editor) read, “Blind poet at UNF writes about far more than her lack of sight.” That headline is newsworthy only if we cling to the sad idea that disabled people know disability and nothing else.
I am a blind teacher with a Master’s degree, four certifications, and fourteen years of experience. But at a recent job interview, the employer asked whether I would be able to walk around the building. She stressed this skill as an important part of the job. My work history shows that I have traveled on four different campuses, yet she could not imagine — or did not bother to imagine — how I managed this daily aspect of professional life.
These experiences occurred in the 21st century. Old attitudes about disability will prevail as long as we allow them to prevail. So let’s study the poem’s parable as an archaism and not a contemporary truth.
Poetry can offer the authentic truth of living with blindness — its delights and frustrations. Here are three poems that show the kind of knowing a blind poet brings to the page.
“A DeafBlind Poet” by John Lee Clark
A Deaf Blind poet doesn’t like to read sitting up. A Deaf Blind poet likes to read Braille magazines on the john. A Deaf Blind poet is in the habit of composing nineteenth-century letters and pressing Alt+S. A Deaf Blind poet is a terrible student. A Deaf Blind poet does a lot of groundbreaking research. A Deaf Blind poet is always in demand. A Deaf Blind poet has yet to be gainfully employed. A Deaf Blind poet shares all his trade secrets with his children. A Deaf Blind poet will not stop if police order him to. A Deaf Blind poet used to like dogs but now prefers cats. A Deaf Blind poet listens to his wife. A Deaf Blind poet knits soft things for his dear friends. A Deaf Blind poet doesn’t believe in “contributing to society.”
“Democracy” by Dan Simpson
“Look at those eyes,” she warbles,
as I settle myself and my guide
across from her on the bus.
“What kind of dog is that?”
I am about to answer
when a man farther back clears his throat
and says, “Yellow Labrador.”
If he’s going to speak for me,
At least he knows his breeds.
But he knows more than that–
He knows their innermost lives.
He says, “Saddest dogs in the world.”
I wouldn’t presume to know that,
but we live in a free country;
people can think what they want.
“It takes six years to train them.”
He sounds like he enjoys
having tidbits of knowledge to share.
There’s only one problem; he’s wrong:
It’s actually more like six months.
Fortunately for him,
we live in a democracy,
where opinion is equal to fact,
and we all have the right to vote.
“Blindness Locked Me Out” by Emily K. Michael
The speed reading class for seventh graders
slumped over tight columns of text spread flat
on tables in the library where in her half-glasses
the kind mistress of mundane rentals said:
Just do your best. I don’t expect a miracle.
The Friday dance nights for five dollars
where antsy teens shuffled in a circle & the boys
used too much drugstore cologne & the girls
flaunted noisy earrings & strappy shoes.
i took a place in the circle, left my white
cane on the sidelines, tucked in my purse.
the teambuilding antics at orientation
teaching trust by tumbling back against a net
of classmate arms outstretched to catch
us — but how should I fall? I don’t judge distances
& can’t scale the high tower where others are
fighting their fears & learning to fail.
Questions for Reflection:
Tell me what you think.
- How do these poets reveal the experience of blindness?
- What do these poets know? What do they feel?
- How can you relate to their experiences?
