Beneath
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The Poem
Beneath
She attended Ralph Waldo EmersonJunior High School.I want to stay herefor a momentthe girl,natural blonde,not yet Marilyn,not yet the brand,not yet the trophyon anyone’s shelfsitting in the schoolof the manwho wrotethat institutions corruptthe purity of the individual,that people are at their bestwhen self-reliant,when independent,when the societyhas not yetgotten to them.
She sat in his school.The society got to her anyway.This is the whole storyin two sentences.
Beneath the surfaceshe was earth.Not the earth of postcards,not the earth of Technicolorand studio lightingand the specific warmththey usedto make her glowfor the camerathat was alwayspointed at herfor someone else’s reasonsthe earth of the USGS photograph,the planet seen from space,the continent as it actually is:cracked,layered,ancient,every color simultaneously,the red of canyon wallsand the green of forestand the blue of riverrunning through it alllike a factthat predatesevery nameanyone ever gave it.
She was earth
This is what was beneath.This is what the painting knows.
Transcendentalism.Emerson’s wordfor the beliefthat the divineis inherent in the everyday,that people are goodbefore the institutiongets to them,that the selfrelying on itselfis the most honestand completeversion of the self.
She was transcendent.Not in the waythe posters saidnot the blonde,not the dress,not the president’sbirthdaysung in that voicethat the whole worldnow knowswas alsoa goodbyetranscendent in the Emerson sense,the original sense:divine experienceinherent in the everyday,the girl on the busto Emerson Junior Highwith her natural hairand her unremarkable Tuesdayand the whole of herselfintact,before Hollywooddecided what colorher hair should beand what her name should beand what she was for.
The eyes.Look at the painting.Everything else is landscapeand geologyand the gorgeous ancient chaosof the planet seen from spaceand then the eyes.Looking directly at you.Unchanged.Still Norma Jean.Still the girlwho sat in Emerson’s schooland heard about self-relianceand individualismand the corrupting pressureof conformityand then went outinto the worldthat proved every word of iton her bodybefore she was thirty.
The eyes never changed
The eyes know.The eyes always knew.The eyes were neveranything other thanexactly who she wasbeneath everythingthey put on top.
Pop art Marilynis the branding of commercialism.Warhol understood thisthe silk screen,the repetition,the face reproduceduntil the facebecomes the productand the productbecomes the faceand somewhere underneaththe repetitionthe persondisappearsinto the iconand the iconis what they sellat the gift shopand the personis what they foundin the hotel roomand the hotel roomis what the institutionproducedfrom the girlwho sat in Emerson’s schooland had natural hairand was nobody’s brandyet.
She was transcendent.Emerson would have recognized her.Emerson would have weptfor what the institution didto the proof of his own argument.
The purity was there.It was always there.It is in the paintingbeneath the surfacewhere the earth shows throughin its truest colorswhich are all colorssimultaneouslywhich is alsowhat she wasbefore they decidedshe should only be one.
Norma Jean.Natural blonde.Ralph Waldo EmersonJunior High School.The earth beneath the surface.The eyes that never changed.The institution got to her.But the paintinggives her backto herselfmade of earth,made of the ancientcrackedcolorfuldivineplanetthat was therebefore any of themarrivedto decidewhat she was for,and will be therelong afterthe brandhas been forgottenand only the eyesremain,looking at youfrom beneatheverythingthey put on top,saying:
I was always this.
I was always beneath.
I was always earth.