I've been told that there's an orchard.
in our minds.
Though, I've never seen it myself.
It's full of fruit.
succulent.
carbuncular.
And there is a press, for cider.
This machine,
a demon,
grinds,
rips,
pulverizes.
Turning these sweet
angels,
to disguting piles of pulp.
And juice.
Yet,
the cider is magnificent
sending devils of sweetness
dancing through the body.
Synapses flash and sizzle.
Unwhole parts within us fill.
And we look at the pulp,
the debris,
the once-beautiful horror,
and we know
that the product
is always worth
the pain.
5 comments:
I don't know if this works at all. It was written in response to Edward's response to one of my poems yesterday. Edward, you talk about your writing feeling forced. And, I've felt that way lots (with this poem in fact), but sometimes we need the force, and the outcome is beautiful nonetheless. Not just in writing either. I am tired of labeling my poems as Ars Poetica. I like that I use carbuncular (it's very Eliot), but I just don't know if the metaphor works, or if it's too abstract and messy. Mondays are always hard for my writing brain. The muse takes a three day weekend.
I dig the metaphor, and I think it works very well.
Also, I like the use of carbuncular. It is such an opposite to succulent, at least as we typically picture succulent. (It's like "this fruit is burst an ugly mess if nothing is done with it," which is very true with creative energy.)
In some place the punctuation threw me off; though, it could just be me--I'm horrible with punctuation.... (Some periods forced me to stop when the sound wanted me to keep going.)
I give this one two thumbs up. Cheers...
I think the idea is brilliant. One of the strengths I see with your poems is how you utilize simple language and ideas as metaphors for something larger (very Frost-like). It makes me a little jealous.
The line "dancing through the body" reminds me of doing drugs and if this poem is about writing, it seems out of place. I understand the brain or maybe the hand but the body throws me off.
I'm happy to have offered a bit of inspiration for you to write this poem, Chris. The extended metaphor is brilliant, and I can relate to so much of what is being said. I've always felt a love/hate relationship with poetry. In the moment, I despise the process, but those rare moments when the product pleases me makes it worth the pain. This embodies the antithesis of my own teaching approach with composition, where I embrace the process over the product. Anyway, I digress. Still, I kind of miss those days when I first was drawn to writing poetry: it wasn't constrained by all the mechanics and gyroscopes of canonized works flickering through my mind.
Then I will label your poem for you!
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