Lament for an Unhoned Craft


Reverberation and resonance
in its utterance and connection
consoles my poor poetry and me.

In attempting to magnetise us,
there is a gravitational pull
where words birl, sounding out,
spinning, sucking meanings in.
You feel you need the skills
of a fucking dissectionist to skin
them down to marrowed usage.
Gleaning some contrasted palette
the keening cry for a dead language
smothered in infancy. paring back,
tearing weathered derma and arthritic flesh,
cracking brittle bone to the marrow of the baby,
there’s a chance, a chance with clarity,
discernment of isness,
to craftily carve a careful truth which states
to be exact in language and understanding
is only possible when you love a word
and are prepared to set it free

the opposite of what you always do,
with your scalpelpen.
For writing, like love can work against all intuition,
and as I remain all the mes
living in all the conceivable Glasgows,
I find each of us infinitely divisible and yet infinite,
and exactness is Everything.

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18 thoughts on “Lament for an Unhoned Craft

  1. amen brother…love the bold words…and we can def get in the way of our poems as we try to be too fancy…and if i got to look up too many words you probably lost your meaning on me already…

  2. Nice write! Love the thought of the scalpel pen – poetry has the ability to surgically (as you say) dissect the way we see the world, and put it back together in some kind of semblance that can be as beautiful as anything. Some great word linkage here that made this one of those poems to read out loud.

    • In pieces like this I feel I’m on the verge of losing it, but conversely feel this is where I learn the most..almost sorry, but not quite, to inflict it on the reader.

      • It’s funny you should say that because by the end of the month I was a little delirious and I felt I wrote some great poems using that delirium !! The reader needs to be inflicted upon sometimes to test their senses at the least! Sometimes when their nothing left to lose we can express ourselves poetically with a little bit of grace on the side!

    • I know some of its muddled, but that’s just me struggling with ideas I’m not clear about…but wanted it down and out there, to see if it helps me any…. Glad you get the drift Laurie

  3. I wish I could be so eloquent when I’m struggling and not clear!

    Having a deep love for trees and the wood they produce (especially Exmoor oak), I loved the following line:
    “a gravitational pull where words birl, sounding out, spinning, sucking meanings in”

    One day I became mesmerized by driftwood on this Northwest Pacific Island, and one particular log gave me hours of pleasure as I photographed it’s whorls and burls and silvery gold streams of epidermal tresses, their mermaid beauty cast in the dead skin of an abandoned, sea-bleached log.

  4. This is a truly amazing poem, where the metaphors are so finely woven, one can hardly tell them apart in the end, which is the metaphor and which is the reality, and it does seem that there is connection in the oxymoron ends almost like yin and yang.

    • Gracious comment , Quirina which made me go back and look at it again…. Sometimes I get so caught up in the write and become unaware of what the words are actually doing. It has been worthwhile for me to see it through new eyes ….thanks again

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