Thursday, October 10, 2013

The Lathing Song


Lathe
The Lathing Song





Turn us,
turn us on the lathe,
from our shape
a new thing make.
Take our flesh to fray and break,
 clay no more
 but soft as pine,
peeled of before,
a ragged door
hung on curving spine.
Plane away
the slivering split,
spin us against the Cutter's bit
until we're either broken
 or defined.


~October 2013




 my  Friday 55  for      the g-man...




...and I also wrote this thinking of Dave King, a fine poet I met through the dVerse Poets community who has recently passed. I enjoyed his often witty, always well-constructed poems, and his thoughtful comments and know he will be missed.  With Dave in mind, Brian has asked us to write about friends, and losing them, maybe even, as here, mortality itself,
for  Meeting the Bar today.









Photo by Siebuhr.  Hover mouse for image credit, or click on pic to go to photographer's flick'r page.




33 comments:

  1. What a wonderful way to look at death, at transition. This makes me want to go work with wood or clay, to get my hands in the earth.

    ReplyDelete
  2. until ever broken or defined....that grinding down def has a way of doing one or another...its the hard things in life that really define us...and who we will and are becoming....that blade cuts to the quick at times as well...

    ReplyDelete
  3. Strong imagery, thought-provoking words.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Beautiful words Hedge ~ I specially like the ending:

    spin us against the Cutter's bit
    until we're either broken
    or defined.

    ReplyDelete
  5. For poets, its by the fine tuned set of phrases we are remembered. Again you construct a bridge to unite us. Exceptional work, Joy.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Turn, take, spin, until ... this is my new favorite of your poems.

    ReplyDelete
  7. That is what life is.. a fine tuning. I guess Dave had finally completed that journey... Very nice. And as I've said earlier somewhere, I treasure my blogging friends, for my inner self would be far less bright without you. :)

    ReplyDelete
  8. truly lovely, HW; it is this life which whittles us away

    ReplyDelete
  9. I know, I know all that cutting is good for character. Wouldn't mind a long stretch of lemon polish applied with soft cloth.

    ReplyDelete
  10. That's it, until we're broken or defined...perfect!

    ReplyDelete
  11. See...?
    You can write stuff in English!
    I'm so proud, I knew you had it in you.
    (I take it you didn't remember last nights Dream?)
    Loved your Fantastic take on the state of Being
    Sometimes you take my breath away with your genius.
    You are one of a kind Joy, thanks for letting me drink from your
    water dish on your back porch on Fridays.
    I'm forever at your service.
    Thanks for your great support, and have a Kick Ass Week-End

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. The bizarre nature of my most recent dreams cannot be encompassed in a mere 55 words, G. ;_) So I was forced to follow the KISS program. However, I make no promises for the future. Thanks for providing me with the opportunity to submit incomprehensible gibberish on most Fridays, and have a posterior-impacting weekend your own self.

      Delete
  12. plane away..I like to think we enter a new dimension another plane in the universe
    where a new journey begins..

    ReplyDelete
  13. I have a drum made that way. I'm so glad it survived the process.

    - Alice

    ReplyDelete
  14. A well spun, shaped and lovingly manipulated piece hedge, moving me still when I read the sad news of Dave's passing. although we only touched on each others work occasionally, I admired and enjoyed his poetry and valued his comments. Your honed analogy in poetics is deft and deep but tough enough to hold fast the emotion that it shaves onto the workshop floor:

    spin us against the Cutter's bit
    until we're either broken
    or defined.

    solid heart beats

    ReplyDelete
  15. Amazing poem. Yes, planed and split in death we are broken or defined. I admire your craft Hedge.

    ReplyDelete
  16. This is wonderful Joy--I'm a bit tired right now and will revisit--but I love the peeling of before. That is just a great great line. Also, something kind of ironic about the choice of pine--how we do pine--and then of course, there's that good old pine box at the end. I love the idea of our entire being being a door, and the idea of planing away the slivering split. (I had to do that with my feet in India years ago! No fun!) But it is a beautiful notion--we do have to let go of all those hurts if we would go on (through perhaps our own door.) Wonderful work, and amazing that you got it into 55. k.

    ReplyDelete
  17. either broken or defined... that brought tears again... i wish our heart stays flexible and smooth enough that things that rub on our skin rather define than break us... a moving write hedge..

    ReplyDelete
  18. Ps also love the lathe--it spins-- like world or wheel of samsara--rebirth/death--k.

    ReplyDelete
  19. Such creative images to portray the journey of life and death.

    ReplyDelete
  20. a beautiful end to a profound piece! In every image we discover ourselves

    ReplyDelete
  21. Those last five lines are magnificently written. Sometimes you just blow me away, Joy.

    ReplyDelete
  22. What a wonderful thought, life as lather that form you to something beautiful (or sadly break). Wonderful with rhythm and rhymes...

    ReplyDelete
  23. My husband does a lot of carpentry work. My father did, too. The sound of power tools is soothing to me. Yeah, I'm nuts like that. :) Loved this, hedgewitch.

    ReplyDelete
  24. Your metaphor is very apt, Hedge, both in life and its passing.

    ReplyDelete
  25. This is beautiful, such a great tribute. I think it's one of my favorites of yours.

    ReplyDelete
  26. A fitting tribute. And that's very high praise.

    ReplyDelete
  27. Until we are either broken
    or defined.
    He was defined. It's a lovely tribute. Thank you.

    ReplyDelete
  28. Beautiful, Joy. Dave's passing makes us think about our own mortality, about how close this community really is, and I just thank God we all have our blogs where our voices can always be found, no matter what.

    ReplyDelete
  29. A fine tribute to Dave. Thank you.
    Anna

    ReplyDelete
  30. A wonderful reflection on Dave. I always enjoyed those times he'd visit. A very striking metaphor in general about change. Now if I could only figure out who's running the machine...
    Steve

    ReplyDelete

'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg