Friday, January 17, 2014

Jagsaw





Jagsaw


When the devil cut the puzzle
he used a dull jagsaw.
Some pieces can't ever
be matched as they should;


and so the tale of the meeting of
the incubus and I, each given our shape
by a  notch in the other, drawn close,
pushed away, fretfully shifted, buck-dancing
little hellfire fractals out our asses.

Once owned as a mule
and successfully damned, I was
delicately demolished, knobs crumpled,
voids slapdash split square to circle.
Then it seems he was finished,

Playboy mission
from Leisure Suit Beelzebub 
accomplished, since
it's well known Below only those 
who hang on to their souls have a value.

Good tales have a moral, and my moral is this:
it's impossible to make whole 
what's been jigsawed in Hell,
despite infinite labor in distortion and wish

for the saw is as dull
as it ever was jagged, and what
the Hell is a puzzle
but the fiddling pastime
of the chronically bored?




~January 2014

another of the Incubus poems



posted for     real toads
Challenge: Persons of Interest
The tropically inclined Corey Rowley of Mexican Radio asks for  a piece of writing about someone we've met while traveling. I think I have complied at least with this directive of his: "I want you to think of someone you have met on a special trip to your special place and write about them."
Yes, that would be the incubus and that would be Hell.






Image: Puzzle 52, by jjpuzzles on flick'r,
Shared under a Creative Commons Attributions Only License.
I have manipulated this image.




19 comments:

  1. This hits with all the sickening and disabling impact of blunt force trauma. Despite the slightly amusing reference to "Leisure Suit Beelzebub", this describes something akin to those "working" nightmares in which some vague task is pursued seemingly throughout the night, to exhaustion, to no purpose, to distraction.

    My goodness, if you're going to cut me, at least use a sharp blade; this kind of ragged union, this sense of sailors staggering together down the boardwalk, arms over each other's shoulders, but still weaving, ends the same way, in a sick-making uselessness. You've caught it in all its dull horror and waste. Wow.

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  2. PS--I love your "Cooking is my hobby" on the side bar, and I've always liked the label "devil to pay and no pitch hot".

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    1. Thank you Shay. You can use my spoon any time. And re: above--sometimes I just lose my patience with egoists, including myself. ;_)

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  3. something else stirs here, HW, bubbling, the opposite of complacent, a growl, a shudder. ~

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  4. Haaaaa....wow, Joy that was was sick!!!! Holy crap, its a cut from a rusty butter knife and infection has set in. I can't tell you how much I enjoy it when you come out....I would pay a hundred dollars apiece to you and a couple others on this site to just get together, pour some wine (or diet coke for some) and listen to to the chaos that may ensue....love your stuff, but you know that. Thanks!

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    1. Always my pleasure, Corey--glad i could dredge something up for you this time from the rather dubious bits floating in the cauldron.

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  5. whew...the things that cant be put together...jagsawed or jigsawed in hell...goodness...this verse gave me rather a shiver joy....ha, the closing comment on the puzzle as well...hmm...

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  6. Jigsaws from hell...yeah, I think I'll be avoiding those. You wrote with such clarity and precision, hedgewitch. Unlike the devil, your instruments are always sharp.

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  7. For some reason I read this with 'The first cut is the deepest' as a kind of background theme. There are some events which do seem to cut our souls up into little pieces with a blunt knife, and too much negative weight is carried through life, as the metaphoric incubus. This is a poem which reaches deep within - I'm sure few readers could leave unscathed.

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  8. I feel haunted, as lost yet another comment - my own fault--

    I wanted to say that I very much admire the wordplay here - the not quite real words but ones that fit oddly - jagsaw - I had to look up - should be a word - the odd interstices. The banality of evil is what comes to mind for me - I love the use of the mule - both the smuggler's tool and the dumb/hybrid/stubborn/strong infertile beast - the black comedy works very well -

    The end a bit of a wake-up call (for me anyway) as one realizes that all of these aspects of life that seemed inevitable, built-in, unavoidable - were kind of casual cruelties - and perhaps the mule should kick more, or have kicked. (I think it probably did.) k.

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  9. Thanks, k--jagsaw just was what the spirits gave me that morning. Yes, the trick for the mule is to not kick itself in that confined space, as it lashes out, but mules are pretty practical, like goats(allusion to Capricorn) I hate that you are having so much trouble commenting k--but you know I do appreciate and always really get something from your intelligent and intuitive responses, so I'm very glad you persevere. I hope you are home--aren't you awaiting more snow up there? That should knock the Florida doldrums right out of you. ;_)

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    1. It is snowing right now in fact! And is very pretty. Florida also pretty - and must have been quite amazing before the developers got there - but I am really drained.

      For me, the first mule I kept thinking of was a drug mule actually--that whole stanza quite musical and with wonderful visuals for the puzzle pieces. The leisure suit is quite wonderful - - I once saw a very bizarre but great production of the opera Bluebeard - I think it is Handel? Someone baroquish - but it was staged in kind of a Las Vegas shopping mall with the wives in a chained fridge in the back and Bluebeard's assistant constantly vacuuming. To me - there is certainly something of the Leisure suit (all meanings of the word as you have used) that goes with Beezlebub - I am just sorry you couldn't fit in Muzak with the jag. k.

      PS - the opera was at Glimmerglass. And someone in it - the helper I guess -- (tenor) uses a chainsaw to get the most recent wife from the chained fridge.

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    2. PS _ it was Offenbach, for all that matters. k.

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    3. That's hilarious! Yes, that's the feel I was going for here k--the poem I felt, like Bluebeard, was a bit too intimidating and ghastly without some form of squint-eyed humor entering in. And I believe that lots of wives have been chained inside the fridge--great way to always have something subservient on ice. Enjoy the snow--we are 60's but very wind-chilly and blustery--it looks but doesn't feel like spring.

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  10. This is an absolute clinic on the precision use of language. Wow.

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  11. Great addition to the incubus catalogue, one to hang behind the blood-red sofa with the barbed-wire cushions. The doll-in-a-homunculus-line is " ..buck-dancing / little hellfire fractals out our asses " -- wowsers. It makes the later "it's impossible to make whole / what has been jigsawed in Hell" almost a winsome quality. Whatever, this specie of poem ust seems to get stronger over time. Like Rilke said, how we squander our hours of pain ... Great stuff.

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    1. That was my favorite, too. RE: Rilke, not sure pain isn't better squandered (as Hel knows I try so hard to do) than hoarded. Thanks for reading, B.

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  12. Once in a while, and I apologize in advance, I wonder Who is this Woman writing? Not because I haven't completely lost the writer in the piece, as I have here. More because I just want to get that shred of inspiration--if that's what it is-- that must come before a piece like this. I appreciate being shown your "special trip to a special place."

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  13. Good tales have a moral, and my moral is this:
    it's impossible to make whole
    what's been jigsawed in Hell,
    despite infinite labor in distortion and wish....love this.
    I wish I could peek inside your brain to meet your muse :)

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