The Lathing Song
Turn us,
turn us on the lathe,
turn us on the lathe,
from our shape
a new thing make.
a new thing make.
Take our flesh to fray and break,
clay no more
but soft as pine,
peeled of before,
a ragged door
a ragged door
hung on curving spine.
Plane away
the slivering split,
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.
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.
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.
ReplyDeleteuntil 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...
ReplyDeleteStrong imagery, thought-provoking words.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful words Hedge ~ I specially like the ending:
ReplyDeletespin us against the Cutter's bit
until we're either broken
or defined.
Beautifully said!
ReplyDeleteFor poets, its by the fine tuned set of phrases we are remembered. Again you construct a bridge to unite us. Exceptional work, Joy.
ReplyDeleteTurn, take, spin, until ... this is my new favorite of your poems.
ReplyDeleteThat 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. :)
ReplyDeletetruly lovely, HW; it is this life which whittles us away
ReplyDeleteI know, I know all that cutting is good for character. Wouldn't mind a long stretch of lemon polish applied with soft cloth.
ReplyDeleteThat's it, until we're broken or defined...perfect!
ReplyDeleteSee...?
ReplyDeleteYou 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
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.
Deleteplane away..I like to think we enter a new dimension another plane in the universe
ReplyDeletewhere a new journey begins..
I have a drum made that way. I'm so glad it survived the process.
ReplyDelete- Alice
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:
ReplyDeletespin us against the Cutter's bit
until we're either broken
or defined.
solid heart beats
Amazing poem. Yes, planed and split in death we are broken or defined. I admire your craft Hedge.
ReplyDeleteThis 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.
ReplyDeleteeither 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..
ReplyDeletePs also love the lathe--it spins-- like world or wheel of samsara--rebirth/death--k.
ReplyDeleteSuch creative images to portray the journey of life and death.
ReplyDeletea beautiful end to a profound piece! In every image we discover ourselves
ReplyDeleteThose last five lines are magnificently written. Sometimes you just blow me away, Joy.
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful thought, life as lather that form you to something beautiful (or sadly break). Wonderful with rhythm and rhymes...
ReplyDeleteMy 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.
ReplyDeleteYour metaphor is very apt, Hedge, both in life and its passing.
ReplyDeleteloved the imagery in this...
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful, such a great tribute. I think it's one of my favorites of yours.
ReplyDeleteA fitting tribute. And that's very high praise.
ReplyDeleteUntil we are either broken
ReplyDeleteor defined.
He was defined. It's a lovely tribute. Thank you.
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.
ReplyDeleteA fine tribute to Dave. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteAnna
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...
ReplyDeleteSteve