Axe, Maul And Wedge
When you first brought me to the farm, you taught me how to
turn wood into fire. 'To part firewood fiber from fiber, to
make it small,' you'd say,'you think you need an axe.
An axe is sharp and showy; an axe has blade
and bite and swings like the
pendulum of god, but
what you really need to split the wood is a wedge.'You
smiled your wisdom-imparting smile, 'after all a
wedge was the first machine.' Where the
axe falters, beaten, the maul with blow
after blow pushes the wedge deep
between the weave of atoms
til wood breaks,
forced away from itself, no longer looking like anything
that was once alive, dryads' home, birds' harbor,
just kindling meat. And then is the time for
the axe, flying abrupt and wild as
a silver moon of cyclone through
the dry strings of bark and
heartwood.
And when it came time for the
splitting of us, you might say
you were the maul, she
was the wedge and I
the gaudy axe
attacking the last
tough fragments
of what we
were
to provide for
the next
fire.
February 2022
posted for
Images: Wedge, by user Shakespeare, public domain via wikimedai commons Fair Use
Photo of axe via Sunday Muse Fair Use
So good! Perfect the way you set up all the imagery in terms of the wood: "til wood breaks, /
ReplyDeleteforced away from itself, no longer looking like anything / that was once alive, dryads' home, birds' harbor, / just kindling meat" so that when you get to the human splitting, it carries all that forward, and you can land your spare, clean blows of the blade.
Wow, Joy, this took my breath away. First, chopping wood got much easier for me when I found out about maul's and wedges. How you then turned this towards human relationships is really brilliant.
ReplyDeleteAn absolutely beautiful poem.
ReplyDeleteWhat strikes me most here is the notion that splitting the wood causes it to lose all appearance of anything once alive, a home, beauty, shelter. At least in part, this is what the lure of any serious relationship is--a place to entrust our heart and the "heartwood" of ourselves. When the heedless heavy blow of the maul hits it, the wood--and the relationship--soon loses cohesion and all resemblance to what it once was, and offered.
ReplyDeleteMoreover, as your poem illustrates so vividly, we carry the splinters and detritus of each past relationship forward with us. "Baggage" if you will.
Interesting that one generally thinks of tools as constructive implements, but here they split, scatter, and change the essence of a thing. Finally, being hit with them will make you see stars and hurt bad for a long while. We don't forget it, though we do hopefully get over it. Stellar writing, Joy.
This profound poem is a bright fire of wisdom Joy! I love the deep comparison of blades, wood, and the fires and ashes of change that happen in our lives and relationships. The line "the axe flying abrupt and wild as a silver moon" is absolutely stunning and just one line of many wonderful images that make us think with the mind and the heart.
ReplyDeleteThis took you deep into the woods of human relationships, the splitting is hard and the blade is felt and the splinters remain a reminder of the pain. I think I've felt this in my lifetime.
ReplyDeleteThere is an art to building a good fire, it takes immense talent to write great poetry. I don't know of your fire building skill ~ I do know your poetry ~ which is amazing.
ReplyDeleteI love the column of triangles that feel like they are driving in like a maul.
ReplyDeleteA triangulation of tools to effect the sustenance of fire: 'tis how we learned to make meat out of the gift of the gods (OK, we stole it) -- and fuels the desire which kindles the love which sustains the house that burns down and is pillaged the next appetite. Really wry telling here, with the early tools we develop for mastery's sake feeding the destructive appetites which have vanished too many forests. Explained by the master and wielded back by the journeyman whacker of heads inside poems. The telling is so clean and direct that we don't know we are being simultaneously sundered. Ashes to ashes, lust to oak dust.
ReplyDeletevery cool poem joy! i like the effect here, not only you the tools break wood down into fuel, but your words do as well, your last word being "fire". and i like the shape, you added the concrete element, the poem is a wedge, and it narrows down to fine point (a fine point making a fine point, love that echo) everything breaks down "you were the maul, she was the wedge and I the gaudy axe" that is a painful image joy. as always, so very well written
ReplyDeleteI love your response to this prompt, Joy, such wisdom so smartly imparted. Love these lines:
ReplyDelete"An axe is sharp and showy; an axe has blade
and bite and swings like the
pendulum of god"
"the maul with blow
after blow pushes the wedge deep
between the weave of atoms"
"just kindling meat. And then is the time for
the axe, flying abrupt and wild as
a silver moon of cyclone through
the dry strings of bark and
heartwood."
But to be honest, I'd need to copy and paste the whole because it's all so good. And the visual representation of it. Just wonderful <3