Wednesday, August 21, 2013

black blade



I saw a redhaired girl walking under sunlit trees 

Years later I knew that
 if I have a heart at all
 it is a black
 blade that God

 whets on a numb stone
 hidden in his own murderous chest,
 a dry, anticipatory
 scritch-scritch-scritch.

 He tests
 the edge on the fat curve
 of his thumb and

 meditatively
 sucks a drop
 of coppery blood.



8 comments:

  1. Love this poem. Is it a new one James?
    Not sure why you choose that title for it

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  2. Liz: the poem is fairly new ... but the title -- do you think i know why i do what i do??? :-)

    .

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  3. but the title is the story, if you will - that bleeds out, the specificity of man and self that becomes animate. isn't it? without the title there is, i was going to say distance between but there would only be distance in one direction, nothing to have a between between, in other words there would only be god, not self, nothing to anchor one to the other. the title is the man's specificity, the rise of the story, the shadow to god sucking the drop of coppery blood.

    the word anticipatory seems especially important, speaking time into existence which allows for the event of being to occur.

    but i shiver. i shiver.

    why? - the act of creation for both god and you the poet. i shiver and scratch my head in wonderment.

    wonderful. and a newly born approach for you(?), bold and daring. i like it too, very very much))))

    xo
    erin

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    Replies
    1. erin: sometimes it seems that one is an instrument in the hand of god (whatever that is), a tool or even a knife, for it is a violence, even if creative, even if love -- story cuts into the flow of the already known ...

      .

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  4. i am in love with this one
    !!!

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    Replies
    1. Roxana: :-)))

      ... a new way of doing things ....

      .

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  5. Strange that I read this after I have been hunting for a poem read yesterday. Was it Lawrence, or was it Vallejo. It was so easy to find then, and not now. But it was about pointing a murderous gun-finger at God. This brings it back to mind (since 30 minutes ago when I was turning pages, turning pages).

    This is shivery as Erin said. I love it, and try to get inside the mystery of it.

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  6. Ruth: one poem calls to another :-) we all seem to write around the same fire, no one quite exactly saying what we try to say, a thousand ways of almost saying it ...

    thank you for trying to get inside .. i hope there is something there ...

    .

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