poem: Creating His Masterpiece

written for Emily's Hands Challenge

I'd like to meet him-

   and just observe his hands,

  to see if they are as strong and sure

      as the words they draw down

from the heavens; and carefully incise

  with surgical precision, the marble

      of his humble journal- and which

having said, I admit,

    had long caressed my thoughts,

          before I knew why.

 

Can they be carved, as in my mind's eye,

    of that golden polished hardwood,

grain burled, like oak gall-

  where the heart laid down defenses

         around a break in integrity;

toughened, like folded sinew,

    nacre layered on each offered pearl;

 relaxed, for breath intake repose,

     a coiled leopard at rest,

       claws retracted, safe- for now?

 

With a lover, knowing, as they do-

    the topography of human flesh,

the anatomy of the human heart:

  would they be gentle, I wonder, or firm;

       in exposing the secrets

     of knotted muscle memory-

where her longissimus

   contracted around long-ago-pain

 and held it, a fibrous miser

     hoarding its shiny coffers?

 

Can warm oiled oak ever

    caress as artfully, or sensually,

      as words?

For there is a universe of difference

   between the gentle delver

    of intimate treasure-

 the archaeologist, perhaps-

and the reckless plunderer;

   and you you can only discern

said difference

     if you study carefully

         his hands

in their act of unearthing the divine

  and with it, creating 

              his masterpiece.

 

Author's Note

written for Emily's contest about telling character from hands. When I meet a man, I always check out his hands first after his eyes. I got to thinking about what it would like to meet an inspired writer, a creator of literary truth, and study his hands while he wrote. Then I let my mind wander, and this is what came out. Past meets present meets infinity and comes full circle. Or just enjoy the write.

Reviews

[Rick Puetter]

Dear Marie,

Enjoy the write? Oh, Boy! You bet.

This is an inspired write. Comparing the hands of one that works in wood, lovingly crafting a piece of woodwork, caressing the wood, to those of a poet is wonderful. And the passion and sincerity in your words rings out so true and clear, resulting in a piece infused with admiration and emotion.

"Can warm oiled oak ever
caress as artfully, or sensually,
as words?"

An impassioned pondering. I do truly believe that we humans are creatures of language and that there is nothing that can move us as deeply as inspired words. We would lay down our very lives for the right words.

A beautiful write. Kudos and highest marks!

Rick

[Georgia Gypsy]

Just one more thing we have in common, hands...I too like to examine hands of men. Its interesting when dancing to notice the subtle differences of the hands as you change partners throughout the evening...this is a great piece of imagination mixed with real life experience!
So good to get reacquainted with your work again!! :)
K

[Art Sun]

nice Marie...even though you wrote this for a contest, the entirety of the poem is a masterpiece within itself...you have taken the visual and placed it before us with thoughts, imagination, comparisons, and depth...a work that when read several times truly shows your ingenuity...

[W.k.kortas]

For something that is the product of wandering, this walks a well-plumbed line. The central conceit is strong and constant, but it's not transparent with bells and signs saying "WARNING! SYMBOLS CROSSING!" The piece is subtle, admirably understated. It's awfully fine work.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, kortas; always an honor receiving a review from you. I know waht you mean- I cringe when I read work that shows you all of its secrets, tells you how to interpret its symbols. This is poetry, not a guide on how to read. Thank you very much for seeing that, and for being the great inspiration you are with your own writing. :-)

[Tree]

An extraordinary poem. About the power of "art." About the hands, the conducter. The whisper. I believe if you truly immerse yourself inside someone's art there is no doubt in my mind that you will not only feel/ but see the inner workings of a soul. Your vision of someone creating his masterpiece gave birth, to one of your own.

[Marie Anzalone]

There are not many with the fortitude it takes to do as you say, immerse yourself in another's art. I have tried it a few times a few times and found the results akin to lassoing a saddled dragon. Exhiliarating but potentially deadly. It takes a lot of trust, and I am not sure that most ever get there. Depending on the artist, I am not sure I could always do so. But oh the view is lovely above the mountain passes with the scenery rushing by. We say the soul cannot be defined, but I am not sure that is true either. A gifted artist gets his/ her inspiration from somewhere.

Thanks for taking the time to read.

[Marie Anzalone]

Then again, one must wonder in my scenario, I guess, who had the chutpah to saddle a dragon in the first place?

[Tree]

For some reason I think You do. No, I know you do.

[Marie Anzalone]

I would say that you give me far too much credit, but then there was that other morning when I awoke with something akin to a hangover, saddle and singed bridle in hand :-)

[Emily B]

we are sisters, i have no doubt now :)

[Marie Anzalone]

yes, I agree. we do tend to walk in lockstep. two very different sides of a universal coin perhaps.

[Antonio Valentino]

i think this is my favorite of yours so far Marie..

this passed the very rare, this is something very special, test, when at the beginning of the second verse i gasped inside, and just paused for a moment kind of just staring ahead not really looking at the words anymore just gazing at the screen from the back of my mind.. .. kind of savoring the feeling for a second not wanting to rush through because it was only going to be felt the most special this first time..

you keep startling me with the depth of your talent and understanding.. i just dont see writing like this very much so when i do... its like finding a glistening red rose sticking up through the blank white snow..

yes.. this poem really reminds how truly special the hands are and how what they scribe with a quill or tickle on a keyboard can really affect someone on the other side, of a world.

these hands, they do help us work, create, and defend ourselves, but most of all they allow us to interlock with anothers just like when earth meets sky and makes a leaf dance with the wind

:)

[Marie Anzalone]

I owe you some reviews, dear friend. I find myself reading great works exactly as you described... as a meal to be savored slowly, with total attention paid. It is how I like to write, actually, as I imagine you do as well.

I saw an exhibit in a cafe in a small town in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate NY. A professional photographer shot a series called "working hands," where he took close-up shots of the hands of people who work with their hands. It was a truly mesmerizing display, and I never forgot it. It made me realize how much pure joy I get watching any master craftsman do his trade- be it the blacksmith I dated, my artist friend, a talented musician, a baker, a veterinarian, or a midwife. When I saw Miss Emily's poem, my mind immediately went back to that display. And I thought of a gifted writer, and how easy it is to fall in love with a person through their work, but how you could only know that person's soul if you watched them at work to see how much love, or spite, or greed, or joy; s/he put into his work. It is a fascinating topic that my dear friend challenged us with. I was walking out the door of Starbucks yesterday, to go run some errands, and ran back in, scrawled this on a napkin, and uploaded it. The errands never got run; but these words seemed more important.

Blessings on your day, Antonio. Your notes breathe life into my weary mind.

[Marie Anzalone]

As an aside, I have befriended someone in real life, a woman who does fabulously inspired beaded artwork, and whose work I have admired for years. Her work is some of the most beautiful in the world of its kind. Yet in person, I am finding she is mean-spirited and greedy. What is interesting is that, as an artist myself, I used to hold her up to this standard I could aspire to but never attain. Seeing her as merely human, I now look at her work with a less critical eye on myself, and even think about what I might have done differently. The piece only reflects the artist if the person behind the work is whole. An authentically broken person is still authentic, and as such often contribute great works of staggering beauty. I imagine though that a poisonous personality would come out in the hand.

[Antonio Valentino]

i know what you mean.. no matter how creative or exceptional someone is, once you know how they truly are as a human being it absolutely reflects how i then see their work/art/craft.

many think of hands as simply being connected to our arms, shoulders and torso, but i think some forget that through our nervous sytem our hands are also extensions of our brain, as well as what we like to refer to as our soul, spirit, and heart.

these appendages that can, lend a hand, clap in applause, give a pat on the back or a comforting hug, help support us when we're falling, and even pull us up when we finally hit the ground.

the hands are, the eyes of our heart.

when the clarity of our vision gets blurred with misdirection and hopelessness.

i think i enjoy your notes even more then your poetry

[Marie Anzalone]

Does a soul have to be inherently good to prodcue somethign of worth, though? I wonder if we hold them up to impossible standards. Be an impeccable artist and an impeccable human being... and always do it within the confines of the whims and customs and societal boundaires and niceties of the age and culture into which you have born. I think I might explode under that pressure. it is living at the edge that gives the artist his edge, I think. Take that away and we write poetry for Wal-Mart posters. Does not mean that just because you are a genius writer you will always be someone I want to personally associate with. We all have our limits on madness. A wise friend told me to seek out someone whose madness was complementary to mine. Ponder that for a moment lol.

then... write about it.

[Antonio Valentino]

yes you are right..

its just a flaw of mine..

Wal-Mart here i come.. haha

[Marie Anzalone]

Don't forget your Bingo card... http://www.ebaumsworld.com/pictures/view/1024768/

sorry that was wrong but I could not resist...

[gombeggar]

wonderful wording here and mixing it all together so well...curious though of yer yer afterword...wut do my hands tell u?

[Marie Anzalone]

I would have to see you again to answer that, gombeggar. It has been years since we met up in person. Maybe before I leave, or when I come back in Feb, we can do coffee or something in Hazleton?

[gombeggar]

it would be mah pleasure...just lemme know...then u can tell me all ;)

[Marie Anzalone]

you have grown, my dear old friend... you have the hands of an artist who knows what he wants to create but who still has not encountered either the perfect medium or canvas, yet who has found a wellspring of inspiration with which to try

[gombeggar]

interesting prognosis...i will take this to heart