The Sculptor

written for a public presentation for Valentine's Day in my city

In my city, there is a sculptor

of bowls. He reads the whorls

and grains of cuts of oak and cedar

like sacred texts, opening curved

spaces as prayers- one measured,

probing, excavating chisel insertion

at a time. Uncovered and raw,

the soul- of the wood’s exulted,

exploited, exposed secrets

and flaws- is transformed

into highest art.

Polished, it begins to sing

songs of ecstasy, in praise of

having been discovered, awakened,

and maybe even loved. And I-

I desire that my lover learn to

do with his hands and words,

to this woman’s body and mind-

what that artist can do

to mere blocks of wood.

Author's Note

I once saw a photography exhibit done by a local artist in my old hometown: a series of close up photos of the hands of people who work with their hands. Bakers, fishermen, artists, nurses, etc. It made me start to take a deeper look at how people interact with their work, and the cross-over of expression to other areas of life. I was inspired to write this poem when I stopped on the street one day to watch a local Guatemalan carpenter carve wood in his open-air workshop.

Like many of my works, this was translated from my original in Spanish, which I read for a Valentine's Day poetic celebration in a nearby town. Picture is a stock photo from Pinterest.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

You my dear friend, have always used your hands via your extrmely semsotove imagination.. every digit notices the 'cross-overs of expression'. You have a magic touch, always have. R, This is a beautiful piece of writing, lagnguage gentle but spefic. Plus brought to the Now by memories stored. If you recall Ken Simm, he can capture moments... as can Mr. Henn... time is captured as it dies via a camerea. BUT,you , as the supreme writer, pay homage. Need stop befor i break into sycophancy! Blessings and hugs.. and thank you.. Sending smiles of encouragement to that lover..

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

The art of love is the hardest to master, but when we do the masterpiece we make is priceless.
Such a lovely poem my dear friend.

[R.E. Ray]

As a woodworker and man, this poem speaks to me. I've always admired artists (woodworkers, painters, poets and sculptors) who can take images from their minds, passion from their hearts, and use their hands to shape raw nature into something even more beautiful. And, men and women do this do this to each other too, creating intimacy and pleasure with their hands--extensions of the heart. Beautiful, artful work, Marie.

[Emily B]

so beautiful, i'm sure there are men who practice the loving arts

I am hopeful that there are men out there :)

[Annette Pisano-Higley]

This poem is graceful, tactile and exquisite. The sculptor’s love for his creation and a man’s love for a woman presented as parallels- brilliant. Lovely form, flow, cadence, imagery. Love it.