Tomorrow a doctor will open the side of my throat, reach in, and touch my spine. He will remove a broken disk, fuse bone to bone with bone, and put me back to rights. When he signs the papers, he will hold a baby-blue fountain pen that is a god to the humble beggar with which I write. His is an instrument finely crafted of precious metals, balanced like a Japanese knife so that words and ink flow as though the were an extension of his body. My own words stumble and stutter as I drag a cheap fountain pen across sheets of re-used paper. The pen, its cap wrapped in black electrical tape where it cracked just days after I bought it, is worn and old. My ink fades and my body hurts. Tomorrow his hand will glide across the papers with my vital information, across my neck and spine, as he writes the next chapter in the book of my body. I can’t wait to read it, to see how my story progresses in permanent blue ink from a pen that is nothing short of the instrument of a god.
—–
Poetry Thursday readers, please visit the rest of my blog for more poetry.
February 20, 2007 at 12:42 pm
Moving declaration to the pen.
February 21, 2007 at 8:17 pm
I was also trying to get at the immense power a surgeon has, and how they seem so cocky and sure while I find myself questioning every word that I type (even these) and wondering if I couldn’t have done it just a little better.
February 22, 2007 at 6:33 am
I like the comparison between surgery and writing – precision arts both.
February 22, 2007 at 7:33 am
I like how you compare your own pen with his. And everything which that represents. This prose/poetry is full of wonderful symbolism which adds so much more to the meaning of your writing. Thanks.
February 22, 2007 at 10:50 am
I also really liked how you used the pen as the primary image…and I also like the way the doctor’s pen and the narrator’s pen are so different…or perceived so differently
February 22, 2007 at 12:00 pm
Beautiful analogy between the surgeon’s tools and the pen.
You did good.
gautami
In-between state of consciousness
February 22, 2007 at 1:13 pm
This was full of wonderful imagery! The comparisons here are spot on- hope your story progresses positively!
February 22, 2007 at 3:00 pm
Woah! This one blows me away. How very tight, and descriptive, and poignant are the images, comparisons of pen to knife – the writing skill of the two people in the poem. It’s so good. I really love the way you’ve used sound. A fave line is “its cap wrapped in black electrical tape where it cracked.”
Great work.
February 22, 2007 at 5:30 pm
I think you got it across beautifully. The transition from the matter-of-fact into the metaphor is so seamless, the poem just pulls me right along with it on its journey. Lovely.
February 22, 2007 at 10:35 pm
Holy cow! This is so visceral and heartbreaking. I have too many favorite lines to count. Love the doctor reaching into the body, love the alternation between body/pen imagery, love the whole dang thing. Amazing work.
February 22, 2007 at 11:31 pm
You did show the cockiness of sugeons.But, pehaps because I LOVE pens, it was these details, that I loved the most.
February 23, 2007 at 10:39 am
I think your comparisons work so well, and make for a very powerful prose poem. There’s the surgeon’s tools/his pen, his pen/your pen, and (I find most interesting) the surgeon/the writer. And I think you did capture comparisons of where the power lies in those relationships (although I personally believe that writers may have more power, even if we’re less cocky).
Great use of language, too.
February 23, 2007 at 11:22 am
You’re all awfully kind and I appreciate everyone stopping by to say something. I still say that if you want to read really good prose poetry you have to go get David Shumate’s book. Or you can begin with either one of these two: Mannequins and/or The Long Road. His work really is tremendous.
Thank you again for all the comments.
February 23, 2007 at 7:10 pm
Doctors (Surgeons) have an immense amount of power, but I bet they take it for grantid like we all take most things. This poem was from your point of view and that made it very unique. Everyone is different but comparing pens made this yours and it is great.
February 23, 2007 at 7:30 pm
Chris, thanks so much for the comment. I like the idea of the delicacy and impossible difficulty of surgery versus the mundane task of writing. We can all do the latter and sometimes I get to feeling that there’s nothing great about it, especially compared with someone who can fuse a spine together. Then, every so often, I read a line of poetry (perhaps even one of my own) and see that there’s something to it after all.
February 27, 2007 at 3:59 pm
What a powerful and beautiful poem. The image of the pen and his hand, the paper and your body – achingly good. Thank you so much for sharing it.
February 27, 2007 at 4:05 pm
This soon after surgery I too am feeling “achingly good” which is to say that I ache quite a bit but I’m so excited to be up and moving about without too much pain or real discomfort that it is all feels good.
Thank you for reading the poem.