This is an exercise based on a poem by a very good poet friend of mine, Laura Stuckey. My approach is slightly different, but perhaps too close to hers. There are too many metaphors and I am working on this. I'd like to know if the theme of rediscovering the self, the authentic self, is clear. But then, I've already stated the theme! Silly me.
White Labyrinth
Fold your paper over and again
slowly, the way one might
fold dough.
Focus on the floury lightness
skimming the surface of the
yet formed.
Recall seeing your newborns
for the very first time,
cloaked in filmy alabaster
like angels.
Fold your paper until,
like kneaded dough,
it assumes a shape,
any shape, and
is ready for firing.
Now walk through that fire
of yourself,
through the light and heat,
far enough to reach the core.
Then take your paper and
begin unfolding, gently --
rhythmically, perhaps --
like a young girl's chanting he loves me not, he loves...
or like peeling the leaves
of an artichoke before
swirling their green meat
in melted butter.
Once the pieces are fully scattered,
ponder the nearly inscrutable
scribblings, the labyrinthine asides,
the unpenned epiphanies.
Slowly, re-assemble yourself
from the outside in, like a jigsaw,
replete with fissures, but whole again,
the golden loaf of you again,
as laden and light as the worn sheet
awaiting the rest of your singular story.
This is brilliant, two brilliant poems in a row, Gene, and now yours- the imagery is fantastic in this, all these ways and objects associated to folding in, the colors similiar, excellent, straight to my library.
the pulp of self desiring to be shaped into a form it desperately desires to explore as well as the remnants of itself that will follow ... a nicely structured potpourri of metaphoric inquisition ....
Julie, at first I was going to agree that perhaps you had too many
metaphors, but after reading your poem a couple of times I don't think so. I particularly admire stanzas 2 (love "walk through that fire of yourself") and 4 (which is loaded with beautiful "s" sounds).
-gene.
If you tend to believe romantic, passionate, masculine poetry is a thing of past eras, read "She Intrigues Me," and be swept away in the beautiful craft of a contemporary poet of love.
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Be always safe,
Karen
metaphors, but after reading your poem a couple of times I don't think so. I particularly admire stanzas 2 (love "walk through that fire of yourself") and 4 (which is loaded with beautiful "s" sounds).
-gene.