More Active Posts
Front Page
Friday poem
 |
 12 Comments |
“Descending Theology: The Resurrection” by Mary Karr
From the far star points of his pinned extremities,
cold inched in—black ice and squid ink—
till the hung flesh was empty.
Lonely in that void even for pain,
he missed his splintered feet,
the human stare buried in his face.
He ached for two hands made of meat
he could reach to the end of.
In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
of his heart began to bang
on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled
back into that battered shape. Now
——————————————
it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.
(From Poetry, January 2006)
 |
Topic: WorldMagBlog |  |
Email a friend |
 |
Keywords: literature |  |
RSS 2.0 |
 |
Both comments and pings are currently closed. |  |
Share this: |
Less is more
Wow, that got my attention.
yuk
mommy,
That is what I said when I first skimmed it. Refused to read it. Then I thought I had better come back and give it another try so Harrison would not be hurt. I said it again but then I started thinking there was more to it, went back again, and there was. At least there was for me today. Thanks Harrison, that will stick with me for a while.
I first thought “what?”, but further reading tells me that this mumbo-jumbo has a purpose. I think of the crucification of Christ, based on the title, and the confusion the apostles experienced when their Master was killed. Then think of the joy when he appeared to them after rising from the dead. At that point, the poem loses it syntactic randomness (like the opening lines), and the final message is clear- He died and rose again for me!
Loved the last few lines …. as for the others, is it just me or does the whole “lonely corpse” feel rather demean Jesus, whose divinity shone brighter affter the ressurection?
I’ve come back again, and upon rereading in trying to find the answer to Kimberly’s question, a thrill is running through me and tears running down my face as I think with Peter L: He died and rose again for me! He went through that torment, experienced that loneliness I deserve, and set me free to be His child. Wow.
Loved these lines too … In the corpse’s core, the stone fist
of his heart began to bang
on the stiff chest’s door, and breath spilled
back into that battered shape. Now
I still can’t see the disciples’ thing though … as the whole poem seems to be written from a single perspective (that of Christ). But still–it’s a beautiful, tightly-written poem.
Who is this author? I’ve never heard of her.
WOW! That was exactly my initial reaction and my secondary reaction.
And yes, he did experience that loneliness, the feeling of being forgotten and forsaken!
“Now
it’s your limbs he comes to fill, as warm water
shatters at birth, rivering every way.”
And to that…Hallelujah!
Kimberly @ #5,
I would say no, it doesn’t demean Christ. It seems to me to take place in those few nano-seconds from just before to just after the Resurrection.
The impact of the first beating of the resurrected heart is all the greater compared to the emptiness just before.
Special
es, this mumbo
jumbo has
a purpose
surely
Yes it lets
us know how
bad poetry posing
as prose
has become.
Sadly, there
are those who
think it is
the cat’s meow
They be very
very wrong in
their haste to
anoint mediocrity
something it is not.
Good grief, Llama. This isn’t prose. It’s a sonnet — 14 lines organized both by scheme and meaning. Follow the sense. It’s a mixture of Petrarchian and English forms — with an octet for the initial thought or dilemma, a sestet shifting direction and a couplet broken out of the sestet at the end for resolution.
If you’re looking for rhyme, this poem has plenty of it. Look at the first octet line endings: A-blank-A-blank-B-blank-B-blank, with internal rhymes holding some of the “blank” lines together (”inched in … squid ink” “stare buried”).
The next sestet is less regular in its rhyme, and as a result picks up pace, but there’s rhyme if you listen: “in the corpse’s core … in the stiff chest’s door” or “battered shape … shatters at birth.”
If you want express how little you like this poem, you’re welcome to explain why. But the notion that’s it’s not a poem because you say it’s not? That pig still doesn’t fly {:~)
SG
I noticed it was a sonnet as well, but not as much of the internal rhyme. Nice analysis!