Here's that poem I wrote for the class:
Cuticle Scissors
"The artist, like the God of the creation,
remains within or behind or beyond
or above his handiwork, invisible, refined
out of existence, indifferent, paring his
fingernails." James Joyce
Dainty and sharp
as a moth's curled proboscis
delivng the blossoms' blunt
bells, a bee-eater's versatile beak
the curved blade snaps.
Ten pale arcs like the
midday moon--the tips
of my overgrown nails
fly upward like sparks.
4 comments:
Lovely! The ten pale arcs that fly upward. You capture movement. This is an excellent poem to inspire your students--small, precise. Thank you, Robbie.
Thanks Lou. I even wrote another while they did their exercises, this time about an imaginary ladder outside the window. Actually, it was modeled on the one that used to be outside the window in Provincetown when I lived there many years ago. I used to watch my cat sit on it while the snow piled up on his back as he slept.
A beautiful poem!! I really like that lovely last line. The students are truly fortunate to have such a gifted poet as their teacher, one who writes these lovely little pieces from the same exercises she assigns them.
Robin,
Thank you for the lovely complement. You are generous. But I do like it.
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