(a response (reflex?) to the Wendell Berry piece that my friend Jeremy posted over on
The Sand County ...just what happened when the pebble of those words hit the pool
of my mind...)
A Man as Crude as Any
I am not afraid to punctuate
profundity with flatulence.
I am as crude as biology,
as physiology, as the
undeniable body that
flinches and rages,
blusters and bluffs.
I can not do justice
to the gifts I find all
around us. These
jewels that fall from
my mouth are an
aberration, the lucky
grunt of an ape that
happened upon a sound
that happens to sound
like the sound of another
thing, a welling up from within
for a thing that will always
be a mystery from without.
I am not only naked
in the sun, but crying
and sobbing before the
eyes of others. I am
too aware of the game
to play it well. I would
be against the wall,
were that practice
to find its vogue
again. I would
fight and feel a fool
or I would cast my
eyes down and feel
a coward or I would
do both and be redeemed
or I would do neither
and be damned. My
teeth would become
brittle sticks within
my mouth and my
tongue would turn
to stone, and fall
into my throat
and choke me.
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A Prayer Like Gravity 
That was… visceral. Felt like a song, like a grunge tune from the 90’s, just angry and irreverent. And stretching and reaching… I think this is my favorite from you to date.
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Aw, shucks…
Thank you Trent–this is one that kind of poured out of me. Very little editing before I posted, which is unusual for me. I’m glad you liked it.
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Find that those are sometimes the best. The most true.
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Yep. Hard for me to let that happen though. Catholic child of depression-era parents. Old-world stodginess combined with post-modern ennui. Not the best combo for achieving “flow.”
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“I am
too aware of the game
to play it well.”
What an interesting, exciting piece of poetry 🙂
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Thank you, Natalie. It was fun to write. Rather wrote itself.
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