I love this. It feels like everything is weaved together in a Wholeness of time and place and relationship and intention, as if there is a well of care waiting to be coaxed from the wood by kind hands. A poem of close attention to detail and long attention to time. Just great.
I think it takes time. ? I started my Substack 5 months ago. Some poems, short stories, tales from my life that escape my heart, even when it skips a beat . . .
I love the phrase “… and handrails as guides for the unsteady ahead.” I think this is part of the secret to happiness & serenity in middle age: getting prepared for the unknown future. Although of course we do know our ultimate fate, we can’t know what’s to befall us in this period leading up to the end. Our preparations for old age may seem morbid to some but for me, our candid talks & plans in place give me both a sense of peace & comfort.
Thanks for reading the poem. All books of poetry should be read by their authors. It feels different than when I read it. You can feel the care that went into its composition. My mind’s eye sees the wood. My ears hear each stroke of a chisel. I smell the wood as its scent is released. Great job Mr Carpenter Poet.
Thanks Jack. I am going to try to read them all from now on. I've been on a real tear recently, 3-5 poems per week, sometimes more. We left Spain a couple days ago and now in Provence. In the town of L'Isle sur la Sorgue for the month of May! It's painfully beautiful here.
Now there is something a computer would have a helluva time with... Making a spoon out of a twisted piece of wood. I can feel the smooth finish and imagine tossing a salad with it. Nicely done.
Thanks Jed. I made all those during the pandemic, 15-20 of them. My son and I worked on a lot of people's houses when they weren't in them. I could spend 1/2 a day on a spoon/spatula/ladle, a tiny little world all of their own.
Sorry to be so late; I love this; the connection of your hands with the wood, and how something evolves from it -- from the doing, the activity -- perfect.
Hi Jessica. After a dozen or however many of those kitchen utensils, I switched over to whittling on smaller pieces of wood and made games and puzzles.
Wow, that sounds lovely! Chess games? Animal pieces? It must be such a delight setting a shape "free" that's hidden in a piece of wood. I always imagined that a block of marble would be fantastic to work with, but it probably is prohibitive. Wood must be friendlier.
I’m sure I’ve told you my mom was a sculptor in marble mostly and then she shifted to alabaster and soap stone, I think when she was in her late 70’s. After that it was different kinds of wood.
I knew she painted, not that she worked with marble. I love alabaster, one could find it in northern New Mexico where I lived, even fairly big pieces. It's much softer, so I understand why she would prefer this and soap stone to marble. What an inspiration.
I love that image, something emerging from a gnarly old log. If I did a time lapse, it would slow morph from the top photo to the bottom over the course of a day. I made a bunch of them and showed them to Erika to pick one, if she liked one. She picked that one, she’s right handed. She says she likes it, good for moving ingredients around in a soup/stew. Brad used it for a back scratch and it sits on his work table so I don’t really know if it sees much kitchen time.
I love this. It feels like everything is weaved together in a Wholeness of time and place and relationship and intention, as if there is a well of care waiting to be coaxed from the wood by kind hands. A poem of close attention to detail and long attention to time. Just great.
Thanks Jonathan. I made a couple dozen different spoons, spatulas, ladles and gave them to all the great gals in my life.
I think you right, Jonathan!
Thanks Paul.
A beautiful testimony to a human connection to trees
Thank you Susan and welcome to my neck of the woods. I don't remember seeing you here before.
I think it takes time. ? I started my Substack 5 months ago. Some poems, short stories, tales from my life that escape my heart, even when it skips a beat . . .
I will check it out, thank you.
I love the phrase “… and handrails as guides for the unsteady ahead.” I think this is part of the secret to happiness & serenity in middle age: getting prepared for the unknown future. Although of course we do know our ultimate fate, we can’t know what’s to befall us in this period leading up to the end. Our preparations for old age may seem morbid to some but for me, our candid talks & plans in place give me both a sense of peace & comfort.
Moi aussi, ma chère.
Thanks for reading the poem. All books of poetry should be read by their authors. It feels different than when I read it. You can feel the care that went into its composition. My mind’s eye sees the wood. My ears hear each stroke of a chisel. I smell the wood as its scent is released. Great job Mr Carpenter Poet.
Thanks Jack. I am going to try to read them all from now on. I've been on a real tear recently, 3-5 poems per week, sometimes more. We left Spain a couple days ago and now in Provence. In the town of L'Isle sur la Sorgue for the month of May! It's painfully beautiful here.
I love how your hands
know and remember.
You give the tree
its immortality
in this tender spoon
and these tender words
Thanks for the great comment Deborah. Haven’t seen you in a while.
Now there is something a computer would have a helluva time with... Making a spoon out of a twisted piece of wood. I can feel the smooth finish and imagine tossing a salad with it. Nicely done.
Thanks Jed. I made all those during the pandemic, 15-20 of them. My son and I worked on a lot of people's houses when they weren't in them. I could spend 1/2 a day on a spoon/spatula/ladle, a tiny little world all of their own.
Loved the audio with this! Smooth and calming as the form and memory of wood and all of its significance are honored
Thanks Megan. So glad you are now with a solid computer etc.
Beautiful. As always. How cool to know your reverence for the trees and then be able to so masterfully express it in form AND poetry.
Thank you Kimberly. I think I had half a dozen on hand when my daughter in law was visiting and she picked that one. My son uses it as a back scratch.
That is wood well used, full of memories and not forgotten!
I’m not certain but I think I gave it to my daughter-in-law who likes it and my son uses it for a back scratch.
I find it fascinating, your writing, and anything about trees
Hello, welcome and thank you for reading and commenting. I've got 350 posts and a bunch of them are concerned with wood, trees and carpentry.
Thank you
Excellent poem, Weston. Very well done.
Thank you C.J. and good to see you here.
You’re welcome, Weston. It’s good to see you, too.
Oh, this is wonderful. I am heartened by this connection.
Thank you so much, Holly and nice to see you here.
Sorry to be so late; I love this; the connection of your hands with the wood, and how something evolves from it -- from the doing, the activity -- perfect.
I was getting pretty restless during some stretches of covid.
I hope you haven't given up making beautiful tools from wood 😉.
Hi Jessica. After a dozen or however many of those kitchen utensils, I switched over to whittling on smaller pieces of wood and made games and puzzles.
Wow, that sounds lovely! Chess games? Animal pieces? It must be such a delight setting a shape "free" that's hidden in a piece of wood. I always imagined that a block of marble would be fantastic to work with, but it probably is prohibitive. Wood must be friendlier.
I’m sure I’ve told you my mom was a sculptor in marble mostly and then she shifted to alabaster and soap stone, I think when she was in her late 70’s. After that it was different kinds of wood.
I knew she painted, not that she worked with marble. I love alabaster, one could find it in northern New Mexico where I lived, even fairly big pieces. It's much softer, so I understand why she would prefer this and soap stone to marble. What an inspiration.
beautiful
Thanks sweetie.
I love this all around…💫
Thanks Brian. My daughter in law likes it, my son uses it as a back scratch.
A beauty. The words, the wood, those spoons like dancers emerging from the tree…
I love that image, something emerging from a gnarly old log. If I did a time lapse, it would slow morph from the top photo to the bottom over the course of a day. I made a bunch of them and showed them to Erika to pick one, if she liked one. She picked that one, she’s right handed. She says she likes it, good for moving ingredients around in a soup/stew. Brad used it for a back scratch and it sits on his work table so I don’t really know if it sees much kitchen time.
Carpenters are magicians- I have never not believed that. You write just as the one you were born to be, παιδί μου xx
Thanks Patris. You can't rush wood, that's a lesson every woodworker learns.