A comic poem about what it's like to start whittling and carving only to discover flaws. Then you have to decide if it's a deal breaker or do you rationalize like an insane person.
That is very interesting. I wrote this back in the pandemic. I was doing a great deal of whittling then, and I think I was thinking about how blind we can be about obvious flaws we are blinded by someone's beauty. But I can't really remember, I may well have thinking strickly about that piece of wood but who cares? I like your take on it much better.
Falling asleep here but stopped to read. Wes, how can you mother without loving the odd one? or whittle without first loving the feel of that piece of wood? some fathers might resist but no mother can. It’s never insanity to love what you’ve help make.
Yup. Our son Will is with us, got here about a week ago. Hell, we are all odd ones as far as I can tell, maybe some a little more than others or can't hide it as well. They call him Canelo down here, cinnamon because that's what they call the pale redhead types. His freckles are coalescing which makes him looks so cool. I wrote a poem with the boys which is loaded with flaws. One of his lines was,
"Sleep sweeps over them
and the sun sweetly summons
freckles from their shy slumber." I asked him "how does the sun summon at night?" and he said, "No idea, it's just a stupid poem you asked me to write. Take the sun out, I don't care." and yet I won't. The edited version would be
"Sleep sweeps over them
and sweetly summons
freckles from their shy slumber." But chose to leave it alone.
and it really did make me so proud that he could produce something like that. His brother Brad is also afflicted with this same illness. I do hope they get over it. I never did.
He is a contrary dude, no doubt. I got to be his teacher for one grade, 6th, 7th or 8th, I can't remember but I do remember he was indifferent to what grade he would get. He just wanted to build that thing a certain way to see what would happen but I told him he wasn't getting graded on that other thing and he looked at me and said, "But this is the interesting part!" He has always been beyond stubborn.
Good for him, hair pulling for you. Weren’t you like this yourself?? Having one of both (doing my thing/focused on achieving w/i the system) I did worry more about one, was consoled by the other. I’ve found it works itself out .
I hope you are right. Brad has the kind of commercial grade communication skills, he gets people instantly and puts anyone at ease instantly, what a gift and what a mind he has well. Whenever I get the chance to make a wish I wish for them to have meaning, purpose, health and some happiness. This is a hard time for the young people and I hope the best for them.
I can relate, Weston. We are both carpenters/woodworkers! That feeling; do I continue? Do I turn back? Discard all my hard work? (And of course it's a metaphor. For what? For the reader to decide!)
I agree all around. I decided a while back to write something with as little intent for it to be a metaphor or anything other than what the thing actually just is. Even though that metaphorical idea shows up, I stuff it down and forge ahead with just a piece of wood in my hand. Only after the thing is finished will I allow myself to go over it and see what else can become of it. Pretty curious but I do love what other people can see and very often they see much more clearly than I do what's going on.
Lovely. Makes me consider purity and desire, two dangerous henchmen roaming through the mind. Give me knots and faults and I’ll celebrate natures wisdom and ignore my stupidity:)
That's great. A long walk surrounded by nature can reduce a lot of stupidity, increase humility. Man really is such a silly creature, most of it from vanity/pride.
yes, that's what goes through our mind. That makes me think about fiction and how many cracks before it breaks, falls apart, sinks. On the practical side, the actual wood side, there comes a time, after enough whittling and removing when I have to ask, "should I stop now, and call it quits, before I discover more flaws? Or do I continue towards the goal of what I had in mind and risk losing it completely?"
My mom was a sculptor and I know she went in all directions. She carved on a big hunk of olive wood, from a very old trunk. It started out at least two feet tall and about a foot across. She ended up placing a woman in there, and her eye became the unstoppable knot hole and she carved an arm draped across the other eye, which didn't exist. I can see the pointy elbow above the head. One of my brothers has that one.
This is when my mom would say, "Don't let the canvas get too big for your paint." I used to help her set up the canvas on wood stretchers. Every now and then she would leave 6"-8" inches flapping around the backside in case she wanted to make it bigger. I was good at doing the stretching part while she put in the staples.
Wow. Another apt metaphor. I was writing earlier about the idea of constraints - how I never really learned them. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Maybe I’d do well to learn to stretch a canvas.
Imperfections are what makes things unique, what makes things beautiful. Of course I am prejudiced, because in the house I grew up out living room had knotty pine paneling.
I just wrote a piece called “Who Am I?” Like your wood creations, perhaps we are always a work in progress, and beautiful from any side or angle. May it be so. :)
oh, that's a neat thought, "beautiful from any side". and since the eye of the beholder has the final say...Also, what would we be without our flaws? I'd like to read it, your piece.
This poem is as much an object lesson for how we perceive our physical bodies as it is a comic poem about a piece of wood. Well done!
That is very interesting. I wrote this back in the pandemic. I was doing a great deal of whittling then, and I think I was thinking about how blind we can be about obvious flaws we are blinded by someone's beauty. But I can't really remember, I may well have thinking strickly about that piece of wood but who cares? I like your take on it much better.
Falling asleep here but stopped to read. Wes, how can you mother without loving the odd one? or whittle without first loving the feel of that piece of wood? some fathers might resist but no mother can. It’s never insanity to love what you’ve help make.
Yup. Our son Will is with us, got here about a week ago. Hell, we are all odd ones as far as I can tell, maybe some a little more than others or can't hide it as well. They call him Canelo down here, cinnamon because that's what they call the pale redhead types. His freckles are coalescing which makes him looks so cool. I wrote a poem with the boys which is loaded with flaws. One of his lines was,
"Sleep sweeps over them
and the sun sweetly summons
freckles from their shy slumber." I asked him "how does the sun summon at night?" and he said, "No idea, it's just a stupid poem you asked me to write. Take the sun out, I don't care." and yet I won't. The edited version would be
"Sleep sweeps over them
and sweetly summons
freckles from their shy slumber." But chose to leave it alone.
I can imagine his face and slightly aggravated voice at your questioning that beautiful line.
and it really did make me so proud that he could produce something like that. His brother Brad is also afflicted with this same illness. I do hope they get over it. I never did.
in my experience the best never do.
If by illness you mean aggravated backchat (one of my closest friends is a dubliner), as a mom of much older son here and thea of nephews, Nah.
no, by illness I meant the poetic streak.
(My snarky one is the artist) (but then I was once)
Poetry does carry the weight of feeling deeply.
That is a beautiful line!
It is - and so obviously the son of a poet!
So much love in your comment here, Wes, it’s profound. And I think that Will’s contrary line is wonderful.
He is a contrary dude, no doubt. I got to be his teacher for one grade, 6th, 7th or 8th, I can't remember but I do remember he was indifferent to what grade he would get. He just wanted to build that thing a certain way to see what would happen but I told him he wasn't getting graded on that other thing and he looked at me and said, "But this is the interesting part!" He has always been beyond stubborn.
Good for him, hair pulling for you. Weren’t you like this yourself?? Having one of both (doing my thing/focused on achieving w/i the system) I did worry more about one, was consoled by the other. I’ve found it works itself out .
I hope you are right. Brad has the kind of commercial grade communication skills, he gets people instantly and puts anyone at ease instantly, what a gift and what a mind he has well. Whenever I get the chance to make a wish I wish for them to have meaning, purpose, health and some happiness. This is a hard time for the young people and I hope the best for them.
That they were your children gives them these gifts (I’m doing my Greek thing here and repelling the mati as I write).
Beautifully put - and the hope for their lives to weigh heavier on the happier side of the balance.
I can relate, Weston. We are both carpenters/woodworkers! That feeling; do I continue? Do I turn back? Discard all my hard work? (And of course it's a metaphor. For what? For the reader to decide!)
I agree all around. I decided a while back to write something with as little intent for it to be a metaphor or anything other than what the thing actually just is. Even though that metaphorical idea shows up, I stuff it down and forge ahead with just a piece of wood in my hand. Only after the thing is finished will I allow myself to go over it and see what else can become of it. Pretty curious but I do love what other people can see and very often they see much more clearly than I do what's going on.
Lovely. Makes me consider purity and desire, two dangerous henchmen roaming through the mind. Give me knots and faults and I’ll celebrate natures wisdom and ignore my stupidity:)
That's great. A long walk surrounded by nature can reduce a lot of stupidity, increase humility. Man really is such a silly creature, most of it from vanity/pride.
Musings that arise over lots of kinds of makings. Did I really shape a whole poem around that knot? Are there too many cracks in this story ...?
yes, that's what goes through our mind. That makes me think about fiction and how many cracks before it breaks, falls apart, sinks. On the practical side, the actual wood side, there comes a time, after enough whittling and removing when I have to ask, "should I stop now, and call it quits, before I discover more flaws? Or do I continue towards the goal of what I had in mind and risk losing it completely?"
My mom was a sculptor and I know she went in all directions. She carved on a big hunk of olive wood, from a very old trunk. It started out at least two feet tall and about a foot across. She ended up placing a woman in there, and her eye became the unstoppable knot hole and she carved an arm draped across the other eye, which didn't exist. I can see the pointy elbow above the head. One of my brothers has that one.
Do you see how The Knot relates to your poem about The Little Peace?
This is a wonderful thread to read and think about. Thanks!
The metaphorical possibility here absolutely overwhelms me. In the best kind of way. A beautiful canvas for insane imagination
This is when my mom would say, "Don't let the canvas get too big for your paint." I used to help her set up the canvas on wood stretchers. Every now and then she would leave 6"-8" inches flapping around the backside in case she wanted to make it bigger. I was good at doing the stretching part while she put in the staples.
I love this. When he was young I’d get the boy to pull on the canvass before stapling it onto the frames.
Wow. Another apt metaphor. I was writing earlier about the idea of constraints - how I never really learned them. It’s both a blessing and a curse. Maybe I’d do well to learn to stretch a canvas.
yeah, why not? and leave some flapping around the back- you can trim it later or not.
More imperfect knotted wood musing...
I wrote about it here (I think!)
https://open.substack.com/pub/theseainme/p/thresholds?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=46rss
Just posted link
Imperfections are what makes things unique, what makes things beautiful. Of course I am prejudiced, because in the house I grew up out living room had knotty pine paneling.
I think that it's the knots that make wood interesting.
Every finished basement I spent time in - and my father in laws ‘study’.
I just wrote a piece called “Who Am I?” Like your wood creations, perhaps we are always a work in progress, and beautiful from any side or angle. May it be so. :)
oh, that's a neat thought, "beautiful from any side". and since the eye of the beholder has the final say...Also, what would we be without our flaws? I'd like to read it, your piece.
I actually wrote it for another friend’s Substack - waiting for her edits - then I’ll share.
very good, looking forward to it.
Prior planning prevents knot in wrong place.
Malcolm, how does that full expression go, "prior planning prevent poor...
Ignorance of the wonders of knots.