Friday, November 14, 2008

Bones

There is a small hole in my arm
And I pull the bones out one by one
Until I am empty, my fingers limp and
Useless, I open my mouth to call for help
And my teeth crumble and fall from my mouth,
My head is a shapeless blob and now I know at last
That I am helpless, and you will never love me

©2008 Peggy Pendleton

12 comments:

Steve Emery said...

Utah - This made me speechless at first, like most of your work. I'm not sure I have ever encountered a more accurate metaphor for that special kind of "painless" self destruction we put ourselves through when we want someone we can't have. The reduction to a boneless heap put me back into that spot with a clarity that was dizzying and enlightening all at once. It was crazy - why couldn't I have stopped before I rendered myself into a gelatin? Because each bone presented itself as I finished pulling the one before it...

I'm feeling the awe I usually do when I read your words - for the precision of your images.

Your self portrait gets me every time I see it, too - for the colors, the candor, the beauty. I would love to see more of your paintings. I'm just starting to grapple with strong emotions in my paintings (I've avoided them) and I'm wondering how you handled some of what comes out in your writing when you were painting...

Utah Savage said...

Steve, last time I looked there were no comments on this one. I was just writing a blog post about recurring dreams and this poem is the almost literal writing of that dream. And in trying to copy and post it, I deleted it. But I know it so well I think I can recreate it.

When I painted all I did was paint. when I write, all I do is write. I am not able to combine obsessions. Creativity takes me like a possession. It seems effortless. Only the editing is work.

When I painted it took me a lot of time to learn when to stop. I had to back of to mere suggestion of line. I deconstructed my painting to pen and ink and a very few lines. I did my best portrait during this period. I was of my third husband and he looked like James Joyce. I captured him in maybe five or six lines. The suggestion of the man. I've done many self portraits. My best were sold. One was a gift to the third husband who burned the house down after I left him. And with the house, went those two portraits.

eizzy.k said...

speechless, was my first impression of this poem too.
its deep.
simple, short yet do deep.

your an amazing artist...

SarahA said...

Oh am I glad I found you. I think I will just stay in here awhile and read your words. Beautiful, you. Just beautiful.

SarahA said...

I visited your place today and made myself comfy inbetween your words.Oh my! You are asking me? Oh my! Did you read my profile? I have no formal training and just write what comes to me, but of course I would love to read you and more of you. Even though I am no real good crit. You have been warned!

Utah Savage said...

I have an education as a voracious reader. That's all it takes. You are a poet. No more needs to be said. I certainly take you seriously. No I didn't read your profile, but I will. I haven't updated mine since I wrote it. My education was in English Lit--not creative writing. A writer writes.

Brosreview said...

Brilliant!!! I love such deep and dark poems/songs. Keep writing!!!

I am following your blog from now on.

SarahA said...

But I am the same. I wait until she sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear or pokes my ribs at night.Sometimes she does leave me alone though. REALLY! It's so strange, but I never wrote when I was 'hearing'.
Thankyou for you kind comments. I really appreciate yours and others. More than you will ever know.

Utah Savage said...

I am thrilled that you like my small collection of poems. Now that I have readers, I'll have to up my output. All it takes to inspire a writer is readers willing to comment. Thank you.

Unsolved: Mr. E's Blogspot said...

Hey Utah,

Reminded me of a recurring dream I have (the teeth breaking).

I got a love that has got me.
I can't walk away from my need.
Love and pain sat down for tea
Oly one laughed and it scared me.

Unsolved: Mr. E's Blogspot said...

So, my poems rhyme because I think of them in a musical context, though the best poetry comes from the heart, no thoughts, just expression. Rhyming takes away from that.

I'm down with this blog!

And I don't know why my earlier attempts at commenting didn't take. Maybe I didn't write in the code word at the bottom like I should have.

Okay Peace out Sea Trout

Utah Savage said...

You are all so kind to comment. I had no idea that there was such an audience for poetry.

Poetry is raw expression at it's most elemental for me. I almost always write poetry from a painful place that can't be told in prose--it loses it's punch given too many words. Like too many lines in a drawing. This poem is a dream after all. It should have a slightly dreamlike quality but like many of my dreams it is a very real metaphor for my life as a child.