Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Our instructor made a perfectly symmetrical spoon using purple heart wood, with curves like a woman, always one step ahead of us. Choose your wood. Draw. Draw again and again. Your first idea is never your best. Then gouge out the bowl, saw, whittle, rasp, the tools get finer until at last, after weeks of rubbing coarse and fine over every inch of your spoon, into every cranny, polishing, polishing, he nods that you're ready to oil it. When the unit was completed, he put them in the art case in the entrance to the school with a little card next to each one where he'd calligraphied the maker's name. They shone like trophies.
Of the many objects we made in those classes - ceramic wind chimes, soap stone people, wooden shore birds, we even used styrofoam as a medium - the spoon was the only utilitarian one. Some made the bowl long, the handle short. Every year the instructions were the same, but the results varied widely. Allison was a willow wand of a girl reflected in her svelte, curved spoon. Izzy's fanned out at the end of the handle into a polished scallop. Howard's stout utensil had a large bowl on one end, and smaller one on the other. Mine was a ladle in the shape of a quarter note, which I gave to Doug, the only Buddhist I knew. I made him promise - it was a utilitarian object, and I made him promise he would use it. Stir the sauce, dip the syrup.
I visited Doug years later. I saw the graying spoon next to the icon on top of a dull book case. I wanted to take this neglected thing back home and put it in my kitchen drawer. Doug, I said, Doug, you promised you'd utilize this utilitarian utensil.
I do, he said, plucking it from its dusty entombment. Waving it around in the air, and then motioning as if spilling something out of it, he said, I use it to pour honey on Buddha.
Of the many objects we made in those classes - ceramic wind chimes, soap stone people, wooden shore birds, we even used styrofoam as a medium - the spoon was the only utilitarian one. Some made the bowl long, the handle short. Every year the instructions were the same, but the results varied widely. Allison was a willow wand of a girl reflected in her svelte, curved spoon. Izzy's fanned out at the end of the handle into a polished scallop. Howard's stout utensil had a large bowl on one end, and smaller one on the other. Mine was a ladle in the shape of a quarter note, which I gave to Doug, the only Buddhist I knew. I made him promise - it was a utilitarian object, and I made him promise he would use it. Stir the sauce, dip the syrup.
I visited Doug years later. I saw the graying spoon next to the icon on top of a dull book case. I wanted to take this neglected thing back home and put it in my kitchen drawer. Doug, I said, Doug, you promised you'd utilize this utilitarian utensil.
I do, he said, plucking it from its dusty entombment. Waving it around in the air, and then motioning as if spilling something out of it, he said, I use it to pour honey on Buddha.
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Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Very nice 

Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
It is very nice.
Your attention to the small details that went into the spoon almost brings a sense of life to it; that it should be used to drip honey on buddha felt right.
Your attention to the small details that went into the spoon almost brings a sense of life to it; that it should be used to drip honey on buddha felt right.
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
"Nice" is not expressive enough for me.
Maybe there is a twist in my mind
(maybe I am warped)
maybe I see more into words and phrases
than that which is/are there;
but
I find this alluringly sensual,
ravishingly, tastefully-marinatingly
...saunteringly
sexy...
Manna, your words and images are manna from...
spoonfuls of...
the timbre of.... Eden.
MatbbgJ
Allison was a willow wand of a girl reflected in her svelte, curved spoon. Izzy's fanned out at the end of the handle into a polished scallop.
Maybe there is a twist in my mind
(maybe I am warped)
maybe I see more into words and phrases
than that which is/are there;
but
I find this alluringly sensual,
ravishingly, tastefully-marinatingly
...saunteringly
sexy...
Manna, your words and images are manna from...
spoonfuls of...
the timbre of.... Eden.

MatbbgJ
"Without light or guide, save that which burned in my heart." San Juan de la Cruz.
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
well spoken, mat... manna speaks beautifully
"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."
~ Oscar Wilde
~ Oscar Wilde
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
I really do miss the like button ... I found the piece softly sensual as well.
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
LOL... me, too, Cate... I keep looking for the doggone thing, but it seems to have disappeared 

"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."
~ Oscar Wilde
~ Oscar Wilde
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
there has not never been no 'like' button in here.lizzytysh wrote:LOL... me, too, Cate... I keep looking for the doggone thing, but it seems to have disappeared
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
ohhhhhh, you literalist you!
"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."
~ Oscar Wilde
~ Oscar Wilde
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Thank you for reading stuff that I write. It means a lot to me.
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Thank you for writing stuff that I like to read. I always feel happy when I see your name - anywhere.
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Nice return on that, Cate.
I feel the same about seeing Manna's name, as well.
I feel the same about seeing Manna's name, as well.
"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."
~ Oscar Wilde
~ Oscar Wilde
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Well, shucks & gee whiz, guys!
Re: Prose Poem for Wooden Spoons
Like
[so there, geoffrey]
[so there, geoffrey]
"Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken."
~ Oscar Wilde
~ Oscar Wilde