Monday, April 24, 2017

Poem 24: ekphrasis and monks in the margins



Today's prompt: "Today, I challenge you to write a poem of ekphrasis — that is, a poem inspired by a work of art. But I’d also like to challenge you to base your poem on a very particular kind of art – the marginalia of medieval manuscripts. Here you’ll find some characteristic images of rabbits hunting wolves, people sitting on nests of eggs, dogs studiously reading books, and birds wearing snail shells. What can I say? It must have gotten quite boring copying out manuscripts all day, so the monks made their own fun. Hopefully, the detritus of their daydreams will inspire you as well!"


*




Yeah. I couldn't resist this image.


Riding the Dragon


In my cell
illuminated by candle,
I calligraphy Latin
[the Lord's lore],

sweating inside
burlap sleeves,
dreaming of dragons
who rise up

from itchy thickets,
green and sleek
and bearded,
flying forward

across vellum
[translucent animal skin],
and I am the dragon
inside the text.

On my back rides
the grim mother
of us all,
breasts sagging

wrinkled
and flat
[suckled for
millennia

by faceless
millions]

She is not Eve --
No, she is
Lillith,
first mother,

who wanted to be
on top
and so suffered ...
was dismembered
by our father,
flung out
of His book

into the ocean,
and transformed
into dumb,
dry land.

But here, in my
waking dream,
she flies
on my back

forever,
jaw set,
hands and womb
woven

into my strong back,
her voice
tethered to her
in a floating nut

that we will plant
on a shore
in another world
where His words

come from
a different mouth --
dragon breath,
mother's bitter milk --

and can never be
read.

No comments:

Post a Comment