Thread: The Arms My Father Gave Me

Note: This is NOT how this is supposed to look. This poem was very difficult to format. But I did the best I could with the time I had.

Code:

The Arms My Father Gave Me

You were born with no arms 
to grab joints and other things 
that made you feel wooden.
You slept with your shadow 
on the hard, winter grass,
eyes licking at the high sun 
as you thought about bomb 
shelters up in the sky. So your 
father gave you wooden arms    
on a spoon,                 bubbling up
to suck up                        and boil your
tiny body.                        He told you to
bring down                       the sky for air,
                  wrap it up like                   a tourniquet so                    
      you’d always               have heaven.
        You made mittens out of clouds, 
    covered track marks with God. 
    You could build tree houses 
 with all your spare wood.
 Your father blew ice inside 
     unnoticed cracks in the limbs 
      when he said the high was over; 
                               let go of the sky like balloons.                        
             You’d do                    anything 
          to be safe                        and saved.
           You broke                            your zipper
            and gave him                           all the pieces 
              with your                          young tongue,
                  and made an                opiate serenade
                  with an eager,            sheetless bed.
              You said nothing when he took
               your clothes and threaded you 
                with needles like a broken doll. 
                  Until he was penniless, unfixed 
                      and the naked wasn’t enough.
                       You needed to keep warm hands,
                           cut circulation               with wood planks.
                         You were the                       dirtiest girl in
                     the street lobby,                       and you always
                    glanced up while                      you got jobs
                        and gave jobs.                     You were one
                          drip of drool                     on your wood-
                             shoulder for                licking up later.
                            You were an empty package 
                              worth one less gram to pocket.
                             Your father said you were an artist 
                              and added charcoal to your arms, 
                                  painted blue moons around your eyes 
                              to see if you would spill any of it 
                                                                     between his sunburned skin.                                           
                                          
                                         You blew glass                arms for the sake
                                    of art and the                        heavenly word
                                           of your father.

What is it supposed to look like? Is there a specific image the words create? I am limited in my experience with concrete poetry, but this might be too long to pull off the form. That might just be my own prejudice though - I'm not much of a fan of the style.

I particularly like this:

Your father said you were an artist
and added charcoal to your arms,
painted blue moons around your eyes
to see if you would spill any of it
between his sunburned skin

I think more of your images could be like this. A majority of them feel too hard to follow. I think you get much more effectiveness out of this kind of image which seems a bit more tangible without sitting over the line and thinking it through for ages, which can distract the flow of the piece. Additionally, your word play is superb here, as always:

You were the dirtiest girl in
the street lobby, and you always
glanced up while you got jobs
and gave jobs.

I dare say that's about as strong an example of double entendre that I've ever seen, haha.

The structure here is meant to be a lot of things. Primarily, I suppose, it's meant to be a chain, like a chain of events, and it ends up breaking. But deeper than that, each "open" section is where I don't want to be open. If that makes any sense. It's like...forcing an opening there. It's a lot to explain, really. And there are even other reasons for this structure, but I'm afraid I don't have the proper words to explain it.

As far as the images are concerned, I was afraid of that. I'm very aware of my tendency to be ambiguous and sort of mask the truth behind things, and as much I try to fight it (especially in this piece), I guess I'm just not always successful. It's up for interpretation. Some may like that. Others may not.

I'm working on a few revisions in this piece, but not anything major yet. Thanks for taking the time to look at this for me.

Your poem is rich with imagery, and I see the chain shape now, or what it could be - the meaning was obscure, and I really tried to be attentive and ferret out the underlying meaning , but I must admit I got lost in the richness and obscurity - many of those phrases could mean anything - "you broke your zipper and gave him all the pieces" - interesting way to end the piece.
---todd

That's actually not the ending. You have to scroll down in the code box. It'd probably make more sense if you read the whole thing, but maybe not. Like I said, I have a tendency to be obscure.

When I saw the shape, I immediately thought of a double-helix, for DNA (which seems to suit the paternal theme). I was quite confused by some of the imagery, and their meanings, but it's a personal poem and personal images are often like an inside-joke; an outsider will struggle to see it, unless you're actually 'in' in the writer's mind. A lot of the music I listen to (namely Iron & Wine) has lyrics like this - they can be confusing, but their beauty and the careful thought that went into them mean you can enjoy them just by reading them aloud to yourself.

You've achieved something quite fascinating here, Angel.

It certainly does look like a chain to me, and I see the connection to a chain of events, as you say. To be honest, I have a hard time commenting on your poetry, as the subject matter is simply too painful for me to be comfortable with, though I do enjoy the read. A close family member has had a devastating experience with sexual abuse and it's literally torn her world apart, thus the hard time I have commenting. Sorry, it's really a compliment on the strength of your works.

Nick: The DNA was part of it as well. Like I said, it's really meant to be a lot of different things. Open for interpretation. Thank you for taking the time to comment. I might come back to this one and look at the imagery again if I'm able to get a little distance from this piece.
Cindy: Thank you for your words. It tears worlds apart and you have to work the rest of your life to try and put it back together again. And even then, I think there's a part that will always be cracking.