Here’s a (very-unfinished) draft of a poem I was inspired to write after visiting the Acropolis Museum in Athens. I decided to experiment with the form obverse — where the first half of the poem is written in reverse order in the second half. I thought this form played with the idea of chiasmus….a mirroring of language that mimics yet transforms meaning. It also plays with the artistic representation of chiasmus I saw in the museum, the countless sculptures of heroic warriors in motion.
Headless Warrior, Acropolis Museum
Balanced on a single leg, arm stretched
as counterweight. This man like other men,
not wrinkled, but eroding.
It’s the hands that go first.
Then the forearms, anything that strays
too far from the body. Next the nose,
shaven down gently, and the penis–
worn and brute, loved too much.
Harder now to see where the lips
part from the face, the crease
in the elbow, bags below the eyes.
The necessary shadows.
An ageless body still ages,
erasing itself back into oblivion.
But we don’t need much to tell what’s human,
to pull a face from a rock.
I can look at the most unassuming mountain
and think it into a woman, the hip curving,
lying on her side. Call her languid.
Carve eyes into trees,
let the knotted trunk do the rest.
We knit ourselves into every image.
We knit ourselves into every image.
let the knotted trunk do the rest.
Carve eyes into trees,
lying on her side. Call her languid.
and think it into a woman, the hip curving,
I can look at the most unassuming mountain
to pull a face from a rock.
But we don’t need much to tell what’s human,
erasing itself back into oblivion.
An ageless body still ages,
The necessary shadows.
in the elbow, bags below the eyes.
part from the face, the crease
Harder now to see where the lips
worn and brute, loved too much.
shaven down gently, and the penis–
too far from the body. Next the nose,
Then the forearms, anything that strays
It’s the hands that go first.
not wrinkled, but eroding.
as counterweight. This man like other men,
Balanced on a single leg, arm stretched