The pumpkin and the poem
I was inspired to write this blog post whilst sitting at my kitchen table, working on a poem and presided over by an enormous pumpkin.
I purchased it at the local supermarket, under persuasion from B, aged 12. Actually, I lie. I needed little persuasion. I love any excuse for making something.
However, days later, here it sits, uncut, defiantly plump and glowing against the black countertop of our kitchen.
Who will give in first, I wonder? Will I take a knife and make the incision? (Think of the waste, otherwise! Think of the cakes and pies!) Or will the pumpkin quietly deconstruct itself over the days to come?
So I sit looking at this pumpkin and the pumpkin looks at me. We survey one another.
And it occurs to me that this pumpkin is like a poem.
‘What does a pumpkin have in common with a poem?’ you may well be asking.
Well, it’s something about the space. Something about the way that its shape is as much about the space around it as what it manages to contain. That’s what reminds me of a poem on the page.
Yes, this pumpkin resonates. It is radiantly, stubbornly its own poem.
Carving into it would be risky, would require a certain care. You know, not to squish the delicate flesh of it with my enthusiasm, my carefully thought-out constructs, cuts and counter-cuts. Scooping out just enough to allow it to glow when lit from the inside. Not too much that it becomes brittle, collapses in on itself.
Can I wring anything more from this metaphor? Well, only that poems, it seems, are everywhere.
Tagged with: creative writing • poems • pumpkin poem