“The Hunger Artist” – Unread Kafka Her Mentor
The Hunger Artist
I.
She putties potatoes/eggs/whatever
around her plate, constructing a trompe l’oeil
of savor, tinting flavor
with a spectrum of petite packages – fake sugars (pastels),
cheap mustard (sallow yellow), ketchup (cadmium)–a palette
that abstracts a meal from anything, or
nothing, frames nibble.
So, she molds herself, flattening
with fingers a fluted
throat, bas-relief of belly, stilled life portrait
that refuses to be titled help me.
II.
She has not read Kafka, but re-enacts
the self-expression of
repression, metier of life/death, her wont: I won’t/I won’t/I won’t.
Or too like the earlier Brunelleschi, working out
perspective by numbers, the intersection of
calories, weight,
narrowing to
a single
vanishing point.
Lettuce pray.
III.
You can self-sculpt flesh
but carved bone is weakened (even when
buttressed by concrete will.) A
mighty fortress is
my will, hums
the hunger artist from
the ramparts
of rib cathedral.
Help me, murmurs the animal
base of brain, only, since it holds no
language center, the words transubstantiate to
I won’t.
IV.
The patina depicts
a picky picky
no no no, while within the
figurine – so much easier to manage a life
that can be pocketed–hallowed emptiness
aches to please.
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The above is my draft offering for dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night and also for Imperfect Prose. I urge all interested in reading and writing to check out these sites.
Crib notes – Franz Kafka wrote a great story called “The Hunger Artist” about an artist who specialized in fasting; Brunelleschi was the Renaissance architect/sculptor/mathematician who was one of the principal developers of linear perspective.
Explore posts in the same categories: poetry, UncategorizedTags: dverse poets, hunger as art form, manicddaily, poem about anorexia, The Hunger Artist, whittled down self
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ManicDDaily 
May 22, 2012 at 10:41 pm
I love this. Novel word choices, such as “putties” and bits of levity, like “lettuce pray,” and then lots of rich — and disturbing — detail.
May 22, 2012 at 10:59 pm
Thanks, Marilyn. k.
May 22, 2012 at 10:43 pm
ugh…help me…i wont…to me this speaks of an inability to ask for help…a place i have been before which was humbled out of me…You can self-sculpt flesh
but carved bone is weakened (even when
buttressed by concrete will….wicked cool lines that for me reinforce the above point well…a hard place…there are several nice refs and layers in this k….
ok, good night. smiles.
May 22, 2012 at 10:59 pm
Thanks, Brian – good night from me too! Though want to finish checking out some pieces. k.
May 22, 2012 at 10:53 pm
dang..tight piece k. – i had anorexia as a teenager, so part of this sounds familiar…esp. liked..
A mighty fortress is
my will, hums
the hunger artist from
the ramparts
of rib cathedral.
Help me, murmurs the animal… think it’s both, trying to control and a cry for help…and nothing artistic about it ha…other than your writing…
May 22, 2012 at 10:58 pm
Thanks so much, Claudia. Amazing to think that you are reading this in our tomorrow morning, both thinking of past past. k.
May 24, 2012 at 10:53 pm
i was thinking this too, claudia, as i read the piece, how it reminded me of my anorexia days and the desperation to be helped covered up by the constant rearranging of life and food on plate. always an extreme pleasure to visit here, k. you are gifted.
May 24, 2012 at 11:52 pm
Thanks so much, Emily. Hope all is going well. k.
May 22, 2012 at 11:36 pm
You draw a grim portrait here, quite suitable for a Kafka reference. The opening is darkly witty, but towards the latter part, the poem becomes both sad and terrifying; what we can do with will, what we can ignore, and what our reasons are for such madness. You and your drafts! ;_) This is a very solid poem, though of course, one can always play around for a better dice toss on vocabulary. Thanks for the process notes–very helpful.
May 23, 2012 at 3:03 am
This is artistic and poetic genius.
I’m sure the final {or at least closer-to-final} draft will blow our canvasses off!
May 23, 2012 at 7:38 am
A
mighty fortress is
my will, hums
the hunger artist from
the ramparts
of rib cathedral……wow a powerful and good write, Karin.
May 23, 2012 at 8:44 am
Thanks. k.
May 23, 2012 at 8:29 am
The verse cleverly pictured from good preparation of food to adverse reaction at the later stage. Self abstinence of food is a choice unless it becomes an obsession as it appears for Kafka.
Great verse K!
May 23, 2012 at 9:25 am
begging, pleading, insisting. the second stanza is especially well placed, bringing the work to a point of distillation or possible change. this was fun to read, K.
May 23, 2012 at 9:58 am
Oh, wow. This is incredibly powerful.
“the ramparts
of rib cathedral.”
Exquisite.
May 23, 2012 at 12:14 pm
Thanks, MZ
May 23, 2012 at 12:55 pm
Very nicely done, and I love that you wove in two great characters into a life that, without poetry, may have gone unnoticed.
May 23, 2012 at 2:07 pm
Stanza III. is my favorite, very powerful! This poem strikes right through bone and into will itself.
May 23, 2012 at 2:46 pm
This really is excellent! 😀 I love “She putties potatoes/eggs/whatever around her plate, constructing a trompe l’oeil”, it paints bleak image for what’s to come. I love the cathedral imagery for bones as well, I can just see it!
May 23, 2012 at 3:11 pm
Thanks so much, Eva.
May 23, 2012 at 7:23 pm
Very powerful and emotional write.
And thanks for reminding me of Kafka. Its been too long since I’ve picked up his words.
May 23, 2012 at 8:42 pm
He’s pretty great! K.
May 23, 2012 at 8:07 pm
Wow, this is excellent. So many excellent lines, but some of my favorites are,
“She has not read Kafka, but re-enacts
the self-expression of
repression, metier of life/death, her wont: I won’t/I won’t/I won’t.”
Good grief this whole piece is good. Well done.
May 23, 2012 at 8:41 pm
Thanks so much, Lori. K.
May 23, 2012 at 10:01 pm
I love this. this is serious, but Lettuce Pray is seriously playful. I think it takes a special type of poet to slam it down and deal with heavy issues lightly.
This was awesome.
May 23, 2012 at 10:20 pm
Thanks much. K.
May 23, 2012 at 10:02 pm
by “deal with heavy issues lightly” i mean you are handling them as fragile things should be handled…you aren’t crushing it with heavy handed words.
May 23, 2012 at 10:20 pm
That’s very kind, thanks. k .
May 23, 2012 at 10:20 pm
Wow. You rock the bottom out of some poetry! It’s been a long time since I’ve read Kafka, and I always think of the giant cockroach, first, but I remember the hunger artist, also.
May 23, 2012 at 10:23 pm
Thanks. They are both wonderful (if kind of depressing!) stories. k.
May 23, 2012 at 11:22 pm
wow, this is haunting and potent. great work.
May 24, 2012 at 3:15 am
You are written about something terrifying with wit and brilliance – no small feat. I loved the entire thing.
May 24, 2012 at 6:33 am
“She has not read Kafka” I like that.
Wonderful poem.
May 24, 2012 at 6:40 am
Beautiful… and chilling.
May 24, 2012 at 6:43 am
Thank you, k.
May 24, 2012 at 11:31 pm
Karin, I am not the best at explaining WHY I like something, but your way with words is amazing. I just read things like this and say–wow…the phrase “A mighty fortress is my willl…” that’s enough to chew on for a few days.
wow. again.
May 24, 2012 at 11:34 pm
Thanks so much, Jody. You are very kind. K.
May 25, 2012 at 11:56 am
Awesome poem! Excellent!
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