On Being Prompted (But Faced With Butter)


On Being Prompted To Write About Poets’ Becoming, But Faced With Butter

Before me sit
two nipples and a cunt,
little pats of molded butter shaped
like daisies (the nipples)
and a rose–

These are not
why I became a poet
for I never had butter
till the 4th grade
when, at the home of a friend whose mother was French,
I woke up, exclaiming the smell.
The woman melted it
in her crepe pan,
remembering how the swirled cast iron
(as big as the world
bred with a daisy)
was the one thing she’d grabbed, running
from under rafters
during an earthquake–

but I just don’t feel a poet,
no matter the mold
of the butter,
poets being people who find,
like a beating pulse,
the interstices along time’s chain,
those blue beads of language imprismed
(though producing nothing so obvious
as a rainbow)
while I tend to get lost in the forest of narrative
(rarely seeing the forest
for the trees–)

I don’t even typically eat butter
having been molded by a childhood
in which I had none till the 4th grade
though I was granted nipples,
all right, and the you-know-what,
and too, a mind willing to bead with sweat
if not able to cast
certainly not into anything that might fit
inside a mouth, much less
not melt in it.

Here’s a rather odd poem for Anthony Desmond’s prompt on dVerse Poets Pub (http://dversepoets.com) about one’s evolution as a poet. I confess that I do not feel like a poet! I am a prose writer mainly! But I do like poetry. Thanks, Anthony.

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25 Comments on “On Being Prompted (But Faced With Butter)”

  1. Snakypoet (Rosemary Nissen-Wade) Says:

    You not a poet? You’re a marvellous poet! And I love this brilliant, wicked poem. 😉

  2. Brian Miller Says:

    i love it k.
    its got sass
    hey, i am not a poet

    poetry is just the vehicle
    i currently drive.


  3. hedgewitch Says:

    Reading this with a normally functioning head this morning, I find it charming, despite a word I really find too galvanizing to ever use myself–you do so with ..good taste. ;_) I find the butter metaphor interesting in and of itself, how what may be very commonplace to someone accustomed to it becomes exotic and evocative to one who isn’t. Then of course, all the associative meanings of richness and so forth. I don’t know that labels are ever useful when it comes to defining art, except in a sort of general way–I would call you a writer, and that certainly embraces poetry–even your prose has lots of poetic awareness interlaced. I, OTOH couldn’t write prose to save my life, so am stuck with being, if anything, only a poet, or possibly a verbal collagist. ;_) My favorite line here is ‘(as big as the world/bred with a daisy)”

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Ha. That particular word never seems very negative or bad to me because I first came into contact with it in D.H. Lawrence and for a long time that was my only association with it, and he uses it in a very loving, gentle, and pretty sort of way. (Lady Chatterly’s Lover.) As a result, I did not even know for years that it was anything but his Yorkshire sort of speak, or a commonplace or negative word at all. But should perhaps be careful or I will be put on some bad list in terms of blogging! k.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      ps – sorry that you’ve not felt well.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      ps – poem prior to this one more serious.

  4. kkkkaty1 Says:

    love the self analytic and sarcostoc flavor of this…esp. “people who find,
    like a beating pulse,
    the interstices along time’s chain,
    those blue beads of language imprismed
    (though producing nothing so obvious
    as a rainbow)………………

    nd this: a mind willing to bead with sweat
    if not able to cast

    a question of taste perhaps, but talent for poetry for sure..

  5. Akila Says:

    I love your honesty Karen! and must say very humble. loved how you went to and fro with an instance, connecting the moments that happen and those that do not, nevertheless, enough to pour out a few verses!

  6. grapeling Says:

    sure, just SMACK me in the face straight up.
    which I needed, so thanks.
    btw, for not-a-poet, you’re quite-the-poet. ~

  7. I so much love how your start with the butter.. and look back on it.. indeed poetry is just like the butter molded into nipples and cunts (or daisies and roses )…

  8. out of all that I’ve gone to so far, this is a real standout piece. I really love how blunt you are…and the butter metaphor is clever as hell… Thank ya!

  9. Well if there is such a thing as a poet, I certainly think you are! I feel I am compounding this misery on the morrow when asking for a manifesto (of sorts). I love your work, K., and I respect your honesty, your eye, and your evaluation. I always treasure your comments. Thank you for this and really everything.

  10. billgncs Says:

    like the rose and the daisies where one we fill, the others fill us – poetry can be sustaining and filling.

  11. What are you talking about? You’re one of my favourite poets. I always make sure to pop around and see what’s going on. And I loved, loved this one. Especially those first lines. Daring, I would dare to say. 🙂 But then, again, you can do it.

    Greetings from London.

  12. claudia Says:

    how the swirled cast iron
    (as big as the world
    bred with a daisy)… how cool is that… and honestly.. it does sound a bit poetic…smiles….

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