Poem #73 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.
Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction
in a way
it is a struggle
the task
of digging deep
inside himself
to bring forth the …
what
the essence
perhaps
of himself
to incorporate
into the work
to shape the clay
with a knowledge
that emerges from his fingers
and hands
rather than his mind
he weds himself
to the materials
the mixture of soil
and water
from which he seeks to extract
a kind of life
he is a sculptor
of stone
a modeler
of clays
he does not know
any other way
to perform his art
than this
he has seen the shape
of a naked man
in his stone
seen it clearly
today
he molds the vision
in clay
to ensure his shapes
his proportions
the foreshortening
and before him emerges
in miniature
his statue
complete
though rough
he looks at it
as dispassionately as he is able
nods
yes
it is as he saw it
there is good
life
in this
he can rest
while the model awaits him
he cannot see
he has turned away
but a line
a shape
has moved
the small model
has acquired
a smile
© Frank Prem 2017
Bachelard and me Poem #74: fire-po
Frank Prem Poetry 