NaPoReMo – June 6

Edge

Is it a question of Hudgins’ craft, or of my taste, that I like this poem better than the one before?

“Edge” is about the polishing of steel — a knife, a cutlass, an axe? — until it is a thing of beauty, a deadly thing of beauty.

This excites me far more than the tale of drunks and red seats.

Perhaps it’s the detail of the beginning, a detail that shows process, places me in the poem.

Or perhaps it’s the return to nature at the end. The return to nature is complicated. The edge the narrator’s put on his tool slips all too easily, to “gouge tiger maple, miscut cherry,” so that

…..soon exotic scrap rises
……………………………………………waist high
beside the cast-iron stove, while I stand scraping
…………………………………………………………………………..bright
unblemished steel against the waterstone,
warmed by the fire of my
………………………………………expensive failures.

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