Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Kintsugi: Art of Mending

“And they can’t understand, what hurts more — Missing the other person or pretending not to.” — Khadija Rupa, Unexpressed Feelings

  

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 “When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see which one has opened.”— Alexander Graham Bell

Midweek Motif ~ Kintsugi: Art Of Mending

 Kintsugi (golden joinery), also known as Kintsukuroi (golden repair) is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum to highlight imperfections.(Wikipedia)

This disintegrating world, Nature, life, belief-system, trust, promises, relationship etc. etc. could be mended too. And the scars will become precious.

Write your poem on such a repairing.

’Tis Anguish grander than Delight

by Emily Dickinson

’Tis anguish grander than delight

’Tis Resurrection Pain –

The meeting Bands of smitten Face

We questioned to, again.

’Tis Transport wild as thrills the Graves

When Cerements let go

And Creatures clad in Miracle

Go up by Two and Two.

Fergus And The Druid

by William Butler Yeats

Fergus.

 This whole day have I followed in the rocks,

And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,

First as a raven on whose ancient wings

Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed

A weasel moving on from stone to stone,

And now at last you wear a human shape,

A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.

Druid.

 What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

Fergus.

 This would I say, most wise of living souls:

Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me

When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,

And what to me was burden without end,

To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown

Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.

Druid.

 What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

Fergus.

 A king and proud! and that is my despair.

I feast amid my people on the hill,

And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels

In the white border of the murmuring sea;

And still I feel the crown upon my head

Druid.

 What would you, Fergus?

Fergus.

 Be no more a king

But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

Druid.

 Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks

And on these hands that may not lift the sword,

This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.

No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.

Fergus.

 A king is but a foolish labourer

Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.

Druid.

 Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;

Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

Fergus.

 I see my life go drifting like a river

From change to change; I have been many things -

A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light

Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,

An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,

A king sitting upon a chair of gold -

And all these things were wonderful and great;

But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.

Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow

Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

 Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—

                (Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Flood)