Brilliant welding of religion, sexual innuendo, and trout fishing. The first line with its “thigh-deep” and “lashing rods” lets us know we are in shallow water. Then the eternal question, naming ”tongue, eye, nose,” but leaving out (wink, wink) you know what when asking what has the shortest distance to “the brain, the heart,” leads us into uncharted waters where a kind of goofiness mixes with deep religious feeling. Then all of a sudden, we're at the crucifixion faced with the body of Christ and filled not with pity but rather a quandary. Which nails would we pull out first? The image of the lovers debating this question at the feet of the dead body of Christ must provide the reader with an indescribable feeling of horror mixed with a rising giddy laugh. The ambiguity of “nails” is good, for the reader will, before he understands that he is at the crucifixion, think of a torturer pulling out the finger and toe nails.
There's so much that's wonderful in this poem. For example the tabby who picks up “the scent of resurrection in our mouths” which can only be the garlic described a few lines earlier, perfectly captures the delicate interweaving of religion and utter “what the?” humor. Or how about the outhouse where they “rocked?” Of course the rock is Peter upon whom the church is built. So the outhouse is the church. Good job.
There is an undefinable essence in Morín's work that I respond to. This response doesn't occur on a soul or gut level, but on what I can only describe as a poetic level. His poems, including "The Family Artist," bring me a deep pleasure. I feel before I understand. It is the hallmark of a true poet to inspire such riches.
"A Model for Priesthood" is both beautiful and, although full of layered meaning, still accessible. Morin's work tends to be complex, yet there is also a simplicity in its rhythm and singular turn of phrase. No matter how hard reality forces its way through the work, there is also a sense of peace inside these lines--as if the reader, while asked to contemplate the ugliness, will be held securely in hands that both know beauty and offer safety.
For me, this poem contains an entire life, replete with sex, food, scent, shit, and death. Its glorious blend of sensuality and spirituality transcends the poet's words. Thank you.
Very deep. I love the comparison in the lesson.
Brilliant welding of religion, sexual innuendo, and trout fishing. The first line with its “thigh-deep” and “lashing rods” lets us know we are in shallow water. Then the eternal question, naming ”tongue, eye, nose,” but leaving out (wink, wink) you know what when asking what has the shortest distance to “the brain, the heart,” leads us into uncharted waters where a kind of goofiness mixes with deep religious feeling. Then all of a sudden, we're at the crucifixion faced with the body of Christ and filled not with pity but rather a quandary. Which nails would we pull out first? The image of the lovers debating this question at the feet of the dead body of Christ must provide the reader with an indescribable feeling of horror mixed with a rising giddy laugh. The ambiguity of “nails” is good, for the reader will, before he understands that he is at the crucifixion, think of a torturer pulling out the finger and toe nails.
There's so much that's wonderful in this poem. For example the tabby who picks up “the scent of resurrection in our mouths” which can only be the garlic described a few lines earlier, perfectly captures the delicate interweaving of religion and utter “what the?” humor. Or how about the outhouse where they “rocked?” Of course the rock is Peter upon whom the church is built. So the outhouse is the church. Good job.
There is an undefinable essence in Morín's work that I respond to. This response doesn't occur on a soul or gut level, but on what I can only describe as a poetic level. His poems, including "The Family Artist," bring me a deep pleasure. I feel before I understand. It is the hallmark of a true poet to inspire such riches.
"A Model for Priesthood" is both beautiful and, although full of layered meaning, still accessible. Morin's work tends to be complex, yet there is also a simplicity in its rhythm and singular turn of phrase. No matter how hard reality forces its way through the work, there is also a sense of peace inside these lines--as if the reader, while asked to contemplate the ugliness, will be held securely in hands that both know beauty and offer safety.
For me, this poem contains an entire life, replete with sex, food, scent, shit, and death. Its glorious blend of sensuality and spirituality transcends the poet's words. Thank you.