the excavated self

the excavated self

~from the Collection, Odes to Plath

I admit there is an obscurity
in your work
that lends itself
to my confusion.
But —
don’t bother yourself about it.

I am not expertly aware of how
stone is cut either but
I can still appreciate
the majesty of the cathedral.

So it is,
block by block,
piece by piece,
this building we must do.

The excavated self of blood-raw bone
and glistening sinew,
taken-out, twisted and cut,
examined, the warm blood lingering
fresh on our hands.

Poems are pulled
from a raw-bright-red center,
twisted-cut, re-coiled,
reconstructed,
to form words into lines
into stanzas into poems.

Poems
born at the center of
an excavated self,
becoming our cathedral
as we worship at the center
where creation hides
poems
that we build.

~September 2010

For R Rilke,

The poet R.M. Rilke has probably had the greatest impact on me of any writer. These poems were written in gratitude to him during 2005. © 2005 under Marissa Mullins.

Like Love

The Great Gift given

was not as simple

as your words.

Rather,

Like Love,

The emotion created by them.

Such simple little things

To grow such beauty

Out of stagnant air –

Fresh breath to a new

Century unlike the one

You came from.

We are Different –

Too busy, too smart, too …

We cannot perceive our own

Needfulness, do not realize

How Badly we need words

Like Yours –

Beauty flowing across

A white page of time.


It was all in the speaking

I look to where you saw —

wonder at the common tune

which seems to play itself

on both our instruments:

music goes on forever in our minds.

I see – here, there

A common chord. Same song

Sung by different voices

Years and times apart.

You are part of my heritage,

German Poet –

Souls and citizenship in common.

I would have liked

To meet you, have come

To know you, believe

We must be friends.