Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EDT October 5th 2020

Thank you to everyone who joined us for this session!

Our text was the poem “Ode to a Pair of Scissors” by Pablo Neruda, posted below.

Our prompt was: “Write an ode to something common.”

More details about this session will be posted soon, so check back!

Participants are warmly encouraged to share what you wrote below (“Leave a Reply”), to keep the conversation going here, bearing in mind that the blog of course is a public space where confidentiality is not assured.

Also, we would love to learn more about your experience of these sessions, so if you’re able, please take the time to fill out a follow-up survey of one to two quick questions!

Please join us for our next session Wednesday, October 7th at 12pm EDT, with more times listed on our Live Virtual Group Sessions page.


"Ode to a Pair of Scissors" by Pablo Neruda

Prodigious scissors
(looking like birds, or fish),
you are as polished as a knight’s
shining armor.
 
Two long and treacherous
knives
crossed and bound together
for all time,
two
tiny rivers
joined:
thus was born a creature for cutting,
a fish that swims among billowing linens,
a bird that flies
through
barbershops.
 
Scissors
that smell of
my seamstress
aunt’s
hands
when their vacant
metal eye
spied on
our
cramped childhood,
tattling
to the neighbors
about our thefts of plums and kisses.
There,
in the house,
nestled in their corner,
the scissors crossed
our lives,
and oh so
many lengths of
fabric
that they cut and kept on cutting:
for newlyweds and the dead,
for newborns and hospital wards.
They cut
and kept on cutting,
also the peasant’s
hair
as tough
as a plant that clings to rock,
and flags
soon
stained and scorched
by blood and flame,
and vine
stalks in winter,
and the cord
of
voices
on the telephone.
 
A long-lost pair of scissors
cut your mother’s
thread
from your navel
and handed you for all time
your separate existence.
Another pair, not necessarily
somber,
will one day cut
the suit you wear to your grave.
 
Scissors
have gone
everywhere,
they’ve explored
the world
snipping off pieces of
happiness
and sadness
indifferently.
Everything has been material
for scissors to shape:
the tailor’s
giant
scissors,
as lovely as schooners,
and very small ones
for trimming nails
in the shape
of the waning moon,
and the surgeon’s
slender
submarine scissors
that cut the complications
and the knot that should not have grown inside you. 
 
Now, I’ll cut this ode short
with the scissors
of good sense,
so that it won’t be too long or too short,
so that it
will
fit in your pocket
smoothed and folded
like
a pair
of scissors.
 
                                                                       
Pablo Neruda
Ode to Common Things 
New York: Bullfinch Press: 1994
Translator Ken Krabbenhoft

7 thoughts on “Live Virtual Group Session: 6pm EDT October 5th 2020

  1. Ode to something common~~~

    The sun, always there,
    taken for granted,
    a constant force.
    Waking all of Mother Nature to another day of life.

    Its light rushes through our bedroom windows,
    kissing our faces,
    warming our spirits,
    shaking us back to reality.
    Its rays invigorate us,
    pushing us forward to face the trials and triumphs of another day.
    It warms the spirit on those days when we have lost all hope.

    Oh, to never lose the honored space this golden orb has in our lives.
    Without it, we will be lost and forlorn.
    Ole friend, we honor you!

    Like

  2. Elizabeth

    Ode To My Pen

    Without my pen there would be no ode.
    Well, there might be an ode that is spoken or that lives in my head.
    When I write with my pen, I swirl some letters in fanciful flight,
    I print words to emphasize and impact,
    I glide and swim the pen across the page to move my story along.
    They say how we process the world is impacted when we put pen to paper.

    I write this ode to my pen just because…
    I hate to type!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Patricia D.

    My toothbrush is a friend I greet twice a day.
    In the morning she ensures that I will smile brightly.
    She is slim, sometimes bristly, but never hard.
    Each month she is recycled and replaced with another.
    Who said that I am fickle? Oh No!
    I take her in my hands before I go to bed
    and let her brush my teeth again so
    I can sleep in peace with avfresh breath.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Elizabeth

    Michele-I appreciated your poem-the grandness of the subject and your words
    Patricia-your poem gave me a chuckle yesterday – I really needed it-Also, brava for replacing the toothbrush so often

    Liked by 1 person

  5. PENS

    A collection of fountain pens to write down my dreams.

    85 red pens from the Chicago Marriott Hotel, there for the taking. Until they stopped putting them out. Another victim of Covid.

    Bic pens. Only good for taking apart, 3 pieces, and then looking at them disemboweled.

    Shoplifting them from Vernon’s Stationery Store in Colllingswood, NJ. At age 10, risking larceny for yet another pen.

    And this pen, a Pilot, made in Japan, to write these notes.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Elizabeth

    Tony- I enjoyed the description of the pens themselves. While I wrote about the act of using the pen, you went to the physicality of pens with other associations. I’m going to pay some attention to my pen collection.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.