This is a poem is inspired by the Spanish sculptor Alberto Germán. I had the joy of meeting him on a recent Dark Angels writing course in Andalucía, and he shared his creative process. He described the feeling of losing himself whilst sculpting, the complete surrender that allows a magic to take place in his art. He felt this moment was similar to an angel passing nearby.
My poem reflects the moment following writing, the time when we let our work breathe so we might discover whether it has legs. These are the hours, I believe, when we know if an angel passed overhead, or whether it passed us by.
An angel passed
It’s resting now, just settling,
Taking time to be.
And as it sits,
I’m sensing its vulnerability.
Can I feel a tingling,
One that strips me bare.
Does it say this piece must live,
These are words to share.
Do I hear an iron whisper
Of raw humanity?
Is it fuel enough to weld a bridge
In the gap twixt you and me?
Have I unearthed a beauty
So frequently unseen
The one that holds a story
As it hides behind life’s screen.
Can I taste the honeyed scoop
Of message in my art
Is there meaning soft enough
To ease into your heart.
In my gut, I know, the angel went elsewhere
Her dust she sprinkled on a friend, with richer work to bless.
My chest, it sinks, my eyelids fall, I take a wistful breath.
And, so with love, I leave my piece to die
And from that death, again, I learn to fly.