Monday, July 28, 2008

Spoons

"Have you ever considered the immortality of spoons?"

"Oh, Christ! Not that again!"

"Here we sit, you and I, polishing our souls to silver, rubbing language into our wounds. And all the while it is this spoon, this humble spoon, modest, depressed, the perfect servant, that will outlast us all, will outlive every mouth that has fed from it, will taste the lips of our grandchildren as it once savored the tongues of our grandmothers."

"Yes, yes, all right, now drink up and let's get out of here."

"I think I would like to form a religion of spoons. A religion where the spoon was both cross and prayer. Where the spoon was a psalm endlessly lipped, hymn to a convex God."

"You'd better put that thing down before you take your eye out with it."

"Oh, the knife has an edge to it, I grant you, and the fork is more intellectual, but it's the spoon, this balding pot-bellied spoon that carries the weight of the world. Can you imagine what we would be without it? Mere animals, all of us, snouts in the trough"

"Don't you even think about reaching for that bottle! You've had enough!"

"I empty my glass and find the moon at the bottom. Who said that? Have you noticed how the spoons have a special bond with the moon? Lay one out on a table on a moonlit night and you can see it calling, see it yearn. Like some stranded alien calling to its mother ship. At such times the future is very near, very delicate. All you have to do is take the silver spoon from your mouth and cross your palm."

"Yes, yes, all right. Time to go home now. See, the moon is out there, waiting for you, calling you. See it? So come on then. That's right. No, put the spoon back. Don't put it in your pocket, put it back on the table! No, you can't take it with you. Because you can't. Go on, put it down. That's a good boy! Come along now. Sorry about this, Jose. You know what he's like when he's drunk. You'd think at his age he'd show a little more dignity. No, it's all right, I can manage, but thanks anyway. Good night!"

"SO WE'LL GO NO MORE A ROVING, SO LATE INTO THE NIGHT. THOUGH THE HEART BE STILL AS LOVING AND THE SPOONS BE STILL AS BRIGHT."

"Ssshhh! Quiet! People are trying to sleep!"

"THOUGH THE NIGHT WAS MADE FOR LOVING AND THE DAY RETURNS TOO SOON, STILL WE'LL GO NO MORE A ROVING BY THE LIGHT OF THESE SPOONS."

"Quiet I said!"

4 comments:

Rithwik said...

There is no spoon. Or maybe there is. Maybe it is God. Maybe not.

Btw, is this the pirst frophet?

Anonymous said...

spoon your thoughts into our empty lunchbreaks
stir what remains our lonnnng dead poetic sugar
scoop out a memory or two

Annamari said...

On a more serious note:

I moved four times in five years and each time I seem to lose a few more spoons. Last time I had to go and buy a new set because I was left spoonless. I guess these humble servants of mine are not meant to survive my generation.
I empty my glass under the 60W economy bulb, the milky light hits objects opaque but it is better for the eyes and the environment, or so I heard. The spoon lost its magic:

“There is no magic from your presence here,
Ho, spoon, sad spoon, tuck up your trailing robe,
Whose silver seems antique and so severe
Against the glow of one electric globe.”

blatherina said...

the speaker has a good voice; the listener gets tiresome and trite.