Wednesday, March 4th, 2009My dad said he was a diamond
in the rough. Forty years and
no diamond. Your children
inherit a chisel.
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March 5th, 2009 at 11:06 am
That is deeply moving and powerful. Thank you for posting it. Reminds me of my own dad.
March 6th, 2009 at 7:52 am
This is a good poem, and it makes me sad, and impressed. Only four lines.
March 6th, 2009 at 9:50 am
It put me in mind of the Buddhist concept of “difficult gifts” and the Christian story I heard growing up of “gold tried in the fire” (I refer to you in this case, not your Dad). I’ve met so many golden women who were tried (and tried and tried) by the volatile alchemy that was their family system.
An alchemist’s lab (like a flour mill or a fire works factory) is built with brick on the sides and a tin roof on top so that when the inevitable explosions occur the energy is sent up and out, and the people inside, survive. Maybe that’s what writing does for us, sends the energy up and out so that we can rethink and rebuild.
Sia
March 9th, 2009 at 3:08 pm
This makes me wonder if the children are really the diamond in the rough and the chisel the tool left for them to chisel themselves. Sort of like being created on Brigit’s forge. This is the raw material, make something of it. Thanks alot dad. You left no instructions. Rhondda
March 11th, 2009 at 8:39 pm
I wasn’t actually referring to my dad when I wrote this poem, but about other men he charitably called “diamonds in the rough.” (Though on reflection it could be about him as well.) It made me wonder just what that phrase means—is it merely license for men to act badly so long as they are nice sometimes? And doesn’t it imply that somehow it is a woman’s job to chisel out the diamond, or else be content with someone who is not nice much of the time (assuming the standard hetero relationships of my parents’ era, etc etc)?
We all know that there is no changing another person. So while the man has the freedom to be rough or polished as he chooses, the woman has the thankless task of attempting something that is not only impossible but shouldn’t be her responsibility in the first place. Those of us who were raised with this model may indeed find ourselves with inherited chisel in hand, amazed at the rough specimens we find ourselves with.
March 12th, 2009 at 2:52 pm
I got your meaning, Anne.
However, I must add that as a domestic violence advocate, I see unhealthy relationships everywhere. :o)
Perhaps someday we’ll just throw out those fucking chisels. Or better yet, just remember to use them on ourselves- chipping our diamond selves out of the coal and leaving the rest behind.
April 10th, 2009 at 2:55 am
Perhaps we should hand the chisels to those needing them, saying “I think you have some work to do”
;)
May 12th, 2009 at 9:07 am
Love the way everyone wrapped themselves differently around the poem. What poetry should do.