Pens & Meaning

An excerpt:

When I was about twelve, I went through a period of stealing pens from my classmates. Later I realized that the Freudians would see this as some phallic reference. Later still, as I began to understand how my own mind works, and how I, as a poet, work with metaphors and symbols, I came to believe this was less subtle, less (or perhaps more) primal than that.

What, after all, are pens for? What do they do?

They are instruments of speech. The pen is mightier than the sword.

It is also mightier than the penis.

We pick up the pen, we set the point to paper, and we write. We speak. It is possible to believe that a bold and beautiful pen might speak bold and beautiful thoughts.

Today, tinywords sent me this haiku:

moonless sky
so much darkness
from my pen

--Josh Wikoff

Did I believe, at some deep level, that if I could only find the right pen, appropriate the right instrument, I would be able to speak the darkness I carried?

Make it beautiful?

Comments

[Patia]

Well, and in the beginning was the word -- not the sword.

I like your new (?) sidebar table-thingy with all your places.

[rr]

Whoa. I love this. I used to try different coloured inks. Didn't work, in my case. Are you going to put the whole thing up for us to appreciate? I do hope so.

[SB]

Patia -- I'm glad you like it. After all that simplifying my blog, my readers keep wanting things back! So the exercise taught me something...

rr: Not the whole thing, but I may post excerpts now & then. It's been a strenuous -- and worthwhile, I think -- exercise.

[Mary Scriver]

When I was in college, I wanted to buy my mother something special for Christmas and so I bought her a white pen with gold narrow grooves down it. She loved it and used it the rest of her life. When she died, my brother -- who had the impression we were all entitled to get our gifts back -- asked gravely if I would mind if he took the pen. Of course, I was happy for him to have the pen. He said because of her hand being around it. (Now THAT's Freudian!) But he meant it innocently.

My own preference is for the constantly re-invented gel ink pens, currently a thing called a Pilot G-2 07. When I was in high school, I used a pen with a little cartridge and refilled the cartridge myself. Little paraphenalia. For a while I used an Expresso, a lovely narrow fibertip. Then there was a Pentel Rock n' Write.

But the out-of-reach is a Mont Blanc. When I was cashier for the City of Portland Bureau of Buildings, the architects all wrote their checks with Mont Blanc pens. Finally I went to a fancy store and asked to try one out. Very nice. But I still like my Pilot G-2 07.

And I particularly like that dog!

Prairie Mary