The Confession of an Apricot

I love incorrectly.
There is a solemnity in hands,
the way a palm will curve in
accordance to a contour of skin,
the way it will release a story.
This should be the pilgrimage.
The touching of a source.
This is what sanctifies.
This pleading. This mercy.
I want to be a pilgrim to everyone,
close to the inaccuracies, the astringent
dislikes, the wayward peace, the private
words. I want to be close to the telling.
I want to feel everyone whisper.
After the blossoming I hang.
The encyclical that has come
through the branches
instructs us to root, to become
the design encapsulated within.
Flesh helping stone turn tree.
I do not want to hold life
at my extremities, see it prepare
itself for my own perpetuation.
I want to touch and be touched
by things similar in this world.
I want to know a few secular days
of perfection. Late in this one great season
the diffused morning light
hides the horizon of sea. Everything
the color of slate, a soft tablet
to press a philosophy to.

~ by Carl Adamshick



Lee said...

Don't we all? Well, perhaps it's just me, after all! ;)

red dirt girl said...

That's a rather broad question, Lee.

Do you love incorrectly? Has the solemnity of your hand curved over the contour of skin? Did you read its story? Was it a pilgrimage for you? This touching of the source - did it drive you to your knees, pleading mercy? Were you sanctified? Were you his pilgrim? or hers?

I could continue, but I think you see my point.

This poem is richly layered. Not that I'm expecting comments to be richly layered in kind.
Seed to Root to Tree.

Maybe you are right to question:

Don't we all want to touch and be touched and know a day of secular perfection ....?


gz said...


J Cosmo Newbery said...

Amazing writing.

Stewing apricots at the moment; a brief pang of guilt.

Susan said...

I love incorrectly--that line alone makes the poem remarkable.

But what writing! Pilgramage as motif, the idea of travel to a sacred place for what? Release? Rejuvanation? Will the source teach the poet to love correctly?

Flesh helping stone turn tree--is that an example of loving correctly? Is that what we do when we love correctly, change stone into something that lives, assuming that stone is not alive.

I came here to see what you do as you were so kind to visit my blog and I find a poem like this. I know you didn't write it, but you found it and it resonates with me. It does with me as well.

Thanks for this.

goatman said...

I had to look this fellow up, determine his basis, background, standing.
I found:

"What I do is calculate.
I’ve always seen the world as numbers,
buildings and trees factors,
math as a language better suited for explaining
how things work
than the formula of grammar.

The rate of explosions, the intake of air,
angles, velocities, pounds
of pressure, the probability of the atmosphere
to ignite. It can be any equation
and I see

the solution as reality etched with numbers
on each flame, mortar and brick,
on the tip of blue feathers in flight
and, slowly,
the page fills with a scrawling transcription.

Her heart could house a cathedral."

From "The Mathematician"

He does alright with the "formula of grammar" too, as I see from your contribution. Thanks

red dirt girl said...

My apologies, Lee, if I appear too stern. And to answer your question, broadly, yes. I think we all love incorrectly. It's part of our incorrect humanity.


red dirt girl said...

((Hugs)) gz! Is it time to pack and leave already?? Time is moving too fast and too slow ... how does that happen ??


red dirt girl said...

I hope, Cosmo, that your apricot was able to give its last confession before stewing. And proffered you a glimpse of perfection.


red dirt girl said...

Hi Susan. Not often do I find a poem as satisfyingly rich as this one. I am glad it was what drew you in. Welcome to the gate where I don't write very much and seem to be currently compiling my own anthology of favored poetry ... it's an eclectic mix here.

Love your thinking here. Stone as in the stone of a peach or apricot - the seed. For me the poem is not searching for correct love. I think it is celebrating imperfect love and those elusive moments of perfect grace or love ...

Thank you for visiting and commenting.


red dirt girl said...

Hi goatman ~ That's a great poem you've shared with us. Thank you. I want to know more about this guy as well.

It's always exciting when I 'find' a new (to me) poetic voice that blows me away. Her heart could house a cathedral .... Wow.

I'm experiencing poetic envy.
In a good way :)


red dirt girl said...

an excerpt from Carl's website, written by his brother Dave:

"Carl’s friend and fellow poet, Matthew Dickman, explains Carl’s work in a different manner, “He is a poet rarely found these days. He comes not from the land of MFA and writing programs, but from the outsider country of a self-made artist.” The resulting body of work where an education comes from living and working and in turn, art – creating and participating is both an escape and exploration of what it means to live and work. Curses and Wishes is an effort to connect to world around us, rather than explain how we feel. That goes beyond being admirable, that is an example to all of us."

Indeed !!

goatman said...

I would have thought that he would have had some engineering experience but apparently not:


Just reads a lot.

red dirt girl said...

I would have thought the same - a 'structured discipline' as vocation. But hey - I'm even more inspired to read that he learned to write poetry by reading poetry (maybe I have a chance ???)

And to sit at a reading by him AND Dorianne Laux (my new favorite female poet) ....Heaven. sigh.

thank you for the link!


goatman said...

I like "Democracy", from Dorianne (and her name).
Thanks for her link.

Whyever would they change the number on the application?

red dirt girl said...

"Democracy" is great !! I'll probably save it for a future posting ... wish I had it up in time for the presidential election ....oh well. Timing is everything.

A change in his alien registration number. Not that he had one to begin with. I guess that means he's numbered now .... does this mean the american government is the anti-christ since they are assigning numbers to all of us (our #ssn, passport, driver's license, alien registration #)...??!!


goatman said...

So many numbers, so little time!

red dirt girl said...

Too many numbers and TOO MUCH TIME !!!


A. said...

My friends frog-marched me to a modern poetry discussion group, deciding that it was something I needed. It's an excellent group, witty and lively, and we do discuss some poetry.

As a result I thought I'd visit and appreciate your choice. And I do. :)

"I do not want to hold life
at my extremities, see it prepare
itself for my own perpetuation.
I want to touch and be touched
by things similar in this world."

red dirt girl said...

Hi A. and welcome :)

I'm envious of your poetry group. I suppose if I searched around, I might find something similar.

I don't think I intended this blog to be a poetry blog when I started; however, it seems to have drifted in that direction. You picked out one of my favorite stanzas!