Poetry is sometimes the best way to preserve an idea. Here the idea to be preserved is a bowel movement. John Updike is the poet, working to preserve it.
But you be the judge. If what you are about to read lasts for weeks or months or years in your mind, then “poetry as preserver” is true for you:
THE BEAUTIFUL BOWEL MOVEMENT
Though most of them aren’t much
to write about—
mere squibs and nubs, like half-
smoked pale cigars,
the tint and stink recalling
Tuesday’s meal,
the texture loose and soon
dissolved—this one,
struck off in solitude one
afternoon
(that prairie stretch before the
late light fails)
with no distinct sensation, sweet
or pained,
of special inspiration or release,
was yet a masterpiece: a flawless
coil,
unbroken, in the bowl, as if a
potter
who worked in this most frail,
least grateful clay
had set himself to shape a
topaz vase.
O spiral perfection, not seashell
nor
stardust, how can I keep you? With this poem.
(The poem is quoted from page 74 of the December 17, 2015, The New York Review of Books.)
For a brief biography of John Updike, click here. For images of or relating to John Updike, click here.
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