the choice
 

The Surgery

He stares into the blade and knows the world.
Above, lights buzz. Grip loosening already,
his fist falls to the kitchen cutting board.
He won’t perform this surgery. Not ever—
another reason to disdain the smudge
mirrored so sharply in the unclean blade.

A good world wouldn’t know of suicide.
To live would be the act, the world renewed
each day, each breath. Or not. In such a world,
unbeing natural, there’d be no need
of knives or any gesture that his sons
might feel the sharp point of. He would be gone
from that more friendly world. But here he stands,
regarding flatly his unclean reflection,
the hurt he’s done, which can’t be cut away.

*
previously posted draft:

He stares into the blade and knows the world.
He won’t perform this surgery. Not ever—
another reason to disdain the smudge
mirrored so sharply in the unclean blade.
The cutting board vibrates against the counter.

A good world wouldn’t know of suicide.
To live would be the act, the world renewed
each day, each breath. Or not. In such a world,
unbeing natural, there’d be no need
of knives or any gesture that his sons,
his wife, or anyone he’s loved might feel
the sharp point of. By now he would be gone
from that more friendly world. But here he stands,
one dank, unsteady hand in dinner’s gore,
regarding flatly his unclean reflection,
the hurt he’s done, which can’t be cut away.

*

The cutting board vibrates against the counter.
He stares into the blade and knows the world.
He won’t perform this surgery. Not ever—
another reason to disdain the smudge
mirrored so sharply in the unclean blade.
A good world wouldn’t know of suicide.
To live would be the act, the world renewed
each day, each breath. Or not. In such a world,
unbeing natural, there’d be no need
of knives or any gesture that his sons,
his wife, or anyone he’s loved might feel
the sharp point of. By now he would be gone
from that more friendly world. But here he stands,
one dank, unsteady hand in dinner's gore,
regarding flatly his unclean reflection,
the hurt he’s done, which can’t be cut away.

*

first posted draft:

He stares into the blade and knows the world.
He won’t perform this surgery. Not ever—
another reason to disdain the smudge
mirrored so sharply in the unclean blade.
A good world wouldn’t breed a word for suicide.
To live would be the act, the choice. Renewed
each day, each breath. Or not. In such a world,
unbeing natural, there’d be no need
of knives or any gesture that his sons,
might feel the sharp point of. He’d now be gone
from that more friendly world. But here he stands
considering his own unclean reflection,
the hurt he’s done, which can’t be cut away.

I've added a line, hoping to clarify something I realized might be misleading.

A world in which unbeing is the natural state and where living is a choice you make with every breath. That’s a powerful idea. In that “more friendly” world you don’t have to take a knife to yourself to make it all stop, no worrying about the pain you might leave behind, only the moment to moment willing yourself into being. That’s a lot to think about.

I glanced at this very briefly last night, but didn't really get it. Coming back to it today, I think I do understand it, so perhaps the small change you made helped. It's a complicated thought process, and you keep it mysterious at first, which perhaps is the right way to approach this kind of material. After I finished it, I noticed how many of the early lines ended in a word that ends in "-d," which is a sharp consonant and therefore in tune with the idea of cutting. Toward the end, the last syllables are either unstressed or less sharp, so the idea of continuation is conveyed.

Susan

Hi, Max—

Non-suicidal self injury was not something I was aware of as an adolescent. When I trained to be a teacher in the 1970’s, it was still not well understood, and “cutting” was treated as suicidal behavior. In fact, it is more often an attempt to cope, albeit ineffectively, with emotional pain.
You capture this struggle in your poem. I wondered, though, how it might work if it were in first-person instead of being told by an impersonal N.

One nit (since you posted this in Met): L5 has an extra foot because of the word “suicide.”

Hope this is helpful.

Glenn

Thank you, Joe, Susan, and Glenn!

The poem doesn't seem to make the ground situation clear. Readers are seeing at least two different situations. For me to say what was intended might skew others' readings. If others are kind enough to comment, I'll be eager to hear, in addition to any other comments, what they feel is going on, and what in the poem tells them so.

Many thanks!

Hi Max, I've been rereading this since you posted it and puzzling it out. My impression is that the "he" in the poem is contemplating suicide, but with the knowledge that it's something he won't ever do. That seems pretty clear. I personally don't see this as being about non-suicidal self-harm. It also seems to me (though I could be mistaken) that he is struggling with guilt or remorse for something he's done (hence "the hurt he's done" and his "unclean reflection"), and that that may have prompted his thoughts about suicide.

Some questions I have - is he actually a surgeon, possibly even performing surgery in the OR as this is going through his mind? What is the "smudge" mirrored in the blade - his face?

I agree with Joe that the concept of a world in which continuing to exist is the choice, rather than the default, is a powerful one.

Hi, Max!

Like Hilary, I took the poem's scenario to be the recurring suicidal thoughts of a person who would never actually act on them, but who still longs for his misery and self-loathing to be over.

My favorite bit is "the smudge / mirrored", which sets up the revelations — well, more like hints, since nothing specific is actually revealed, which I like — to follow.

My least favorite bit is L5, which not only has an extra foot, but also doesn't do the best possible job of presenting the idea of two worlds (the one he's in and the idealized one, which may or may not be an afterlife).

Thank you, Hilary and Julie! I appreciate knowing how you're reading this. Maybe others will chime in, too.

That extra foot has now bothered two readers, so I've revised the line.

Good change to L5. I read the poem the way Hilary and Julie did.

Susan

Hello, Max,

This packs a serious emotional charge. It's also tightly compressed, so it takes some careful unpacking. I'm particularly struck by the image of “the smudge / mirrored so sharply in the unclean blade” at the start—does that become “his own unclean reflection” at the end? It’s a powerful through-line if so.

And then there’s “the hurt he’s done” in the final line. I wonder whether it might help to clarify that slightly. Is it hurt he’s caused others—“his sons, / his wife, or anyone he’s loved”—or is it more about self-inflicted pain? Or a combination of both? Something like “the hurt he takes” or “the hurt he gives” might steer it a little more clearly, depending on your intent.

Either way, this is a powerful, evocative poem—well worth the close read.

Cheers,
…Alex

Thanks, Susan, for coming back and sharing your reading of the situation. That's helpful.

Thanks, Alex, for sharing what is and isn't working for you. The two possible readings of "the hurt he's done" (not necessarily mutually exclusive--but I do think one of them should predominate, as it does in the character's mind at that moment) hadn't occurred to me. I'll think about whether that can be made clearer. "The hurt he's caused" might be less susceptible to misreading, but not by much, and it feels much less direct. I'll keep thinking about this. Thank you.

Hi Max,

I see a man with a knife contemplating suicide. I'd say the smudge he sees is himself/his face, and I think the choice of "smudge" works well in the context, as self-disparaging. He won't kill himself, ultimately, because of the impact on his family.

What the setting is, or why the knife is unclean, I'm unsure. Maybe supplying some setting would be helpful in this poem, at least in terms of visualising the scene. Is he sat in front of the TV, or in the bathroom, or out in the woods? Perhaps the knife is unclean because he's already using it something -- maybe he's in the kitchen cooking? Or has gone to kill himself and stopped himself, so that the knife already has some blood on it? Or is the knife old and rusty? Or maybe the knife is only figuratively/ethically unclean --though the smudge perhaps suggests "unclean" should also be taken literally.

The alternative world the N is considering confuses me. Here's how far I got with it:

A good world wouldn’t know of suicide.

This perhaps suggests that there would be no suicide in a good world. Though I guess it could it still happened it would remain secret.

To live[iI] would be the act, the choice. Renewed
each day, each breath. Or not. [/i]

In this good world, everyone would choose to live, and renew that choice constantly. Or they wouldn't.

I guess that could mean everyone would choose to live with every breath until such time as they died from non-suicidal causes and hence stopped breathing and were unable to choose anymore. But to me it reads that people would either choose life over suicide, or they wouldn't choose life over suicide. Which sounds similar to this world, except that most of us aren't making that choice with each breath.

each day, each breath. Or not.In such a world,
unbeing natural, there’d be no need
of knives or any gesture that his sons,
his wife, or anyone he’s loved might feel
the sharp point of.

I'm having some difficult parsing "unbeing natural". I'm assuming "unbeing" is a noun, and that I could paraphrase, "in such a world, where unbeing is natural". Does "unbeing" mean "ceasing to be"?

So, is the idea that, in this good world, once you stopped choosing to live, you'd just die (or cease to be in some other way) and you wouldn't have to actively kill yourself (no need of knives), hence there'd be no suicide?

Here I'm thinking that the surviving loved would still be impacted by your death, and would still know that you'd chosen not live, and learning this would be very similar to discovering that a loved one had killed themself. I think that ultimately, what is so affecting about suicide, in addition to the grief of the death of a loved one, is the knowledge that a loved one has chosen to end their life along with the guilt at not having done more to prevent it. So, I'm not sure if this is impact is much diminished if the means by ending one's life is simply to make the choice not to live rather than the choice to swallow some pills, or jump off a tall building.

Of course it may be that "unbeing natural" means that in this world people ceasing to be because they have ceased to want to live is seen as natural, and no more impactful than any other form of death. But then why not just imagine a world where suicide is seen as natural? Wouldn't that achieve the same end?

best,

Matt

Thank you, Matt, for your detailed comment. You're right that the character's wish is not logical. I'll give some thought to where I might add some description of the scene. That might make it feel more about his wish and less a philosophical treatise.

Many thanks!

*
[coming back]
I've added two lines. Thanks (also) for that nudge, Matt.

revision posted

Hi Max,

I don't think the revisions have helped (rather the opposite, for me.) It seems to have drifted into melodrama. Puzzled by "unbeing natural" and how a 'smudge' is 'sharply mirrored in an unclean blade.'

I wonder if you really need any more than the second stanza of 'previously posted draft'?
(Maybe even switch to the first person at 'By now he/I would be gone ...')

A good world wouldn’t know of suicide.
To live would be the act, the world renewed
each day, each breath. Or not. In such a world,
unbeing natural, there’d be no need
of knives or any gesture that his sons,
his wife, or anyone he’s loved might feel
the sharp point of. By now he would be gone
from that more friendly world. But here he stands,
one dank, unsteady hand in dinner's gore,
regarding flatly his unclean reflection,
the hurt he’s done, which can’t be cut away.

This seems complete, to me (maybe 'At the Chopping Board' for a title?) though I do have similar reservations to Matt regarding whether the mechanics of suicide make any difference in terms of its impact on those left behind.

RG.

I wholeheartedly agree with Richard’s suggestion above.

If this were mine, I’d also be tempted to get rid of the first line (“A good world…”), but then you have “In such a world,” so (probably) never mind. I do really like about all of that particular stanza, especially “dinner’s gore” and “regarding flatly.”

Because of the thread title, “the hurt he’s done,” and that you mention one hand, I might suggest titling the poem The Other Hand.

Thank you, Richard and James!

I'd like to avoid unnecessary melodrama if I can, and I see why you object to the new lines.

As you seem to like the dank, unsteady hand in dinner's gore, I'm eager to understand what makes that less objectionable than the new lines.

Understanding it might help me find a stronger approach to describing this impulse without getting unhelpfully melodramatic or seeming to endorse the temporarily-would-be suicide's illogical thought.

Many thanks!

Hi Max.

I'm not sure about 'dank, but the rest carried elements of N's contempt/self-loathing, for me. The new lines seem flat and simply descriptive by comparison (and unnecessary.)

RG
.

Thank you, Richard. That makes sense.

I do think some picture of the man and knife is necessary. Without that, the man's idea about a better world would seem the poem's idea. I'll think about how the poem might more strongly support the self-loathing as it describes.

The gore line, if I put it back, might be enough of a picture, but if that's the clearest picture in the poem, I worry the gore might make some readers think the guy has cut his sons or himself (readers here have thought so)--a very different poem. The line about the wife and "anyone he's loved" I added to steer readers away from thinking he'd cut his sons, but I've never been happy with that solution.

Just sort of thinking in public here. Happy, as always, for readers' thoughts about any of this.

Thanks again, Richard.