Without Blood in the Ink

“The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.” ~ T.S. Eliot

.
Stories are nothing
without blood inking
words into worlds,
without bone shaping
flesh into tale.

Where blood is taboo
and
wants of flesh filth,
Imagination seeks
seppuku.

Did you know?

Poems will die
without kisses (and screams)
birthing verses,
without heart & soul writing
as one quill.

Without blood in the ink,
stories are nothing.

.
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and Poets United.

67 thoughts on “Without Blood in the Ink

  1. It’s a good point and well done. I love weird writing, music, movies… But too often, they’re justw eird for we;rd’s sake. If a piece of art doesn’t have heart (or blood), then it’s going to fall flat, no matter how clever.

  2. We must be willing to bleed, at least a tiny bit, for our art. Otherwise our words are gloomy zombies instead of the fully alive things they could be.

  3. I think you read Eliot backwards here, that ink without blood is aesthetic suicide. Robert Frost’s “To Earthward” is the counter trope, and your poem ends with a bouncing high-dive that plunges the reader into the oozy color vortex of that flower. Amen!

  4. Magaly ! Beautiful! This has to be one of my newest favorites of yours…decadent..wild..masterful! I am entranced..thank you for this gorgeous feast of words, imagery and soul! (and most of all for your beautiful inky soul)
    V~

  5. If there is enough blood in the ink and bone in the flesh, an occasional calmer, more-repressed state-of-being might pass through without poisoning the cauldron–at least I hope so! Good stuff!

  6. ” Without blood in the ink,
    stories are nothing. ”

    To me this means that we have to write gutsy poetry or stories – not poems that gloss over reality. Your poetry is always that kind of writing, Magaly. It rings true as flesh becomes tale!

    • Thank you, Mary–I delight in your poetry for the same reasons. I think that there is certainly room for the glossy stuff, but… even that needs a little blood (a little life) if one doesn’t want it to read empty and slightly dead.

  7. Amen, amen–and sometimes I feel my own veins are full of dust these days–but not this lovely poem of flame and life, love and unquenchable fire. Love it all, Magaly.

  8. ‘Without blood in the ink,
    stories are nothing.’

    Brilliant close on this piece. Powerful … haunting … the kind of indelible line that gives one pause ~ again ~ and again ~

    • One of the best things about poetry and fiction (and art in general, I think) is that it allows us to share the blood in ways that can be safe, not completely free of pain… but, in ways that gives us safeguards. At least, I hope so. 🙂

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