DIARY OF A SNAKEBITE DEATH
The first prompt we decided to tackle was this simple, but dramatic phrase. This prompt originated in a historical event in 1957, when Dr. Karl P. Schmidt was fatally bitten by a Boomslang snake. Knowing he was beyond the reach of available medical care, he catalogued in great detail his experience until he lost consciousness and died. Our poets all watched a video on this event (or were familiar with the details) and independently wrote poems from this prompt. We hope you enjoy our look at “Diary of a Snakebite Death” as a springboard for deeper, parallel and divergent thought.
in a diary of a man
before light split his eyes:
(see below)
in the darkness of her womb
in a half-remembered dream
before steps were taken
‘ere he could even scheme
no cage nor bar
no arm nor wing
could, to safety, pledge
could, to purity, cling
as wee babe, swaddled
midst warmth and goodwill
was soon given
above all, meanest skill
the snake, he was there
his fangs he did bare
venom seeps through
fleshy rope to
his belly
and that babe became a lad
and that lad became a man
and that man, for all his merit
for philanthropy, for every plan
walked among us, blind, dead
unable to purge poison from blood
unable to hold flesh on bone
his mind a graveyard, his heart - mud
until the day light split his eyes
broke snakebite, apple-bite
as he entered another womb - tomb
and gave up vein fight
and gained blood, light, life
diary of a snakebite death
(turn page)
N.
maybe betrayal is as beauty
the answer unveils the beholder’s soul
not the beheld
O.
just once her eye chances to linger
the glance cracks open the window for longing
to slip in, sliding down to her soul like a finger
I.
who knew venom dressed in scales?
or that one bite would untether her
who knew the heart’s reach for beauty fails?
or that passion and longing would weather and wreck her
T.
imagination sprung, her mouth begins to water
a deep inhale. Desire,
raw as the hanging fruit, dear as an unborn daughter
kindles a fire
C.
the pounding of her heart is a hammer to a bell
hearkening back to a word she once knew, and once knew well
just one word from a voice that was dear
just one word could direct passion, paint things clear
E.
mystery beckons, her mind begins to wonder
it sweeps open the door
R.
and venom untethered bites her
after all, her heart looks beautiful scaled
passion and longing right her
where all external compasses failed
R.
fast forward five thousand years
ocean-going folk sing of the lure of far off lands,
flirt with danger, sail open seas
U.
she lives the meaning of these songs, understands
oceans are but inner tsunamis
S.
in a world of black and white
at least the thunderstorm is painted blue
at least it summons swords of fire, nostalgic sight
at least in a world of restrictions
the waters tear down
all walls, all walls
E.
yet each crash carries
craving
for divine eyes and hands,
the beautiful land lost
R.
beating blood
pushed through
the entirety of
my being
—
punctured, the
poison penetrated
the heart of each
premature person
—
silent secret
sin seeped
through
the soul
—
the only antidote is the savior.
The Scientist felt the rush
as passion gave way to realization.
The year? 1957.
The occasion? He’d been bitten.
Desire to know, to experience—it began his end.
Ever the Scientist, he recorded what famously
became known as Diary of A Snakebite Death.
Mother Eve knew the feeling.
Desire to know, to experience—it began her end, too.
Venom creeping, her countdown began.
She accepted her reward
and quietly left the Garden.
To be like God.
To know, experience.
Her final recorded words:
“I have acquired a man with God!”
To co-create with ADONAI.
To marry Passion with Wisdom,
the eternal Tree of Life.
Despite herself she became
the Mother of All Who Live.
To humbly number my days
and generate for others
what I myself cannot keep.
I am my mother’s daughter.
May I be my mother’s daughter.
This poem is an exploration of the dramatic disordering of body, soul and spirit for our mother Eve, and the thought that the enmity between serpent and woman lived on in desire.
The last “diary entry” is left open and unfinished. The letters retrace to spell ‘Resurrection’. There is an old Jewish idea that by bearing suffering and exile, the Jewish people will repent their way back into the Garden. This poem plays on that idea. In the first Garden, Eve chose to listen to desire over the voice of God. In the moment of resurrection, the enemy of Eve is crushed and Mary hears the voice of God again.
More info on the Slowly But Slowly Poet Circle
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