Strings, Rings, and Other Things

I don't normally do memes, but akiko just posted "When you see this post, post your own favorite poem." I'm jumping on the bandwagon for two reasons. First, I really don't know a lot of poetry, so I'm taking this as an excuse to ask for recommendations. (Anyone? Anyone?) And second, I happen to have recently tracked down a poem I read years ago that I've really liked; I don't know enough poetry to judge it objectively, but I figured I'd share. (Also, I'd wager that almost none of you have seen it before.)

WOODCUT, by Roy Scheele
(From Accompanied, (c) 1974, The Best Cellar Press, Crete, NE)

For the good honest giving of the block of wood
he works, the grain drawn off in shavings to disclose
whatever it is his eye goes out to greet,
the artisan is grateful. The smell of wood delights him,
and the array of tools, the heavy-handed gouges,
the chisel and the knife; and even more than these,
some dim capacity that lies at hand beyond him,
like a figure fallen asleep inside the wood--
a little curling leaf, perhaps, or a budding girl
whom the right tough (oh, that he had it in him!) might summon forth
a woman, carved to the very life
from his deliberation. She would be his Eve,
his made-from-him, his own, the two of them alone,
at last, together! That would be worth a lifetime's
waiting for, the calling out of his entire skill,
till now aslumber in the unmade bed of detail.
The thought travels through him, trembling, and his hand
gropes wildly in the grain to get the lines down.


(One of the things that always struck me about this poem is how the word choice and sentence structure follow the emotions they express: the poem starts out slow and deliberative and then leaps ahead. I'm sure that's not uncommon, but as I said, I'm a novice here.)