Rough edges, disfigured smile, chisel features, irregularity
A clown, a jester, a bobble headed cap
Fallen over, fallen off of the machine
Doubtful of deceit
Caught in the rotary movement
The central strut and beam
A note impressed her
All is over, or so it seems
He, the gentlest of guys
You didn't know him then or now
How could you
Art was his only receipt
Seated bather
Sat beside Picasso
(Still life with a bottle of Marc)
Ponderous beauty
Without an obvious way to enter
Curved, straight, geometric-cone
Sphere, ball, smoother stone
All identity removed
All emotion removed
Stood still; upright and straight
Defiant
Reds, browns, yellows, oranges, greens
Cream, did you say cream
These were your colours were they Z-B?
Modigliani, Matisse, Alexander Archipenko
Auguste Rodin, Rodin did you say
And these were your eminent contemporaries Z-B?
I step sideways besides a Giacometti
Forwards, there a Pablo Picasso; Tête de Femme
Sideways Giacometti, straight ahead Pablo Picasso
Slow down, stand back, take a breath
At the entrance, on the wall - a self portrait
The pastel chiselled features of a most attractive younger man
A short life, she the second part of your name
A woman almost twice your age, such life in a short life
Home thoughts from abroad, in your own self portrait
Context: Your contemporaries live forever
Pretext: The war came, you never…
Cut it straight
Point out the detail
Turn the corner
Sharp
The war is upon us
Watch the video-poem here: https://youtu.be/CLBGpGtgPr4?si=S7w2tXyRsHEanJAh
If ever
One
If ever
Two together
One
If ever
To treasure untethered
Two if ever
One
Together
One
If ever
Together with love
Construct and construct again
Shave away the viewpoint
Open a door, open a window
Bring me to your close quarters
Take me by the hand
You already have my mind
Take me to your meadow
I won’t, I will not decline
Lay down the fragrance of death
Pick up the dead or dying
Fold, pile, compress
Tease out with clinical precisions
Leave me a little gentler
A small space in my pastoral mind
An impression deep in my psyche
A place for future incisions
Patience, peaceful
Quiet well disguised determination
An idea inside an idea
Latent beauty divested
Impressed with duty, picked
Pocketed, brought to base
Laced with love
Patience, peaceful
Calm with clear subconscious contemplation
A thought inside a thought
One thread, one daisy chain, one and then another
One time clock, one yes he loves me, one carefree slim line lover
One strip of full on red, one corn field full of poppies, the friendship of another
One diamond stud, one painted leaf, one note passed on - by my brother
One line of time, one road of hop on board jalopies
My memory won't drop
You were, you are
One daisy chain my lover
There is no one other
In this place founded by a collector you have placed a collection
Conker shells, snails, petals, butterflies
All turned into garlands, necklaces, jewellery
Adornments; traced from nature
Worn
Among a touring collection of prize winners
Who I fear are altogether
Less delicate artists
Carrot cake
Coffee with cream
Lilacs in a jar
This might not be a free lunch
But it’s as close
As you or I can get away from yesterday
From all those other memories
Going
Still going
Mind concentrations sat aloft the stand
Obsessions foraged from the land
A thousand seed reductions are given to the need
The Million Dollar Collar by-passes inner greed
Safety pins and tweezers
The parachutes of artichoke seed heads
If ever one thing confirmed the beauty of art and craft
If ever one exposition showed the complement of art and craft
If ever doubt was mistaken in the search for truth
If ever life for youth
Don't go there
For you are art; however here we see you
I have nothing but my memory to remind me, and those few words of yours laid neatly on the wall. What chances then for your survival, among a world of artistic competition. Would one photograph be a catastrophic difference, or is it the fear that this picture too would be overlooked. Jesûs Mari Lazkano how do I see beneath your surface, how do I get under your superficial skin? I do see the point; or rather I don't see the one point, I see many points to view, but somehow too big a thing to grasp. For certain without your explanation I would not see the layered depths that you speak of so neatly; so how do I regain you, when I have nothing, nothing but my memory to remind me.
