matthopper.net

I saw a pen and ink sketch
Of William Burroughs
It was in a pop-up art exhibition
In Hull’s old fruit market

I looked at the sketch several times
But there and then I did not buy it
Yet, next day, back at home
The image was still on my mind

I found a likeness online
A photograph in the Guardian magazine
Fronting an article about the aforesaid Mr Burroughs
Addictions; I thought this to be the base for the sketch

Further investigation turned up Matt Hopper’s page
On Etsy; the print was for sale, I made the purchase
A well-wrapped parcel arrived in a couple of days
Along with the sketch a card with a website address

I followed the trail, to find a well-worded artist
Who had lived a long time alone, perhaps too long
On a council estate with historic roots; sometimes
You see, you do get way more than you bargained for

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Pronounced

Twisted trees
Sunlit branches
Frost one inch deep
On the car roof

Blue sky
Almost cloudless
Frost one inch deep
On the shed roof

Birds in flight
Also in evergreens
Frost one inch deep
Reveal garden footsteps

Sun behind me
Also to the side
Frost one inch deep
On the turning tide

Peace and quiet
I’m all alone now
Frost one inch deep
On remembered minds

Shadows on chairs
Shadows on tables
Frost one inch deep
Outside The Old Stables

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Shafts

The light
From the warm white
Bare lamp bulb

Falls onto the bright
Plain polyester type
Shower curtain

I lay in my bathtub
Left side
Under the water line

To ease the pain
Of my year long
Frozen shoulder

I am covered in bubbles
Meanwhile Lyle Lovett
Sings of his woman troubles

These are times of peace
These are times of calm
Balmy reminders of last summer

These are the moments
Of joy and gratefulness
For life and sentimental stuff

This is the life
And don’t I know it
If only I was able to show it

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Regeneration

Turner prize
A cold day in December
Actually a colder day than that

The fruit market
A cold day in December
Actually a warmer day than that

Robots, and waterfronts
A cold day in December
Actually at least as cold a day as that

Turquoise blue volunteers
Struggle with their posture
Awkward; with time, with purpose

Visitors, and well-wishers
And condescending temptresses
Who have seen me disappear

Seen me disappear
Into paintings and onto postage stamps

Seen me disappear
Into installations and video projections

Seen me disappear
Into a Saturday afternoon in December

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Broken Open

I have been released
Many times before
Although this sure
Feels like the big one
For several days, and nights
I have felt, and seen, a light
It is a light which I now call
The clear light of freedom

I tell you this as I listen
To Brian Eno’s Discreet Music
While I soak
In my morning bath
While I ease my shoulder pain
With the warmer water
And, with discretion being
The better part of valour

I won’t tell you
Of all of the circumstances
Which have brought about
This wonderful transition
Except to say, for I feel
That I must say something
So I will tell you that at long last
There was a letter

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