#708 - Matisse - until the sorrow of the king

 

10.xii.21

708

2.344

Matisse

ekphrastic

until the sorrow of the king (’52)

 

breastedly, skies so round

 

someone grew up in a pencil box

leant colour to a wall  

 

shape of simply oil cracks

 

a dressing gown homage

sat facelessly for a study, let’s say

people cut from wood

bump into

know you anywhere

 

rolled on the form of a cart

of a horse

 

someone bowed to flowers

and a garden was

 

melon on a table too

goldfish in a bowl

 

here then the wiggily beast of when

 

lines never cross, in principle

except of course where they do

 

languid on the lawn

pattern trips statues up

 

could be as in the story told

always eyes drawn to glimpse

 

streets shone with out the window where

how are we not fruit

when will a world to roll?

behind moustaches, his odalisque laid bare

 

glass of water

striped with light

 

bronze is a means

drawing from the stone

sensuous penline dizzying

deep truths of

sleep, where shown

 

then God is such a lightness too

all at once we slow

 

voluptuaries

one lies in the rubbings out

 

room in the Hotel Stuart, Papeete

sea breeze so

ecstatic yearning for New York

 

working the stairs and the stick

 

nails canvas to a frame, collapses

then there is the war

 

cut here

a second life for jazz

 

so much scissor making

blades bigger than the shrunken man

 

a dove

and stars fall

coral

then a bent guitar

 

dance and my distraction

autumn fall

bums, eyes, a tripod standing

cut out skies

 

foot in the forest green

 

the leaf is the wing

is the flower

the fin

 

even in the sea deep

winged so

 

if a cross

then a ladder

 

not what you asked for

 

while one’s still fumbling for a key

 

he was always catching light

and left it for us

just as a cat leaves

the mouse at your door

 

more a postcard presage

the talk in tongues

a monster mask

circus

tug’o’war

 

painting is a window

life is a dance

 

each brush scratch scrape these years

still home

is how we know we’re here

 

and now – take hands!

 

the world is thrown at each thing

 

every work goes into the future

so he was a tourist here

 

it’s always better in the picture

where we already are