Thursday, April 9, 2015

Art History



When I was young I thought
Of all that could be, but I
Couldn’t know of all that
Had been nor all that would.
I filled my mind with what
Had been and could see but
Some of what would be,

But my ideas of that
Have dwindled and
Became prosaic.
I hunker down in this
With a fragile wife,
Two dogs and an old Jeep,
Driving short ways

With a charged cell-phone
In case she needs me, and
Hiking short distances: 
Siddhartha ferrying Ben and
Duffy back and forth,
Jotting down snippets
Of what I can recall.


The actors in Westerns
I saw as a boy convinced me
Fully as did those in movies
Of World War Two, but they
Seem so painfully bad now
I am baffled by what has
Changed and wonder if acting

Has perhaps reached 
Perfection.  But if Mads
Mikkelsen becomes
For us Satan, won’t there
Be a backwash? Won’t he
Pay something for convincing
Us of Satan’s beauties?

And being convinced
Won’t we as Will Graham
Dream of the disfigured
Dead at every turning
And stand aside from life
Waiting for mental reflux
To churn up the burning?

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