It's the poetry of ellipsis
But who can see and savor
What's on display inside
The museum of forgetting
Who can hear the holy bells
That peal without a sound
Or pay homage to the relics
Lost amidst the landscape
Of forever shifting clouds
Last night I spoke with Allan for the first time.
Actually, it wasn’t much of a
We stood on a mountain
Marissa was there too, standing off
to the side.
I was looking down at a sea
of clouds – a beautiful ever-changing field of display.
I noticed one cloud in particular that looked
so painterly; strangely it was the cloud’s interior space that defined the
image, while the cloud’s exterior served as the picture frame.
An image emerged within that was defined by the
negative space, where the cloud gave way and we could see only blue sky.
It was shifting about, like a Keith Haring figure,
dancing, arms and legs undulating to the rhythm of wind and sky; somehow it managed to be both a still life composed of the deep blue
sky and yet fully animated as the cloud continually transformed.
I wanted to point out this masterpiece to Allan, hoping to impress him
with my artistic sensibility.
found myself tongue-tied.
remember Keith Haring’s name.
All I could
come up with was Jean-Michel Basquiat and then, while I struggled with name
recall, the image altogether disappeared. And t
hen I woke up and wrote this poem. What's forgotten/ and left unsaid/ defines a poem/ inside my head ...
(For those of you wondering who Allan is – he was my
wife’s first husband, a brilliant artist I never had the chance to meet. Marissa and I are now working on a podcast to
tell the story of Allan and the Apology Line, the conceptual art project that was the masterwork to which he devoted the last 15 years of his life. You can read more about Allan and his work on my Apology Line blog.)