Impasto with Debris
               
                                      Knowledge is a polite word for dead
                                      but not buried imagination.
                                                             e.e. cummings   

A drape of clouds behind the Martins
hangs from its fly-wire, billowing in white.
The tricks of its shadows contrast the Nile
behind a drifting dhow as the restless
launch their skiffs to cross the bay
and chase what’s dangling from the drape.

I cross my arms to stare at lines that Klee
connected through breeze blown linen, flapping
from his canvases. He stretched those lines
as anyone would, entranced by the original white.

I climb into an observation seat while steering
through sky, beacon to beacon, in Homer’s light,
and jot down the sequence for a later act in paint.
Now and then, a gale rips the drape from its fly-wire
and it drifts along the ground, dragging at the anchors,
through street maps, manuals
                             and history books.
As if tethering a kite, I pull hard on the ropes
to shake out what the drape had gathered
while lying across Blossom and Tenth,
near Sav-More Tires
                             and the A1 Auto.

Larry,

What a stunner of an opening stanza!!!!!!!

A thought on enjambment in the stunning second:

I cross my arms to stare at lines that Klee
connected through breeze blown linen, flapping
from his canvases. He stretched those lines
as anyone would, entranced by the original white.

And the third and fourth?

Stunning, stunning!

Maggie

S1 magnif. Last line so rewarding. Whole poems works consistently, fascinating unity via all the lines etc. The last 5 lines excellent. Two ?: it it the "gale" that "drifts"? it is
canvases or canvasses? (BTW dict. says canvas derived from cannabis! did not know) Great read, Larry. Also nice epigraph. ~Tom

I imagine this is exactly how it feels to be inside a Klee. Reminded me of that Robin Williams film where he exists in his wife's painting- i think it's called 'what dreams may come'. Very pretty, dream-like writing.

Thanks, Larry
splendid, quite so

ciao

T

ditto all said above.  i like what maggie suggests, too.  if someone were paying me a dollar to find a single area i liked less than others, it would be 'dog-eared history' ... might think on 'manuals, dog-eared' ... or ?  I guess I think of history books as manuals for what maybe worked, what didn't, and find (for me) the slightest redundancy there.

love how this one winds into those familiars on our streets, the business of 'now' transports and the maintenance of same --- how very far we are from canvasses, from art, imagination. 

lynn

Thanks for the comments. Maggie, that end line is perfect. Tom the double ss would make for interesting play but I think it might imply a kind of consensus. Doulbe ss is used mostly as "canvassing the neighborhood"? And yes the subject/verb gets a bit muddy. The drape needs to drift. Lynn, the dog ear bit comes and goes in the rewrites. I need to let that gestate some more.

Thank you. More help than you know.

larry

Larry, I've nothing constructive to add to the conversation other than an appreciation for this poem. Beautiful.

- Yvonne

Beautiful.

Larry, you are such an accomplished poet. Bravo.

Warms my dog-earred days to find this featured here!  Bravo indeed!

Condolences to you, David. Very noble of you to share your observations.

(Amazing poem Larry)

James

Thanks seems weak for such notes and for Lavonne's pick, so in keeping with Cummings, how about just plain Damn!

larry

Looks like the return of the spammers. Referring to your girlfriend as "it" may shed some light on the cooling of her ardour, David.

I think he means the joyous bounty of their love, plastique.


James