Sunday, May 9, 2010

Madame X


Filthy man! He calls himself Artist!
We pay him a fat lawyer's fee
for his talent at offending me.
Those black eyes see naked flesh
where others see slips or camisoles.
He grins privately, licks his mustache,
strikes me in profile when my nose
is my least attractive feature,
and poses my bust straight ahead.
He's painting my blush, isn't he,
to set the whole world gossiping,
when I wouldn't let him touch me
with his brush! My husband hired
him, as usual, without a resume,
sight unseen. I asked if he'd seen
a sample. "One, my dear," he said,
"which approximates our nephew's head."
My revenge had been this gown,
as expensive as it is décolleté,
and I suppose I dreamed a painter
to be schooled in professional behavior,
like my hairdresser and physicians,
to be marble-cool near bare shoulders-
but those eyes are blind to elegance
and see in sophistication only sex.
He flickers like black flame licking
the canvas with daubs of paint to show
that he's so serious in his art;
a wink and he'd be at me like a shark.
My neck! This portrait is overdue.
Aren't voyeurs prone to exhaustion too?
God would have had to think again
had he spent not seven days, but ten.
And when it's done, what will he have
made of me? Will I look exactly
as I am, well or badly drawn, my
beauty replaced by oily paint
or psychologically portrayed-
the face of hunger or deceit?
Will he trap each hair and mole, each
blemish like weird species in a zoo?
I'd be happier looming through a screen,
through a window dripping in the rain.
I should listen to my little sister
and have it done quickly by photographer.
Yes? Fine. So. He says it's finished
and invites me to look. A threat.
Let's see if it has been worth it.
My word! I'm so . . . do I seem so
to him? Yes, he's made a mistake
with my bosom, but my chin-
I hadn't thought the line that clean.
He teaches me to appreciate my nose.
My hair glows, darkness with a sheen.
My skin, alabaster everywhere, except
my ears, which do, I know, go red at
the least distress; my lips never
spoke such thoughts in mirrors; a kiss
from them I'd be wanton to bestow.
He's cut a heart out of my dress;
from waist to breast, the black cloth
flares and makes my shape a gift
to the admirer, while much else is left
undraped. Certainly the neck
is false, too long, too muscular.
Perhaps it's all the pose he gave me.
My husband will conclude he raped me.
I was wrong and I will tell him.
Oh, he's gone! I didn't see him go!

Being With


Each angle in the room is lost to the person
staring from a doorway or backed against a wall.

Boxes of black earth, coffins in reverse, are
stacked to the ceiling, stenciled with numbers.

You wouldn't want to live here or die here-
too much time lost in consciousness.

Underneath every table is a broken chair,
behind every picture a shuttered window.

The women do splits and the men, arms akimbo,
do all they can to prove they are what they are.

The efforts to impress, the shallow breathing,
the veins bulging at the temple, the black eyes

squinting with astonishment, all, individual to none,
freeze time into seeing, seeing nothing.

The red door opens a crack and a white spear
falls through, clattering like a wicked idea.

Dulle Griet


A creature of prentice alchemy,
slack-jawed butcher, zombie,
wrote the last Deuteronomy
in egg on the first door to Hell.
In breastplate and iron cap (bell
in a tree-tin and distant knell),
Meg schemed the death God would flee
from hated lizards' bite and miss
the jaws of soldier-swigging fish,
but not her blood-sword avarice.
The sick crone ran, her dream to marry
hot in pots and pans she'd carry.

"He is a spy,
a bloodlust fly
circling the sty
above the sky,"

she said as the egg ashes fell
on all red, fecund infidels.
Her barrel insect monster's hiss
excited her waistless bogey-
man's ass to speak; it said, "I
eat and fart and then I die!"
The hysterical diablerie
on the witch inflicted flies.
God's dancing pipers' fantasy,
with spiders from a harp to kill
those who eat apples but can't piss
a lake in payment of the toll,
blow them long and bloody kisses.
His winking, trapdoor-blinkered eyes,
opened wide as windows, see
Mad Meg flee; she desperately
would rather he watch the enemy.

St. Jerome


His animal mind
parsed by grids
of lattice and tile.

The table edge sooths
a cassock's tormented
drapery into planes.

Dust ascends the sunlight
to touch the cold
surface of the window.

Twelve points of horn
suspended by hemp
spatter candle wax

in sea horse patterns
about the Bible stand.
Over his shoulder

the standing crucifix
reads, with craning,
exhaustion, stories

that crack its heart.
He thumbs the pages
staring out to space.

His thoughts circle:
What is the difference,
patience and faith?

Either you are young
and ardent, or still
wait and hope

the lion asleep beneath
the table awakens
while you're still here.

Two Poems


Mystery

I

Some paintings gain by being tilted,
their frames off plumb against the wall.
Mondrian's "Rose in a Tumbler,"
its boxy blue petals already askew

against its own white border, finds
order pitched a few degrees awry.

There is in this a mystery I would
explain at the expense of the effect.

II

At a bookstore, I found a novel
with a reputation for being bawdy.

As I thumbed its pages, out dropped
a snapshot of a naked woman's back.

I bought the book, though I don't
intend ever to read its blue pages.

The woman's hidden face smiles at
some canard on page seventy-eight.


Rose in a Tumbler

A powder blue flower-
a rose in a short glass,
a seer's whiskey sour,
nature without surface.

A drawing to surpass
reality, it grows,
it seems, to embarrass
red and white roses.

We know the draftsman knows
a multiplying power-
the rose in blooming blows-
imagination's flower.

The Last Painting


The brushes kept slipping from his fingers.
Wind-tortured fields of wheat under darkened skies-
every brushstroke a nail.
The season's rustling hurry and the dusk
emotionless crows flap up to multiply
dun the wheat's gold and usurp the storm.
The blackened, infinite blue,
his palette's only suggestion of the primary;
red and yellow are plant and soil,
each decaying at the other's root.
And why the two moons? A starless night will come?
Is one a waning sun? When all else is clear:
grasses sprout darkly along the muddy path
that goes into the field to stop.
Or turns to go where the eye can't see.

On Buson's Portrait of Basho


Old grinner,
what's under your sky blue cap?
Not haiku!

(Note: Though in this image the cap is not "sky blue", in the original it is.)