Day 15 - "Paintings"

'Allo, all.

Today, being the last day I will see my fiancee until one or two days before the wedding in July, is a somber one for me. What I have to look forward to for the next two weeks is basically a sort of solitary confinement to my job and my bank account as well as a walk to the gallows in a sense - it is the beginning of the last few weeks I will be living in this state near my family; probably for the rest of my life. It's a lot to prepare for, and I don't feel in the least bit prepared.

I sit here in the dim kitchen this morning, wondering what it will be like to think back on this time of my life - thinking back on this place that has meant so much to me in the past - a place that I will never be able to visit again. Sometimes... it almost seems better not to think of it. Life is change. Life is growth. Life is a cycle, and the wheel must turn. Nothing will remain forever.

That is, except pictures - pictures either in our minds or on our shelves. Already I've posted another poem, "If to see such again," about that same idea. However, there is another one I have written that is similar, but with a much different tone and interpretation. Much more like a cross-section of the thought - a studied examination and hypothesis. It's about the grip of the moment - the peculiarity of making something immutable in a mutable world. It goes back to a conversation I had a while ago with a family member about an old painting in our home, and I believe it presents something very interesting about art within its lines. It is also a concrete poem - something I don't take up very often, but as a poem written about an image I thought it an appropriate choice in this circumstance; it also presents some interesting enjambment that adds to the impact of the piece in my opinion which is something I had intended from the beginning, even before I decided to make it a concrete work (Eat your heart out, Heaney and Carson). However, the spacing of the concrete-ness of the poem doesn't show up in this page's formatting, unfortunately, so you won't have to worry about it until you buy my book when it's finally published, right? :) So here it is, the fifteenth poem - the halfway mark - of our thirty days of poetry marathon. We've made it this far; may as well shove on, eh? Enjoy.


"Paintings"


Paintings
Are so much better than stories,
...you know?

Everything left to the
Dark
of your imagination.

you never know
what’s happened just before
or what’s going to happen
you don’t know
anything of anyone in it
or what they’ve gone through
to be there.

In that pose.

The world in the frame is a
Mystery
To us.

We’ll never hear their thoughts
as they stare at us and at each other.
We’ll never see their welling tears fall
to the floor from their faces.

And they’ll always be there in that moment,
...you know?

Constantly living
in that glimpse of beauty
that either
Compels them
or
Kills them
...forever.

Captured in their light.

It’s a
Lovely medium,
...don’t you think?


- Joshua Clarke