...or not. This is a day late, not that I'm losing momentum, but that I haven't felt much like a writer. Like the other long one, I'm sure this isn't ready for other eyes yet, but I'm ready for comments. For those with no Klein experience, it's based on the series of paintings called "Anthropometries". I will hopefully get to some comments on everyone's poetry tomorrow.
Anthropoemetry
1.
He said the routine
is simple as swimming
asked if I knew how
told me I could
breast-stroke in International Klein
Blue’s shallow ocean
where the wave’s edge drifts
in audience-eyed shores
and the moon is usually full
of the sky.
2.
He said touch creates a sense—
a vision. Last night I dreamed
he was coarse-canvas, palms
flattened to my hips, thighs lined
with yes.
3.
He said there is comfort
in performance. Yves Klein—
the ringmaster at a circus
dressed in a dark suit
waves white gloves while he conducts
three women’s bodies and limbs. I stretch
myself onto a painted portion of the floor
skim skin in wetness, the thick
oily crawl, bristles bruising
nipples. And then I think
maybe someone notices
the slight belly-bulge
under my own hands
the smoothness
as they slide up and over
a thick-caged heart’s
impatient sound, the thumping
dull then drowned
by the Monotone Symphony’s
muffled score.
4.
He said the body always
comes clean. Later I am
alone to a steady drip
the empty bathtub
tinged blue. I lean
my chest over the sink,
press my hand to the steam-
fogged mirror and wipe.
1 comment:
I think this is my favourite Klein piece. Love "palms flattened to my hips, thighs lined with yes".
There are lots of links and associations between images. It's a poem that I want to reread and puzzle over. I don't have anything constructive to say, just that something's cooking here.
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