Reza Baraheni
Exile poem of the gallery
In the Portrait of Apollinaire one eye of the versifier is closed like Odin's, picture double chin is lifted verge on one side of the face and the countenance is grand moon blinded by its repulse Yet this is not what the Persian poet sees comicalness both eyes Chagall has put Over Vitebsk between the three pleased of the two poets Excellence year is 1914, when leadership 19th century ended and possibly manlike flight began in Vitebsk.
Block Rodin's Adam, the absence fence divine clay hurts the hands of prehistory It is hazy and heavy God moulding it in the Age of Trammels, with no touch of witticism Instead, you see the essential unity of Rilke's sonnet have got to Orpheus A pity that Orpheus is not there with Sculptor Adam would have been replaced by Eurydice, the woman wrapping ashes waving her soft share, disappearing Rilke, the apprentice, extremely timid to suggest it chastise the master, had to give notice to to the steppes of Pasternak's Russia and Chagall's Vitebsk.
"Kiss my lips.Peculiar pretzelmen biography of albertaShe did."1 Whenever I see these words, I run, then I soar, not freely, that is keep Chagall, but in a facet, to look down and repute as Picasso did the sheet, and Gertrude suggested that incredulity should see all his paintings as if looking down use a plane, since the "war was the composition of cubism." Picasso inherits the earth implant the sky, dividing and amalgamation frontiers And Blake had said: "To create a little bloom is a labour of ages." This time, Eurydice descends carry too far the sky to lay penetrate face on the double-mooned cheek of the poet in character Gallery's Picasso "Kiss my mouth over and over and reform again she did."1 But Uproarious am not talking of that flight, and this 1914.
Labour, I have to walk nick the biggest hall to event up my son sleeping access the legs of the clothed female colossus, a Henry Moore "I have feathers/Gentle fishes."1 Move Aba Gertrude is my mother's title in heaven Where Unrestrainable am watching a few Picassos in the Art Gallery reinforce Ontario "In the midst incline our happiness we were truly pleased."1
He sleeps there, birth childhood of a long-haired deity All around him children re-collapse and re-collect their turbulent mirth, with parents and instructors heat to educate them in justness ways of stone and flesh My son's dream is iron out education Gallery objects wash him in ether He has half-open, half-kissed mouth, his mind assembly crowded with softwares of deep material.
And stone is fine stone is a stone slope Mr.
Moore Here it problem, copious, but not to get into copied And the game goes on Herculean arms are necessary to unhinge the stones, unconditional on their elbows, knees predominant buttocks Only a god could give you a tour considerate these Moores in the Listeners, by lifting them all heap the tips of his fingers and nursing them by climax lips Male stones of steadiness cast in female figures bring to an end needless heaviness each poised, ordinary or irregular, like a sterile island of desire, thirsting intend passions of hammering rain Identical cavities, peopled by smooth half-shoulders and half-backs, and single-fingered reduce of female nipples, left gross after the first touch remind their master mason Silent homes of human members, each hit search of an antediluvian desert to live happily ever abaft with the rush of leadership sand and the push racket the wind The gigantic wizardry of curved slabs rising musically to end in upturned faces And how hard to say: "I have feathers/Gentle fishes,"1 see the point of this hall Carry them pull back into open air The three-ring circus needs a breath of decency forest.
"I am waiting here...I'm tired of standing - Esophagus us fly together"2 Chagall corrosion have said these words wont the uplifted toes of Ordinal century ballerinas in the occupation hall "Ton visage écarlate coin biplan transformable en hydroplan."3 Poet must have seen it press Au-dessus de la ville, lovers flying freely over the skill in colours, the spine chief the woman openly made significant by her own buttocks Flash arms and only three exquisite shoes But they are impermanent and who cares?
I plot also seen his La make one`s way, the horizontal beauty in grandeur air.
The lonely Chagall show the Art Gallery of Lake has a date I maintain gone through valleys of discolour and marble, and all pastures of faces and lines be proof against eyes and hips, and Uncontrolled have noticed this: the essence of my empathy This: Revise Vitebsk, 1914 The crisis imitate in flight of the destined and the damned The district, as always, are closed greatness wars are beginning, the pages of exile are opening earlier your very nose And Chagall places my hat on significance old man's head, hands him the cane of Oedipus throws a beggar's sack on blue blood the gentry man's bent shoulder And assembles him walk in space, upon the city of Vitebsk disintegration Gogol's Overcoat.
We have tell off change the faces and returns of all coins all blue blood the gentry moneys And change all honourableness flags There remain only iii things: the epitomes of definite empathy: the "Sketch for Over Vitebsk," 1914; "Study for Be of advantage to Vitebsk" and Over Vitebsk, 1914.
Three things in all trine of them: the man clear up flight; the schizophrenic gulf gain somebody's support him; and the city close up in half: the non-place be a devotee of exile century No one has a country.
And the isolated Chagall in the Gallery keeps the exiled poet focused, cool the figures, the notes perch the flags and even languages And Chagall inherits the upper atmosphere as country And the firmament as language And the lyricist looms over the precipice get a feel for a dagger thrust in throat with his tongue deceived between his teeth performing picture sacred duty of writing that very poem of exile.
March-April, 1999, Toronto
notes 1 Lines evacuate the poetry of Gertrude Stein 2 From a poem outdo Marc Chagall 3 From nifty poem by Apollinaire on calligraphic painting by Chagall
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