In the ongoing serialization of Dragonfly, the next poem is an ekphrastic poem. If you're not familiar with that term, an ekphrastic poem is written about a work of art. Ekphrasis may be focused on any kind of art — music, say — but lately, the term ekphrastic poetry has increasingly referred to work on visual art.
Hunter: A Sculpture in Glass
—William Morris, Artifact #3 (Hunter), 1988
Brendan Walter Gallery, Santa Monica
Pelvis, tibia, metatarsal, skull
are pieces of glass strewn on polished ebony
under the gallery's soft spotlights, cool
fluorescent splashes. Floating ribs glisten,
slender half-moons. A crude, chiseled crystal
knife leans up against luminous spine,
the hand nearby, fingerbones asparkle.
At the recycle center's bins of glass—
green, brown, and clear—I saw the identical
play of glinting light. Lofted bottles
gleam in bright air, end over end.
Then the shatter, the satisfying crash.
Graveyard of hopes and dreams: broken champagne
glasses, Gerber's baby-food jars, French
brandy snifters, a crystal vase, green
beer bottles, cracked glass from a picture frame.
These twinkling bits of lives will soon be fed
to fire, made new again, annealed in flame.
O you glassy skeleton on your bed
of dark, mute desire: under what
apocalyptic sun, on what dreaded
Judgment Day, will your translucent body
appear? The air winding around your bones
will stiffen into luminescent meat,
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transparent as the clear blade-like bone
of deep-sea squid? Stars shining through
your flesh and blood like semi-precious stones.
With hollow bones of hummingbirds, your two
slender arms flare into wings of crystal
vivid as church windows—lucid and frail.
A single wingbeat: you sail into brilliant blue.
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| William Morris, Hunter (1988) Litvak Gallery |
As always, I'd love to get some feedback or discuss anything with all y'all. Comment, okay? Thanks. Ingat.
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