Giacometti

L. R. Fox

              to cg

on what side of God—
walking in the rain
thin Giacometti
great coated
stopping to smell ripe lilacs,
limiting observation to the street
               overthrow & destruction
               of the european culture
leaving godless this moment
to rotting flowers
water on black enameled railings
               hsien       


        librarian       applying the
                             eye
                             to document
                             thin leaved
                             fragile as ash
beckett turns the corner
bucket man
surrenders effort
toward bliss
toward purity
mind set free
new grass between
        pavement and asphalt

he walks the street
every night
penetrating the dark void
of the Taoists, forgetting
the poets of the 20's
               Eliot, Pound, Lewis, Ford
       in a few spare, lean years
the formula for a half century
dictated in anterooms
over tea and correspondence
from the states
              Dresden             Apollo to the moon

"personages immobilized in the course
of their wanderings and talking
among themselves."
              (Composition w/ 7 figures & a head (The Forest) 1950)
by the park
a peripheral street forming
a rectangular block
dog with bowed head
barks and sniffs at wind
great coat continues on
        journey of the soul?
       absorbed only in
       the construction of
       the image itself.
light enters through
mobile in window
       revolving glass fruit
he sees a young girl
undressing, reaching, curving
behind her back to free
herself from Monday's dress
       —voyeur—
hesitates to see her
turn and pull shade
       white shoulders
       black dress touching the floor
       a green fern hanging
       behind glass.

"—again, after all other attempts, I have made
cages with open construction inside, executed in
wood by a carpenter."

k'ui
      a constellation
      the stride made by a man

as he leaves and turns the corner
he formulates their only truth
        a head and figure very small
        parts in the sky
        at great distances to one another

                 mien            a woman sitting         
                                 concealed, hidden
                                 screened from sight

he returns to his studio and
feeling a small shock confronts
his canvas
as if sensing some stranger
walking toward him in the dark
disintegrating as it approaches him.
              why, asks the dog
              is there nothing rather
              than something?

              because, says the great coat
              we insist on preciseness
              rather than perception.

& so sets sledge to metal
hammering out
in diminishing thinness
a likeness
of the window—
a mote
in the absolute darkness.


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