Year
for Barnett Newman, Abstract Expressionist Painter,
Cy Twomby, Sculptor/Painter, & Frank O'Hara, American
Poet, Art Curator & Art Critic
A bird seems to have
passed through the impasto with cream-colored screams and
bitter claw marks.
Though they are all white with black and grey scoring,
the range is far from a whisper, and this new development
makes the painting itself the form. - O'Hara about Cy Twomby's paintings
Two seasons upon your forehead
Horizon of your brow now tilts toward sunset
Stratus clouds lift above the
major line parallel but with telemetry
of their own -
symmetry shifts, music
notes stretched flat on the scale
Below all this your eyes two suns setting
though it is redundant to say so,
a poem line tracing horizon, what
lies behind it/below/we leap or
can, happily, to mental verticals,
distant stars orient us as
specks just as they are
specks such are these
birds flying out to sea such
is this our land giving way
beneath all their push
We lay together, two wrecks, Love,
wooden ships conjoined by forces
too great, too objective to blame
We stretch beside a shoreline,
eels play in the one rib of our
opened selves, our rarer fingers
share at last, gesture horizon
to stars, even Sun Moon entwine
before behind centering a presumably
expanding circumference curving
inwardly toward itself which is an
affection, a longing, a bottom upon
which even God can lay hidden
from secret admirers such are mirrors
whose surfaces are rarely breached
But there is reach
many ways to say the word love
which, redundant to say,
sparks,
and we are returned to some
notion Platonic beyond higher
math
of over-said,
over-reached
Infinity
of which Barnett Newman spoke to
Frank O'Hara about, rather,
the Void
he said
...
can the word bear a capital
...
...
may the word bear a capital
...
V
his fear of it, discomfort,
to be exact, not knowing that
Frank would be in it (the Void)
not far from the saying of it, the
mention, the beach that day, hot
(so I have read), crowded though
Frank chose a Voided spot to
recline to sun upon when the
tanned dune buggy ran over
upon his tanned radiance
like attracting like
his broken nose his brilliance,
that Chariot of the Sun Eclipse
it's job done
fated fell forward
into the wine sea
as did Frank's soul
cherry dark
an Amarone
most homophone
he may have till then denied
tried, at least decried died
trying to name it
(
the soul a starfish
painted say by Cy
)
to work an
image dead mariners
make wishes
upon within
as do we also wish
*
I wish you, Love,
beyond within all Voids
...(is the Void one or plurality?)...
a painter on a near shore to
paint what we have become
One (he must be) beautiful,
a man, radiant, who raises
a thumb to rearrange
^^^^^^^^^^^^^the horizon^^^^^^^^^^^^
******************************************************the sky*****
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~the moving line~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~un~~~~~du~~~~~lant~~~~~aslant
of the sea where we without
breadth heave each our
separate selves and each
other into (squint) a promontory,
shear, one eye to gauge, the
other allow a thumb's scan by
any other intent acknowledgement
of worth perceived and
waves/wayward clocks
(become)
adrift migrant birds, scores,
always crying at the unending feast
We are not the least of these
but know ourselves too beyond
bondage to time which is to say
'hunger' in spite of rhythm
*
Love, let us live without
rhyme
the sun go up the sun
go down,
the Sky-(Amor)-Wheel-(Fati)
turn and return
with feeling
Let the painter lonely be
alone
pinned to shore with
his paints, his brushes,
his thumb-gauged vision
in relation to ourselves,
and Void, without intended
rhyme trued, true to ourselves
Nature, too, is true
May he use the color blue
Carelessly
Tubes of it
We once were that, too -
careless without
Now wrecks
Vaulted
Now become
weather without
foreheads
without
cloudnecks
Vastness
in the making
(if such
is made at all)
but is aporetic**
euphoric
a condition,
a given hard
thumb
against
a sky of
tubes made
and of
squints made
we are then a
striving after
beyond cream-colored
foam
we are then
form
churned by storm
Here come the wild birds again
>-<
**aporetic - an adjective which means "to be at a loss", "impassable", and "inclined to doubt, or to raise objections";
and the noun form "aporia", which the "state of the aporetic" and "a perplexity or difficulty".
Cy Twomby, Sculptor/Painter, & Frank O'Hara, American
Poet, Art Curator & Art Critic
A bird seems to have
passed through the impasto with cream-colored screams and
bitter claw marks.
Though they are all white with black and grey scoring,
the range is far from a whisper, and this new development
makes the painting itself the form. - O'Hara about Cy Twomby's paintings
Two seasons upon your forehead
Horizon of your brow now tilts toward sunset
Stratus clouds lift above the
major line parallel but with telemetry
of their own -
symmetry shifts, music
notes stretched flat on the scale
Below all this your eyes two suns setting
though it is redundant to say so,
a poem line tracing horizon, what
lies behind it/below/we leap or
can, happily, to mental verticals,
distant stars orient us as
specks just as they are
specks such are these
birds flying out to sea such
is this our land giving way
beneath all their push
We lay together, two wrecks, Love,
wooden ships conjoined by forces
too great, too objective to blame
We stretch beside a shoreline,
eels play in the one rib of our
opened selves, our rarer fingers
share at last, gesture horizon
to stars, even Sun Moon entwine
before behind centering a presumably
expanding circumference curving
inwardly toward itself which is an
affection, a longing, a bottom upon
which even God can lay hidden
from secret admirers such are mirrors
whose surfaces are rarely breached
But there is reach
many ways to say the word love
which, redundant to say,
sparks,
and we are returned to some
notion Platonic beyond higher
math
of over-said,
over-reached
Infinity
of which Barnett Newman spoke to
Frank O'Hara about, rather,
the Void
he said
...
can the word bear a capital
...
...
may the word bear a capital
...
V
his fear of it, discomfort,
to be exact, not knowing that
Frank would be in it (the Void)
not far from the saying of it, the
mention, the beach that day, hot
(so I have read), crowded though
Frank chose a Voided spot to
recline to sun upon when the
tanned dune buggy ran over
upon his tanned radiance
like attracting like
his broken nose his brilliance,
that Chariot of the Sun Eclipse
it's job done
fated fell forward
into the wine sea
as did Frank's soul
cherry dark
an Amarone
most homophone
he may have till then denied
tried, at least decried died
trying to name it
(
the soul a starfish
painted say by Cy
)
to work an
image dead mariners
make wishes
upon within
as do we also wish
*
I wish you, Love,
beyond within all Voids
...(is the Void one or plurality?)...
a painter on a near shore to
paint what we have become
One (he must be) beautiful,
a man, radiant, who raises
a thumb to rearrange
^^^^^^^^^^^^^the horizon^^^^^^^^^^^^
******************************************************the sky*****
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~the moving line~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~un~~~~~du~~~~~lant~~~~~aslant
of the sea where we without
breadth heave each our
separate selves and each
other into (squint) a promontory,
shear, one eye to gauge, the
other allow a thumb's scan by
any other intent acknowledgement
of worth perceived and
waves/wayward clocks
(become)
adrift migrant birds, scores,
always crying at the unending feast
We are not the least of these
but know ourselves too beyond
bondage to time which is to say
'hunger' in spite of rhythm
*
Love, let us live without
rhyme
the sun go up the sun
go down,
the Sky-(Amor)-Wheel-(Fati)
turn and return
with feeling
Let the painter lonely be
alone
pinned to shore with
his paints, his brushes,
his thumb-gauged vision
in relation to ourselves,
and Void, without intended
rhyme trued, true to ourselves
Nature, too, is true
May he use the color blue
Carelessly
Tubes of it
We once were that, too -
careless without
Now wrecks
Vaulted
Now become
weather without
foreheads
without
cloudnecks
Vastness
in the making
(if such
is made at all)
but is aporetic**
euphoric
a condition,
a given hard
thumb
against
a sky of
tubes made
and of
squints made
we are then a
striving after
beyond cream-colored
foam
we are then
form
churned by storm
Here come the wild birds again
>-<
**aporetic - an adjective which means "to be at a loss", "impassable", and "inclined to doubt, or to raise objections";
and the noun form "aporia", which the "state of the aporetic" and "a perplexity or difficulty".
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