Sunday, March 06, 2005

Art Feels

Evalyn asked me for another poem. A poet always appreciates being asked…especially if he’s not a real poet, but only a blotter. In any case, I was reminded of this older one because of a recent glass-casting workshop, so I offer it here.

My Patron

I did not get the ninety-thousand dollar
Brilliant blue convertible
Or run away to Paris.
I took a class in glass.
That is, I wondered if I had some art
(Beyond whatever it is I do).

Just a Saturday and Sunday
Cutting out the glass panes,
Listening to the sharp clean crack along the rollered line.
I laughed with everybody else
At broken pieces, shattered patterns.
I’m smiling at the lumpy tiles.

The awkward mirror frame.
Wrapped in paper towels,
I drove them carefully home to you.
Is this the way Picasso felt when Mrs. P
Cleared off her mantelpiece for Guernica?
I’m smiling at how fine art feels.

Copyright © 2003 Richard Laurence Baron

1 comment:

compostmoi said...

I so adore the Patron poem..the image of a Mrs. Picasso (which one?) clearing the mantel for are world-class, brother. And the story of the reluctant wheelee? I begin to see what you mean by editing...your stories pack a neat and pointy punch...i do so love how you jury duty over YET?xxev