"duccio" poems
And now we see the singularity
of the artist, wrists spread bare on
mimed canvas, finally we see
his consistency.
Lazarus is dead on the first day.
Gold background, rocky outcrop,
sense of cluttered space.
Do you see the decay?
Can you sympathize, or do you notice?
I cannot sympathize with Duccio,
I am too vain to admit his Maestá
survives while my brain rots from
alcohol. But I remember Duccio is
at least fifty years old when his Maestá
preeminently destroys my career
as a visual artist. I do not mind.
Lazarus is dead on the second day.
Duccio had many pupils, among them
Simone Martini, whose Annunciation
is a cropped rehash of Byzantine/Gothic
flopped with Duccio's handy flair,
a pious reverence and virtue.
It sweeps and moves. Or attempts.
Lazarus is no longer sleeping.
I have never been to the city of Florence,
not now nor the 1300s, so I need not
explain my lack of comprehension.
Lazarus has risen now,
but it is different than I remember.
Lazarus is all alone, and
Lazarus is alive,
doomed to walk in mortal Hellfire
a second time over.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 2:16 PM UTC
You can’t say that the sky is clear today,
its colour isn’t the one of the Wisteria either
and the golden light (which is intelligence)
comes from it as the background of one of the
Madonna with Child paintings by Duccio or Simone Martini.
I can’t definitely say with certainty
that the sun melts in the sea to the West,
(West/Kill) if you have never seen the sea.
The trembling singing of a bird fades
with the noisy traffic jam on the road.
*
POESIA 4:
Il cielo oggi non può dirsi limpido
e nemmeno che ha il colore del glicine
e che la luce d’oro (che è intelligenza)
scenda da esso come il fondo di una Madonna col Bambino
di Duccio o di Simone Martini.
Non posso certo affermare con sicurezza
che il sole si scioglie nel mare a occidente
(occidente/uccidente) se non hai mai visto il mare.
Il tremulo canto di un uccello si confonde
con il rumore del traffico sulla strada.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 9:26 AM UTC