Inspirations

This isn't more of the promised old poetry revised and revamped. It's new, well newish, stuff. There are three poems here that were all written at a poetry workshop about a year ago and subsequently redrafted and tightened up a bit. The first is a bit of doggerel that occurred to me after the fire that destroyed Tracy Emin's Everyone I Have Ever Slept With, an artwork consisting of a tent on which she had embroidered all the names that gave it it's title.

The Fire

Tracy Emin made a tent,
Embroidered it with names,
Said, "These were all the lovers
Who shared my night time games."
The warehouse where the tent was kept
Burned to the ground one night.
I can't be sure a lover did it,
But I'm certain that one might.

The second was a variation on the never-ending discussion of "what is art" on one of the message boards, that only occasionally turns ugly. It was inspired by a rather more well-known and conventional piece of art - The Venus de Milo.

When does it cease to be art?

A statue.
A figure of a woman.
Flawless. Perfect. Sublime.
A wonder.
This is surely art.
Cut off the arms.
Pound them to gravel.
Bury it.
Forget it.
And what remains,
Flawed, imperfect, reduced
Remains yet
A piece of art.
Everyone says so.
It must be true.
Lose the head.
Lose the legs.
Cleave the torso.
In two. In four. In eight.
In a million.
Grind it to dust.
Scatter it to the wind.
This is not art.
Not the remains of art.
This is less than nothing.
But when was the transition.
When did it cease to be art?

The third and final poem was inspired by another piece of modern art, Anthony Gormley's Event Horizon. I was there with a friend and though both of us liked it we had completely different reactions to it. The poem tries to capture my own feelings about it and then punctures my pomposity with my friend's feelings. At least that's the effect I was aiming for.

Event Horizon

Distant figures,
Sinister and silent,
Motionless,
Watching me
The centre of their Universe.
On the rooftops
That surround me
Engulfing
Diminishing
They are my event horizon.

They are frozen in the moment,
Caught in the amber instant
Between the then and the now.
I shiver with insignificance.

My companion has another view.
"Playful, aren't they?" she says.