| Mastodon Dentist Issue Eight - Fall 2006 2nd Anniversary Issue |
Watercolor
by David W. Landrum
1.
I cannot see you
done in oils;
you do not fit
the icon of those tones;
nor in acrylics
harsh as light poured
on a cityscape.
You were never distinct,
however sharp
my memories of you may be.
I saw you most by candle,
street lamps, glow
of clocks and neon signs.
Too much of ancient brown
lives in your skin,
your eyes, dark hair—
watercolor, wash and sepia—
Turner, O'Keefe, Dürer at his best—
lines bleeding away
to possibilities,
down to suggested surfaces.
2
The model sat, nude, photographed,
on one side of the book
I bought and tried to learn by.
Globe breasts, firm slope of abdomen,
her face ironic, hands straight down at her
sides,
legs hard together;
on the other page she had been painted—
soft lines, shade of her form,
blurred colorings
more like the soul,
the possibilities
of love or conversation,
wine or night.
I could call you back
from the clear lines
to which you have grown,
so distinct now,
purposeful, remote
as objects clearly seen
for what they are—
call you to unclear light.
erasing, broadening,
blearing demarcation,
seeping boundaries.
by David W. Landrum
1.
I cannot see you
done in oils;
you do not fit
the icon of those tones;
nor in acrylics
harsh as light poured
on a cityscape.
You were never distinct,
however sharp
my memories of you may be.
I saw you most by candle,
street lamps, glow
of clocks and neon signs.
Too much of ancient brown
lives in your skin,
your eyes, dark hair—
watercolor, wash and sepia—
Turner, O'Keefe, Dürer at his best—
lines bleeding away
to possibilities,
down to suggested surfaces.
2
The model sat, nude, photographed,
on one side of the book
I bought and tried to learn by.
Globe breasts, firm slope of abdomen,
her face ironic, hands straight down at her
sides,
legs hard together;
on the other page she had been painted—
soft lines, shade of her form,
blurred colorings
more like the soul,
the possibilities
of love or conversation,
wine or night.
I could call you back
from the clear lines
to which you have grown,
so distinct now,
purposeful, remote
as objects clearly seen
for what they are—
call you to unclear light.
erasing, broadening,
blearing demarcation,
seeping boundaries.
| "Haunted Theatre" by Peter Schwartz |
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Bio: David W. Landrum
teaches Creative Writing
and Poetry at Cornerstone
University , Grand Rapids
, Michigan . His poems
have appeared in many
journals and magazines.
teaches Creative Writing
and Poetry at Cornerstone
University , Grand Rapids
, Michigan . His poems
have appeared in many
journals and magazines.
