After Reverdy

People and scenery are thrown open
like suitcases. Museum by museum.
And sea dampness has filed down
this monument, its arm resting there.
His salt. Sea corundum. Crusted face
reflects in the old bar window, its breath.
A one-wheeled animal strung in lights
goes past. The name of this is all birth,
don’t say a word. The shore’s the same
fingertips at the edge of the ocean.
A goat walks down the beach, laughing at the waves.
My memory going along has gone blonde with this rain.
The wide lights of the children hiding in the circus,
the lion that turns its eyes away in modesty,
what sort of crocodile do you really consider yourself?
Dew splinters over the familiar blue space
where noon hides from morning. The body
mistaken for a camera is where we all go in
and never come back out.

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3 thoughts on “After Reverdy

  1. So lovely, these verses. I wrote a post earlier this year in which I discussed the body as a camera obscura especially because of the way we treat it like a malleable substance. We do that to disappear from the realities we’d rather not face. x

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    • Thank you. I like when contemporary photographers work with the camera obscura (or other older/primitive forms of image making like pinhole cameras, etc.). I remember a recent documentary where the artist had turned a thickly curtained room in Venice into a camera obscura. The image of the canals and their spare traffic were projected onto the walls of the dark room. (I don’t believe he had a plate that size to develop the image.) :0

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      • Thank you. We’ve been watching the same documentary. There was also a documentary about how a Rennaissance artist may have used one to capture a portrait on canvas for one of his paintings. I’m sure you’ve come across it. One of my subscribers has done some work just this summer with her pinhole camera. It was interesting to learn about the process from her perspective. x

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