This poem, from a collection of prose poems called INTIMATE PORTRAITS
It is "I". Whether a monochrome square against a blank wall or captured in an orante, gilded Baroque, the frame tells us it is art. The personal "I" here, the speaker, is perhaps the poets or, are we mistaken just as the speaker takes a Van Gogh to be a Rubens? Puzzle deeper. Place the "I" into its frame, the wheelchair. Perhaps we are mistaken to call him an invalid or handicapped. But both art and the wheelchair-bound are "relics", created by the frames as it were. We take especial note when they rise from being objects or become events in our world. If we take time to note the strokes, we know the artist. If we note the actions, do we know the person?
"Look for hints," says the frame that we call a poem. Is this a confession by Ricky Garni? Boccaccio was a writer... AND an artist?
RICKY GARNI
Cultural Studies
I sat in theTOP
wheelchair
and enjoyed
my visit to
the art
museum.
"ooh! look!
a rubens!"
I declared as
we passed
the van
gogh.
"and, if
I am not
mistaken,
that would
be a
dekooning,"
I remarked
as we passed
by the
boccaccio.
"is it raining
outside?"
I asked as we
passed by
the water
fountain
the benches
nearby
were very
very comfortable
and tightly
sprung in such
a way as to
cause a
vibration if
one were to
press oneıs
hand firmly
against its
velvety
surface
"look at
this!" I
exclaimed,
marveling
at my hand
as it
bounced off
the benchıs
surface
"and this!" I
salvitarated,
rising to my
full height
out of the
wheelchair.
"itıs a miracle!"
and I throw
myself
against the
bench with
the weight of
my body until
I break my
leg on the
tightly-wound
spring of
the bench and
lie crumpled
underneath a
rubens. "look!"
I note, weakly,
"it really is
a rubens!"
5th
Year Online!
Poem, copyright POET01.05:051; (all rights reserved). Site design, İ 2001, John Horvath Jr., PoetryRepairShop, & www.poetryrepairs.com (All Rights Reserved).
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