—from a collage by Marsha Connell
Between shrouded barn and hills, cobwebs tether a piano
to the sky.
A raku bowl instructs a white rose on gravity & the
ritual of tea.
The eclipsed century unfurls its dark flag. Japanese
soldiers,
or the struggle of the sun and the moon comes to mind.
The artist said, A piano is more like a house than a barn.
The piano dreams itself into being: endless halls,
lonely floors,
the caged sun porch with its restless regiment of rocking
chairs.
Everything in black & white. The high ceilings, sconced
candles.
Her grandfather’s barn surprises her with a secret studio.
She dreams of finding lost art; her task: to restore
the garden.
Ivory keys tickle the confluence of memory and
longing.
In the empty house, dischordant music shatters the
windows.
Transfixed by dim visions of childhood, she returns to
the farm
of white roses, her father’s death, cobwebs shrouding
the past.
Born on the cusp of war, she finds light
by
naming the sources of darkness.
In the garden, a sculpture rises from a vessel, like
Daphne,
into the corona of the black sun. Who is the enemy?
She must choose between sprouting branches, or wings.
Oil derricks inscribe haloes of black gold on desert sands.
The moon weeps, footprints in the lunar dust.
Summer 92 - 4/94DREAM VESSELS —from collages by Marsha Connell
No comments:
Post a Comment