On Reading Mr Wittgenstein’s Lion

By | 1 July 2009

Every landscape painting is a left eye's worth
of a stereoscopic image. There's no comparison.

Sight has its own methodology. Hearing too.
If a picture could talk we could not understand it.

This, though black & white TV returned me better
than colour to where 'a hand can approximate

any shape'. Where the blessed say 'Oh yes'
about their pain. Let's have every image in sharp

focus evenly across the canvas 'just for now'.
Stanley Spenser, an old favourite. An old fart.

'Art' is what remains after a trip to Raspberry
Creek. It can be 'bolted to the asphalt' &

deserted by a whole team of people with tools
who walk away, leaving an eerie absence.

Recursive absence too. As in ekphrasis. Or a
'poem' upon a book of poetry. It can be a sign

saying: Go this way. As in a weathercock.
Or clock stopped 20:07. 'I step to the cliff edge-'

Or it can be something else entirely.

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