For Nocturne, WhistlerStuart Greenhouse
drew on stone to give his light the texture of absence: the fisherman, bent over his pencil-narrow boat is a stroke left clean, the surrounding shimmer his shadow: I don’t mean that smudged thing at the center he draws his net through with the habitual precision any man used to solitude will recognize: I mean the way his figure bent over its edge is somberly gray, barely defined, no pride of place or spine, his head a spent bubble sunk mid-chest, lost to the late-light bloom around. This light, his shadow, was young the promise his memories would remember him. It frames him, defines him, his soggy head intent to where he draws an invisible net out of the deep which is uniform under the lithograph’s variations, which is stone inside.
Stuart Greenhouse Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2024, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.