Jackson Pollock is not your Friend
I know I shouldn't be thinking like this.
I mean it's all in the past and we've been
and moved on, but I find myself below glass
watching over and over the blur of a man
as black paint is flicked, poured and thrown.
Jackson Pollock is not your friend,
he works far too large for comfort,
makes too much mess in the lounge
and leaves drips everywhere in the toilet.
(Light olive with spots of dull umber.)
I know I shouldn't be thinking like this.
New ideas are great but up on the wall
they can suddenly seem old. And I can't
help but think of the drunk, brutish painter,
his one-sided fights with poets and friends.
Jackson Pollock is not your friend.
He wouldn't want to be one anyway,
would rather turn the jukebox up and down
pints at the bar before bragging about
his ongoing battle with colour and form.
"The stars are brilliant tonight."
© Rupert M Loydell
Jackson Pollock could be your Cousin
That's no accident when a can of enamel
is neatly perforated to drip evenly across
miles of canvas tacked to a studio floor.
Quick drying paint goes on easily: no room
left for hesitation, no need for one to hang about.
Jackson Pollock could be your cousin
who stares at you tormentedly so you
stare back at him quizzically.
Perhaps he'll sell you a cheap one
small enough to take home in your hands.
Despite his threats of doing this or that
he tries to stay with his signature style:
pouring red, lavender, pale blue and yellow
interlaced with loops and contours of black Duco,
highlighted with trickles and spatters of silver.
Jackson Pollock could be your difficult cousin
who likes to be gently affectionate one day
and outrageously cruel the next. He knows
how to sulk, how to throw himself in the Hudson
then swim off in yet another drunken rage.
"But you should be getting something for your trouble."
"Help yourself. I should've probably thrown 'em
all away a long time ago."
© Peter Gillies
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2 of 3. We like these. If anyone would like to contribute their own collaborations along these lines, we'd love to take a look.
2 comments:
Normally writers writing about artists classifies as fail (see that horrible A.S Byatt book we had to read for POF).
This on the other hand is great!
George Ttoouli is not your friend.
He may be your worst nightmare.
Simon Turner is not your friend.
He is, in fact, your worst nightmare.
Jane Holland, on the other hand, is friends
With anyone going to the bar.
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