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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Missive For Darkness As Vocation, William Hawkins In Mind</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">[after viewing a film clip of the American<br>self-taught artist, William Hawkins]</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>How would he depict it, your <br>great sorrow now, <br>even a corner of it? </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Perhaps<br>forge on, find a<br>photo, a horse<br>to paint, as in the film, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">then busy himself with the making<br>of it, then see how the belly is too much, <br>needs to be thinned, a back haunch <br>trimmed to size, <br>a concise seizure of eye and paint<br>dependent upon hands, <br>a monumental concern which arights, <br>or at least, perspectives one's own suffering <br>amidst, against, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">or, in the <br>teeth of daily concerns <br>taken on as ultimate-form, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">gives visual commentary, <br>response in an image-horse<br>painted upon cast off wood, <br>backyard ruin put to good uses <br>with kindness extended in<br>the hammer's claw, crows near<br>the barred door, and, with meds <br>providing limit to dulling descents, <br>you may find again that desire to plunge <br>further/deeper, deeper still, into the muck <br>and magic of the shorter days <br>given in winter, in the long nights <br>generously dumped without <br>portion control upon the human.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hawkins, elder of the American tribe, worn, <br>no, softened at edges apparently fortified, <br>fortifying vision and metal, painted on, <br>worked those objects of art making, <br>occupied himself with familiars, <br>and allusive smears, <br>serving now and ahead who <br>ancestrally will partake of his offering, <br>be held/healed in their beholding, <br>nuanced in cloud swatch, <br>land swath tumbled.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">And you, too, do that, <br>still here, have helped bring <br>him out to me, to others, <br>an inner imperative; a torment, <br>it urgently insists that you continue on <br>within the maelstroms hopefully soon <br>to blow themselves out while tending <br>to your allotted concerns.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"> <br>I once, your other darkness, quoted Hopkins to you, <br>'seasons of dryness, ' in the bitter pitched midst<br>his discovery, 'What I do is me, for that I came, '<br>not a text for self worship but, rather, an assent<br>to keep world woe personally felt in that greater<br>perspective, making poems from orphan woe, <br>from ever furtive grace which eludes then surprises<br>in bleakest place, sudden, parses newly in the <br>greener green of things while pleading still, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">'Lord, send my roots rain.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>The shorter light, the extended nights of cold and<br>star-bright questions, may cast clumsy net forward<br>into what it all might mean to fretted you, to me, <br>stretched, though I will not thrust these words any <br>longer upon your pen or paint but make offering <br>with thanks for your own work to feed us through <br>the eyes, perhaps time to mount that Hawkins horse <br>and soldier on or to fall off again, gain Damascus <br>perspective yet, from one's back watch vision <br>distort the massive horse into God receding into <br>necessary darkness foregoing image in order to <br>see what may form in the spreading dirt, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=535628" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">what resurrection there is in the smell of paint.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a></strong></div>