How many people came and stayed a certain time,
Uttered light or dark speech that became part of you
Like light behind windblown fog and sand,
Filtered and influenced by it, until no part
Remains that is surely you.....
These lines from John Ashberry's Self-Portrait in a Convex Mirror convey
rather too well my feelings when reading these lines from the same poem:
......as in the game where
A whispered phrase passed around the room
Ends up as something completely different.
Its the principle that makes works of art so unlike
What the artist intended. Often he finds
He has ommitted the thing he started out to say
In the first place.....
My emphasis. It sums up yesterday's post, perfectly. Ashberry must have been walking around inside me carving away at my words; junking all those intentions. These were not what he wanted. No, my words must follow his art. So kick Snyder in the guts, and throw Klee out of the window. And chip away, chip away! until that final flourish. Now you have what I meant you to say!
Are words so powerful? It seems so. Bound to Ashberry with handcuffs. Oh John!