Verse 4: At the National Art School MFA exhibition
(For the Emerging Artist)
Ten years ago no one fled faster
out a gallery’s exit door.
No Op, no Pop, no Flemish master,
none could make her stay for more
than half an hour. A Rubens cupid
left her feeling bored and stupid.
But shut out from the world of art,
she’d given it her secret heart.
Now her two thousand terracotta
hearts invite the passers-by
to stop, look, think, perhaps to cry
and write for Manus men. She’s shot a
film and made a giant heart.
She’s now a Master of Fine Art.
That’s for my project of 14 stanzas in November. Here’s one I made earlier inspired by the same art project:
2 July 2016
This tiny heart of terracotta
cold and fragile fills my hand,
shaped by hand of one-day potter,
marked, incised, a one-off brand:
‘Heavy’. Hand to hand is calling.
Feel the weight of the appalling
suffering of those unseen,
untouched, unheard, of those who’ve been
detained by governments so callous
they kill all hope to garner votes
and glibly boast they’ve stopped the boats.
Unwrapped, this heart confronts that malice:
our beating hearts can face our fear –
Close down those camps, bring those hearts here.
Thanks for the message from the hearts to one’s own heart re the heartless bastards whose reptilian faces we all know so well – and to those words which tell us of the hearts we want here!
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in verse 4
Hearty thanks, Jim