Gallery of abstract illustrations for David Harsent’s poem: “Abstracts”
Purple "Surely, what first comes to mind is purpill and pall. No? So is it what she is said to have said that night when she breathed a secret and put the whole room on stall? Not that? Then it must have something to do with the way, in the fairy tale when the twins are lost in the wood, daylight suddenly deepens and it’s run or stay or pray. Still wrong? Rain in the hanging gardens then? That bruise you can’t account for? The color of money, win or lose? A Balkan liqueur that hits you where—Ah, yes, of course; the bruise.". Black You know the room, or think you do, half-dark and windowless it seems, though maybe the shutters are dropped against the day, loose talk from women in veils and something like a pulse, on the air when he opens the door and slips straight in. The Loden coat, the old slouch hat, the harelip, so who else could it be, right on time and keen to help? Think back to those promises, all of them straight from the heart, never asked for, never kept. The skin trade . . . there’s a knack... Blue It sings they say, and so it does: something like the note that fractures glass or gets so far below the range of human hearing that it jolts your heart; and the glass it breaks is blue, and that’s a blue note for sure from the guy on the alto sax in the basement dive, which is where they’re bound to meet up in the classic noir, the private eye, the girl with a shadowy past, the old-style cop, and it’s nigh-on certain she’ll have to take a bullet or we’ll see her in prison blue as they lead her to the drop...
PhoArtry: a selection of illustrated poems
You must be logged in to post a comment.