Poetry
Art Criticism by George Fetherling
Je suis ici pour faire des achats de dynamite.
— Blaise Cendrars
There are no guarantees
that anything will last
especially when you use
these inferior materials.
Thick chemical gesso
slides onto recycled canvas
one coat horizontal
the next vertical;
as soon as one dries,
another arrives to
contradict it.
I can’t stand the silence.
My ears chafe waiting
for the tune of a catchy explosion.
I am the neighbourhood dynamiter
who never knows when opportunity
might strike. One must always
be alert and heavily armed
against success and its enemies.
This is how I am.
I have no patience
with craft for its own sake
not like the old
Chinese man standing
in his garden every morning
applying more red lacquer
to his coffin.
When the surface is hard
and shiny like a beetle
he will be venerated as only
the ancient dead can be.
I will be scattered over a wide area.
Parts of me may never be found.
