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It is said, the past
sticks to the present
like glue,
that we are flies
struggling to pull free
It is said, someone
cannot change
the clothes
in which
their soul
was born.
I, however,
would not
go so far
Nor am I Rembrandt,
master of the black
and green darkness,
the hawk’s plumes
as it shrieks
down from the sky
From Borrowed Love Poems by John Yau, published by Penguin Putnam. Copyright © 2002 by John Yau. Reprinted by permission of the publisher. All rights reserved.
Which windowpane are you beating your wings against today?
I am not as stubborn as you: I am flying straight into that delicious fire.
Buckets of bubbling tar and champagne await us at the Blue Chalet.
Do you skip like this because you have been invited into our hopping choir?
I want to paint in a way that the “I” disappears into the sky and trees
The idea of a slowed down, slowly unfolding image held my attention
Variations on a theme are of no interest. A bowl and cup are not ideas.
I want my painting to be what it contains: it should speak, not me
In Memory of Paul Violi (1944–2011)
I did not realize that you were fading from sight
I don’t believe I could have helped with the transition
You most likely would have made a joke of it
Did you hear about the two donkeys stuck in an airshaft