Eastside Road, December 22, 2014—
LOOKING BACK OVER the year, as I do the week before Christmas most years, I find a forgotten poem written last month — November 11, in fact; Armistice Day. The occasion: thoughts on Carel Fabritius's painting The Goldfinch, a favorite painting of mine. (No: I haven't read the currently popular novel of that name, and don't intend to.)Ligature
retained
the finch
like all prose
to a thick block
not read for suspected freedoms
turned and then returned
a fine wire
gold perhaps
restrained
all this
for his song
unwilling inevitable
thrown at silence
gone now
returned
gold perhaps
the thick prose
song yellow sharp song
instinctive response to the silence
turned trilled like footsteps
nervous imprisoned despair
gold perhaps
refined
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