In this light the surface is a black mirror. I don’t want to see
myself seeing back, not seeing black. Behind cut glass a black
cat in a coal bunker, fur curled in a corner. Learn to see flat,
see flatly in the way Freud listened. Does matt paint glisten –
a sea creature raised from lightlessness; or is this vantablack,
sense-deprivation, an anechoic chamber? The only sound is
the nervous system, heart hurtling inside my cranium. Here
I see the starlessness between galaxies, the black of nothing
quite happening, of consciousness closing, fastening. Could
this be a Madonna and Child, figures excised (suprematist and
still a mother and child)? And this black has a dead Christ
uncanniness (Holbein’s panel for Prince Myshkin). This is
also Gallipoli, field artillery (out into history). Closer, this is
only a semblance of black: stygian tones, a rainbow, the web
of a shattered phone. A buffalo, torso, legs, a head hurrying
towards some wilderness.
Patrick Wright has a poetry pamphlet, Nullaby, published by Eyewear. His poems have appeared in several magazines, including Agenda, Wasafiri, The Reader, London Magazine, Poetry Quarterly, Ink, Sweat and Tears, and Iota. His poem ‘The End’ was recently included in The Best New British and Irish Poets Anthology 2018, judged by Maggie Smith. He has also been shortlisted for the Bridport Prize. He works as a Lecturer at The Open University where he teaches Creative Writing.
The Ekphrastic Review
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