After all the reading and writing I did on the Cookham resurrections of Spencer and Davenport, I decided to segue to the ferry boat trip to heaven and the Last Judgment, so to speak -- here is how it begins:
MARCH OF THE LAST TRUMP:
A MULTIVERSE OF PANELED UNICYCLE SPOKES AS SEEN THROUGH THE ACID TRIP OF BOSCH’S GOD
From the dock of London ferry
Out upon Thames Estuary,
Cabinned in but not confined,
Sailed out upon the ocean wind
The ship that gathered harlequins
Of great romance and safety pins.
Fair Tchelichew in silhouette
Upon the back of lost Pierette,
Through alleys sinuous and red
Rose high from his ungarnered bed
On MOMA’s quadrahedron wall.
Then dangling down from his high heel,
Irving Norman stopped the traffic
Greenlighting him into the thick
Exhausting fumes of old New York
In bubbles that got past the cork
Of Johan Strauss’s best champagne.
Falling into the aweful spotlight
Glaring on the red-framed garden plots
Packed with Munch-faced clones, he commutes
The nightmare of a city-scape
At tachyon speed, through the escape
Routes of hotwired elevator shafts
That rise through clouds and steepled roofs,
To sit among the harrowed triptychs
Of hell, mounted on the throne of Styx.
There in painted ramps of empathy
The god of gods trips drunkenly
Through the uncut history of art,
Intoxicated with his counterpart
In all the ways that war and peace
Can hold his Beatific Face.
I kept to Davenport's rhyme scheme, but I'm more or less starting with Longfellow's trochaic tetrameter of Hiawatha, but also moving along with the more iambic meter of Davenport. This poem seemed to me a good way to tout more modern artists and figures not usually seen in ekphrastic works, hopefully mirrored in language that does their art justice.
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