Hi Christina,
Well...
I find this quite a disturbing poem. I can go with the way the words are
saying things until I get to the words:
"- of mud/ wiped away with rags under her easel -"
and then I sort of lose the plot (I'm not sure what's going on and how
important knowing this fact is).
From the next words to the end of the poem I'm compelled to read and can't
help but be confronted with understanding what's being said. But the mud,
the mud...
I don't mind not knowing who it's about - but I sometimes wonder if I may
see her paintings differently after reading the poem...
Bob







>From: Christina Fletcher <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: New sub: Self Portrait
>Date: Mon, 3 Feb 2003 14:39:12 EST
>
>
>
>
>            Self Portrait
>
>            I sense how she started - oiling slippery earths,
>            sucking brushes to a point, hesitant marks
>            to trace a space from a mole to a nipple.
>            She must have seen structure under her skin
>            when her eyes glided from fleshed-out Maxilla
>            to Lachrymal bone.  This is the texture
>            of one-eyed, splayed brush days  - of mud
>            wiped away with rags under her easel -
>            when she failed to find one true line
>            in a maze of illusion, unable to measure
>            the infinitessimal distance: the difference
>            between self and a stranger.
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>            christina fletcher
>


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