Frank,

I've read and enjoyed this all the way through. It's strong point IMO is
that it feels like something that happened or could happen anywhere in any
number of art galleries around the world. The passion of the young people is
played out against a canvas of material that was once young and living of
which the lovers seem blissfully unaware. There are odd little bits where
the lines could be condensed a little to heighten the impact -please see
below- but it's your poem and you may have reasons for writing it as exactly
as you have,

BW

Colin


----- Original Message -----
From: "Frank" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Thursday, July 22, 2004 1:03 PM
Subject: sub - gallery visit


> A story piece, pursuant to recent discussion.
>
> Cheers,
>
>
> Frank
>
> ~~~~~~~~~
> gallery visit
>
> it's a free day
> cloudy and cold
> and for something to do
> the art gallery calls
>
> in this little town
> the gallery is a badge of sorts
> it stands for civic pride
> and a claim towards a cultural depth
> otherwise largely invisible BEGINNING TO SOUND LIKE GERMAINE GREER HERE,
BUT NO MATTER
>
> at the entrance is a sculpted cow
> they call this moooving art PUNS LIKE THIS CAN BE NAFF IN APOEM BUT I
THINK YOU GET AWAY WITH IT BECAUSE OF THE GENERAL PLAYFULNESS OF THE PIECE.
> and have placed multi-coloured bovines
> everywhere
> from parklands to streets
>
> they even appear on hind legs
> playing football and other sports
> the alternative form of cultural activity in town
>
> ~
>
> the couple walks arm in arm
> past the entry cow
> through the foyer of aboriginal designs
> and motifs and objects
>
> he stands close behind her
> to see what she sees
> rests his chin
> on her shoulder
> while she leans her face to touch his,
> SHARE the same vision

...ACTUALLY I'M NOT HAPPY WITH THE AMENDEMENT I'VE JUST MADE EITHER BUT
PERHAPS BY PLAYING AROUND A BIT MORE YOU MIGHT FIND SOMETHING THAT SUITS
YOU.

>
> they seem in a light mood
> no matter the exhibit
> ceramics and pottery
> paintings on clean walls
>
> he is taking odd spaced steps
> almost latin
> but really just playing the fool
> amused by his own happiness
>
> she is nowhere to be seen
>
> waitS
>
> there
>
> a shadow behind a pillar reveals her
> peeping at him
> waiting to see
> if he'll notice her hiding there
> or stay self-absorbed
> eventually he sees her
> laughs
>
> they are holding hands
> and their fingers are never still
> twining
> untwining
> they touch each other all the time
> as though touch is a unique thing
> a gift perhaps
> only they share
>
> in front of the black-on-white
> fired plates and pots
> beneath the security camera
> strategically positioned to see all
> they embrace
> kiss
>
> there is art
> treasure
> within these eyes
> to rival the OSTENTATION
> AROUND them
>
> ~
>
> he is studying a small object
> something terra cotta THAT'S RIGHT THEY DON'T CARE WHAT IT'S MADE OF AND
FOR THE PURPOSES OF THE POEM NEITHER DO WE.
> she is behind him
>
> he shivers when he feels her breath
> on his ear
>
> she takes the lobe
> inside her mouth
> to suckle
>
> draws a breath
> as she flits away
>
> step-slides in slow pursuit
>
> they kiss
> again
> to conclude their tour
> of the gallery
>
> in early afternoon
> they're ready now
> to return home
>
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE POEM GAINS STRENGTH TOWARDS THE CONCLUSION IMO.



  ORIGINAL
gallery visit
>
> it's a free day
> cloudy and cold
> and for something to do
> the art gallery calls
>
> in this little town
> the gallery is a badge of sorts
> it stands for civic pride
> and a claim towards a cultural depth
> otherwise largely invisible
>
> at the entrance is a sculpted cow
> they call this moooving art
> and have placed multi-coloured bovines
> everywhere
> from parklands to streets
>
> they even appear on hind legs
> playing football and other sports
> the alternative form of cultural activity in town
>
> ~
>
> the couple walks arm in arm
> past the entry cow
> through the foyer of aboriginal designs
> and motifs and objects
>
> he stands close behind her
> to see what she sees
> rests his chin
> on her shoulder
> while she leans her face to touch his
> almost
> they share the same vision
>
> they seem in a light mood
> no matter the exhibit
> ceramics and pottery
> paintings on clean walls
>
> he is taking odd spaced steps
> almost latin
> but really just playing the fool
> amused by his own happiness
>
> she is nowhere to be seen
>
> wait
>
> there
>
> a shadow behind a pillar reveals her
> peeping at him
> waiting to see
> if he'll notice her hiding there
> or stay self-absorbed
> eventually he sees her
> laughs
>
> they are holding hands
> and their fingers are never still
> twining
> untwining
> they touch each other all the time
> as though touch is a unique thing
> a gift perhaps
> only they share
>
> in front of the black-on-white
> fired plates and pots
> beneath the security camera
> strategically positioned to see all
> they embrace
> kiss
>
> there is art
> treasure
> within these eyes
> to rival the more ostentatious displays
> that surround them
>
> ~
>
> he is studying a small object
> something terra cotta
> she is behind him
>
> he shivers when he feels her breath
> on his ear
>
> she takes the lobe
> inside her mouth
> to suckle
>
> draws a breath
> as she flits away
>
> step-slides in slow pursuit
>
> they kiss
> again
> to conclude their tour
> of the gallery
>
> in early afternoon
> they're ready now
> to return home
>
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
>
> The Book of Evenings is now available for purchase online. Check it out
and
> a review of the book on the Tales of Faust webpage at www.talesoffaust.com
>
> While you're there, if you find something you like, take the time to
> nominate a poem for a future publication by the Tales of Faust publishing
> team.