So this poem is called "Overtakelessness," which
is an Emily Dickinson word.
"The overtakelessness of those who have accomplished death."
Amazing.
"Overtakelessness."
"To speak inaudibly, the outside,
its blurred sentence foreshadowed,
indistinguishable as shining brass.
The room, the empty sky, beautiful or golden bands
burn because it is empty.
Without depth of field, birds become primitive again.
Unstuck weeds float downstream completing representation.
A thick green complicating light.
Now face the horizon in silence.
Come down while gladness unbinds sleep.
This quiet speech feels right and will be imitated.
To turn away, to speak fondly without a history.
Come down and rediscover this ancient province,
as persons exchange smiles like wind instruments.
There, unlike any road you travel,
are small tidings that awakening, are pleasing.
No history is clear."
And that poem was written looking at a canvas
by the 19th century painter, Albert Pinkham Ryder.
He was late 19th century into the early 20th century.
And he was really important to the modern representational
painters of the '40s and the '50s.
And anyway, he's really worth looking at,
and the thing-- the great thing, it's not the great thing,
but the real history of the work is
that it's decaying, because he used house paint
and painted on boards.
And so, they're changing all the time, just like a body.