Thursday, March 25, 2010

Portrait of That Artist

That Artist.
Not Any Artist.
The one who makes you sing,
Whose words make you know,
Something you wouldn’t normally see.
Words come out

That Artist.
Not just any Artist.
The one who makes you go out of your way.
You can’t resist, the soul calls
That once in a lifetime
A story yet to be told

Napkin dances

That Artist.
Not any Artist.
The one that makes you want a repeat.
You sing the song,
Feel it.
You remember the sights, hear the echo
You write, you recall.
"Something new." You call.

That Artist.
That unsung Artist.
The one who makes you remember
What special really meant
You remember – special
Only That Artist
Makes you remember

Napkin dances

That Artist, inspired
Ain’t nothing like it
Not this night

That Artist
The one so humble
Or outrageous
There is no limit
Proving it all night

When you blow the roof off
There is only sky
That Artist makes you believe
Anything is possible

That Artist makes me
The person I used to be
Or That person I can still be
...That Artist.

That Artist who is happy,
Makes you happy,
Who is sad,
Makes you sad...

That Artist with the chip on the shoulder
- no, not that chip
But that inspired protest
That makes you protest
(Me doth protest)

Been photographing this same block since 2006 - for Time Lapse

That Artist whose ego
- no, not that ego
But that vision to see a New World
And dance, eureka

I see

Juanita is smiling tonight
When she smiles, the world smiles

When Black is White
And White is Black
When every colour is here
And every colour is gone

Afterhours, buildings start to speak to me
1239 am

That Artist breaks a sound
A word that whispers and then shouts
That truth…

To define what is not defined
That lyrical truth, That secret chord
That guitar, That piano.
That new act.

If true love is known
That Artist knows it.

A truth only That
Artist can see (at first)
No cheating
No lying

No fabricated feeling
For attention

That Artist rings from within
There is no choice
Only movement.

Everything was fake but this flower

Free flow.
Free speech.
Free up,

Freely dance happiness.
How can you tell the dancer
From the dance? Galileo once asked.

The words dance for music
The music plays for words
Sound layers peel off
For sound to take off

Mona Lisa
Is smiling
Or is she?
That’s the beauty
That Dolce Vita
That sweet life
That sweet spot

That fire, only That Artist knows
Madness, brightness
All in one
A power that can't be contained

"That Artist"

That Artist whose energy
Can’t stop, sees no barrier
Past the prolific
When your sweat,
Becomes my sweat

A passion without a pacemaker
The beat goes on…

Tonight I saw `Art’
The program said,
“Igniting our spirits
Through the Arts.”

Toronto Cafe closes, Card game starts
(surprise photo from outside)
(note the Kleenex dancing)

The photos above were taken at the cafe or on the street where the poem was written. As I put my pen down, closed my book, I asked Juanita, “you’re smiling a lot these days…(why?)” She answered, “Because I am going to Cuba.” She paints dancers and likes to dance. Actress Caitlin, a Tennessee Williams fan, is now leaving with boxes…she is about to move from Roncesvalles to a place closer by on April 1. I just saw a Canadian play called Art and showed her the program. There's a woman Kim who works at this cafe. She used to race cars (Ford Mustang) and looks like Mona Lisa. She served Maggie of Vancouver who tipped well the night before, she said. I read a link that said Mona Lisa's smile is an illusion. She is only smiling if you look at her from a certain angle. Maggie and I discussed Artists Kaki King, Andy McKee and Max Serpentini who play out of this world. I then thought of other Artists, out of this world. Michael who’s working tonight asks “what do you write, can you read something?” He’s about to get married on May 1 to Connie. I don’t normally write poems, I tell him. This is one. The title is a twist of James Joyce. I read the first paragraph to Michael. He then repeats it in Italian to a crowd. The Beat Goes On played in the background.

Feb 25, 2010: Exactly one month before, i was somewhere in New York City, writing. The Beat Goes On...
12:24 am


X said...

Thank you for being That Artist. It makes me mad, and write things like this.

X said...

The last photo is Paola, a muse in New York City. The first woman i met after 9/11. She recommended places and then magic happened. I met Nora Jones at NuBlu. I saw a man in a basement named Eric Lewis in Zinc Bar who then played for Obama at the White House.

X said...

Didnt know at the time that Artist would only live 91/2 more months. He truly knew, "You only live once." Peter Donaldson was in the play Art.