deborah bogen
Magnificat
He couldn’t refuse me, couldn’t say No,
as I’d said it to the high school boy who loved me,
and later to the young professor.
My legs cinched his ribs as I sang out like
a bronco girl — and later, knees drawn to my chest,
I made a cradle for what I knew would not say
No,
as God had said it,
had said Thou Shalt Not Have,
sisters withdrawn, fathers blotted out.
There in the night, the cloth that death had spread
on the table turned sanctuary,
the womb my restitution,
because I could ask,
I could invite fire and make a cauldron of my body
to brew the messy blip on the screen,
this flagrant fish-child never mentioned in the Holy Books.
Thus did I become my own religion.
Magnified. Rotund.
And when the great Black hovered, when
That Crush Of Cloud
was on me, I reveled in maculate flesh,
the great round belly
a boulder, the weight of us a warm
and bruising power, my own, my other, my more.
The Artist’s Revelations
1/
Albers’ Homage to the Square
He didn’t want to elevate it,
just give it its due,
make you see the fragrant shimmer
edging a square which
presents precision to effect emanation.
He wanted to coax it out of its
shell, get it talking—
and you, he wanted to change you too.
Meant to force the retina tingle
in response to green on gray,
gray on yellow.
He understood progression,
nerve to brain ignition.
If you take a walk in the a forest,
pick up a leaf and hold it to the light.
2/
Diebenkorn’s Knife
Here’s power in naming:
what was inconsequential, almost
over-looked, is centered.
Honored. Thus the table upon which
the knife reclines is more
table,
and above it the quadrilateral blue
more window.
Couches and chairs hove into view.
3/
Matisse’s Blue Cut Outs
They argue for evolution.
What might be a third leg is likely
a tail. Something is being passed
from hand to hand. All the more confusing then,
the apples and a figure beyond what
we recognize as human.
So most prefer the odalisques
potentially deviant, suggestive women
who lie there waiting
for sex. Henri fixates on the olive pit
shape of the eyes, the fluid
exhaustion and delicate accessories.
Teacups rival thighs in translucent
pantaloons
which is why I turn to the interiors,
to domestic tension masked by complex
ribald colors. Herringbone
carpets, walls blessed with blood, plump
couches in crocheted shawls.
Meanwhile Madam and the children
maintain their strict silence.
4/
Picasso’s Woman with Book
Even in moments of intellectual work or trancy reverie it is critical that the nipples remain accessible.
