ornament
COUTURE
gold or apricot or rose
candled into-
what to call it,
candled into-
what to call it,
lumina, aurora, aureole?
About gowns,
the Old Masters,
were they ever wrong?
This penitent Magdalen's
wrapped in a yellow
This penitent Magdalen's
wrapped in a yellow
so voluptuous
she seems to wear
all she's renounced;
she seems to wear
all she's renounced;
this boy angel
isn't touching the ground,
but his billow
isn't touching the ground,
but his billow
of yardage refers
not to heaven
but to pleasure's
textures, the tactile
sheers and voiles
and tulles
which weren't made
to adorn the soul.
Eternity's plainly nude;
the naked here and now
longs for a little
dressing up. And though
longs for a little
dressing up. And though
they seem to prefer
the invisible, every saint
in the gallery
flaunts an improbable
tumble of drapery,
a nearly audible liquidity
(bright brass embroidery,
satin's violin-sheen)
raveled around the body's
the invisible, every saint
in the gallery
flaunts an improbable
tumble of drapery,
a nearly audible liquidity
(bright brass embroidery,
satin's violin-sheen)
raveled around the body's
plain prose; exquisite
(dis?)guises; poetry,
music, clothes.
2.
Nothing needs to be this lavish.
Even the words I'd choose
for these leaves;
(dis?)guises; poetry,
music, clothes.
2.
Nothing needs to be this lavish.
Even the words I'd choose
for these leaves;
intricate, stippled, foxed, tortoise, mottled, splotched -jeweled adjectives
for a forest by Fabergé,
all cloisonné and enamel,
a yellow grove golden
in its gleaming couture,
brass buttons tumbling to the floor.
Who's it for?
Who's the audience
for this bravura?
for a forest by Fabergé,
all cloisonné and enamel,
a yellow grove golden
in its gleaming couture,
brass buttons tumbling to the floor.
Who's it for?
Who's the audience
for this bravura?
to dazzle the eye;
who could see through this
to any world beyond forms?
who could see through this
to any world beyond forms?
Maybe the costume's
the whole show,
all of revelation
we'll be offered.
So? Show me what's not
a world of appearances.
Autumn's a grand old drag
in torched and
tumbled chiffon
striking her weary pose.
the whole show,
all of revelation
we'll be offered.
So? Show me what's not
a world of appearances.
Autumn's a grand old drag
in torched and
tumbled chiffon
striking her weary pose.
Talk about your mellow
fruitfulness! Smoky alto,
thou hast thy music,
fruitfulness! Smoky alto,
thou hast thy music,
worn, dishabille,
uncountable curtain calls
in these footlights'
uncountable curtain calls
in these footlights'
From Atlantis by Mark Doty, published by Harper Perennial.
Copyright © 1995 by Mark Doty.
Copyright © 1995 by Mark Doty.
5 Comments:
first of all.... i really thought i had run this poem before, but i just could not find it!
second-- now you have to picture me: black sweat pants, t-shirt (no sayings!), necklace or scarf -- and i shave my head!
suddenly, i'm restocking my embroidery thread and bead stashes, re-working old flower prints, and cutting up my clothes to "repurpose" the parts like those ingenious women on etsy do.
i suddenly want the clothes that i've always only drooled over and envied. the past.
we'll see what happens.
Ah... in love again. ♥
Pure gorgeousness this post is.
i love your response poesis -- thanks.
ornamentation is as old as the species, and not held to this species alone. it would be interesting to know the genetic component of that.
i suppose that we, like the bowerbirds, just want to call attention to ourselves.
mark doty and vintage embellishments...a perfect friday.
a reader who knows mark doty and loves vintage embellishments. a perfect friday!
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hi, and thanks so much for stopping by. i spend all too much time thinking my own thoughts about this stuff, so please tell me yours. i thrive on the exchange!
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