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Conversation With A Poet At The Gallery
SJM ( / )

Conversation With A Poet At The Gallery

They're cracked and crazed he said.
Not true, that's his old girl friend after she shaved her head.
So you see the image isn't what it appears to be.
In fact it's a she, not a he.

But the color, I don't remember that shade of bleu
Well varicose veins can happen to more of you.
From top to bottom and in between
That's what you see. Know what I mean?

It's the gallery light that gives it that special cast.
No, its just the glaze that seems to blast
Out of the deep base that is more than skin deep
That's what I mean, 'so to speak.'

Sort of twisted and distorted is what I see
Could have been more pleasant, seems to me.
Well that's just the way it is
That nose and the rest of the phiz.

Just a big lump of expensive clay
Probably finished it in less than half a day.
If he'd spent a bit more time it's true
Then the resemblance would have appealed more to you.

But the bottom line is what will some fool pay.
Bought it at a show is what they'll say.
Everyone knows that art is something that only appeals
To those whose judgement never yields
To modern ways, or even to old taste
Instead they just have money to waste
So flaunt it before us they haven't a care
To know or to even share.

The starving artist must depend on peanuts
(And soft drinks and sandwiches in tiny cuts)
To feed his appetite until he can escape
To something more promising than this wake.

Where he (or she) if the case may be
Will be amongst friends such as we.
There he'll share a bit of brew
And have a story to tell to me and you
About the one that got away
(That's artist talk about the sale that didn't happen that day)
About the visitor from outer space
That visited the gallery in haste
And discovered just before the closing,
That he was in the wrong artistic happening
And put away the folding green
And rushed away from the scene.

Or perhaps it was just his imagination that was indulged
As the show was much a-judged
To be of such superior talent
It was a waste in any event
To set prices before the local crowd
Who would never imagine the price allowed....

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Edgar Allan Poe

Annabel Lee

Comments (1)

very good your so right in what you say and to think that this goes on every day i believe that art should be from the heart and not just a mound of clay with nothing to say and alot to pay i love your poems