Revising at dawn, amid the wreckage of beginnings, /you find it’s hard to remember how love looked /except beguiling, so absolutely sure of itself…. / You know how hard to look/at what’s unfinished; proclaim it beautiful or perfect, still.---From “Pantoum, with Spiderwebs and Raindrops” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 08-07-11
Endless visions and revisions
will follow every work of art,
its end is also its beginning.
A cat straining to catch its tail
to earn its master’s delight?
But that’s not the metaphor.
When the last image attaches
itself to a final web of moving
yet still pictures on a canvas,
when the impasto of colours
have shaped the unuttered
angst trembling on the easel,
when sounds have moulded
sense into a riot of language,
creation is done, work begins.
Will the poem sing brightly?
Will the painting now speak?
When are they truly finished?
He shaped a man out of clay
and thought him imperfect,
he needed her to be complete.
How hard it must be for Him
to watch them destroy what
grows out of their love and loin.
Yet he was proclaimed good
and perfect among the trees
and the mud dried out of Eden.
How hurtful it must be for one
to start from the wreckage
of what began from ardent love.
---Albert B. Casuga
08-08-11
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