a tribute to Paul Klee
Painting like poetry begins with the Line.
It labours uphill and bounces fast down,
heads in a curve when gravity calls,
carves out a space in the air or the earth,
a pause on its walk generates thought,
then picking up speed it heads off again,
huffing and puffing on parallel lines
which stretch to infinity speeding on wheels
whose points on a circle move closer and slower
to a stillness which momently sleeps at the centre,
but energy from zero drives into the distance
two lines on its sleepers seeming to vanish,
piercing horizons for our contemplation
through a field of cross currents which aim to divert it,
the lines drawing close, ever closer and closer
to the andacht zum kleinen, zum kleinen, zum kleinen.
©Terry Hodgson2020
Comments