August 2015
Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto, August 2015 - © David Bigham and okojazyk.com,
I.
Once, simple men
Opened their morning eyes,
And in the light of day,
Shaped with discerning hands
Saviour and Friend.
Roualt glimpsed a face
And followed in great
Heavy steps, feet
Splashing pools of blue and
Yellow, to see it clearly.
We look but can't see
Past lead and shards,
Smears of azurite and cadmium,
Wood forms falling
Dumbly on optic nerves.
What dark and artless symmetry,
Rising in steady, silent waves,
Has drowned us in disbelief,
Making the one plain fact
A complexity.
Once, simple men
Opened their morning eyes,
And in the light of day,
Shaped with discerning hands
Saviour and Friend.
Roualt glimpsed a face
And followed in great
Heavy steps, feet
Splashing pools of blue and
Yellow, to see it clearly.
We look but can't see
Past lead and shards,
Smears of azurite and cadmium,
Wood forms falling
Dumbly on optic nerves.
What dark and artless symmetry,
Rising in steady, silent waves,
Has drowned us in disbelief,
Making the one plain fact
A complexity.
Fort Niagara, New York State, August 2015 - © David Bigham and okojazyk.com,
II.
Heavy to hold with nails,
The breadth of everything,
The weight of existence
Was and is and yet.
Eternal fury held fast to fleeting,
Measured, ticking moments.
It is the carrying. Always carrying.
Over cobbles and dust,
On ordinary shoulders not made for bearing,
To the high place where burdens
Held in soft infant hands,
Dissolve in streams of crimson.
Heavy to hold with nails,
The breadth of everything,
The weight of existence
Was and is and yet.
Eternal fury held fast to fleeting,
Measured, ticking moments.
It is the carrying. Always carrying.
Over cobbles and dust,
On ordinary shoulders not made for bearing,
To the high place where burdens
Held in soft infant hands,
Dissolve in streams of crimson.
Art Gallery of Ontario, Toronto, August 2015 - © David Bigham and okojazyk.com,
III.
It is the most real act,
Amidst the flies and metallic
Scent of lifeblood running down,
That everything around it is
Pale and artificial,
Every stone and timber and face.
With an inward breath to
Press forward the syllables,
Pain released into words,
Words like staring at the Sun,
Finally blind the foolish eyes with
"It is finished".
It is the most real act,
Amidst the flies and metallic
Scent of lifeblood running down,
That everything around it is
Pale and artificial,
Every stone and timber and face.
With an inward breath to
Press forward the syllables,
Pain released into words,
Words like staring at the Sun,
Finally blind the foolish eyes with
"It is finished".
Fort Niagara, New York State, August 2015
- © David Bigham and okojazyk.com,
IV.
The sky sent down a thread to follow,
Made of us before we knew
What we were made of.
Woven slowly into a reflection,
An image of home,
A blue destination to remember
When the dust finally settles.
The sky sent down a thread to follow,
Made of us before we knew
What we were made of.
Woven slowly into a reflection,
An image of home,
A blue destination to remember
When the dust finally settles.
© David Bigham and okojazyk.com, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to David Bigham and okojazyk.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.