Red and blue flames form the Virgin’s dress where the sky is afraid yet joy abounds among the demos of the airy kingdoms
For such as this earth will shudder (in joy and the terror of joy)
And shudder through the spine of history as if a volt was travelling on the DNA of our being and fire alone was pleasing
The paint is laid in shock-waves where black is not afraid to be black
What is annunciated is ascension, what is enunciated is reply
*
This dream, this quake of creation at the engulfing whale – who would have it on the pallet of his mind’s possibilities?
Sombre tones and brightness vie to no clear outcome
This is not other than what we are cast against
Alpha or Omega
His eye steady above the quaking of the world
*
This landscape – where is its like? and yet it’s real, not imagined nor superimposed on an unresponsive background
Again red and blue but muted now as befits the terrible occurrence
Yet a strange serenity, somewhat beguiling, pervades the air and earth and we are beguiled
And the thickly painted clouds
And the sleeping disciples
Yes, we are beguiled to attend this scene and what it is prelude to
Beguiled, we are beguiled, and yet we opt to sleep like figures who choose not to know what they know
The blue air is tinged with sorrow and grief which even the yellow robed one cannot dispel
*
And here the city hunkers down under the disorderly sky
Strong ramparts and lush fields blend to as if the fields had no option but to give birth to the city
The scene is Spanish but the judgement is Greek
And judgement it is
The sky breaks in several directions
There is not a solitary figure to be seen
It is morning or evening or the meeting of both as only a painter could see it where the eye is poetry’s eye seeing the seen, the not-seen, the linking bridge between them
*
This is not the whore of history – this is woman in serene ecstasy
Death’s skull is near-by but this is not death
Leaves grow from rock to attest the greening ground
*
It cannot be told – the seal is broken but it cannot be told
This is dance or despair
Again the red and the blue, again the uncomforting-giving yellow
They transfixed – I transfixed (before it)
The sky all-turbulence and the earth cannot respond
The broken seal breaks open with possibilities for the mind
Choose one for the moment – choose another for the moment to come
*
What does the Burial of the Count of Orgaz tell us about Guernica?
It tells us death is various multi-faced, a salvation or damnation, but that it is always death
That bombs descend as quick as saints but not to the same intent
That heaven and hell exist on earth as they no doubt do in whatever heaven or hell is there for our credulity or disbelief
That for every mending there is a shattering
That the cry of man or beast in pain is the self-same howl
That the world may be fractured beyond repair
That every weight has its counter-weight, echo its counter-echo, that of both there are believers and doubters
That the world breaks down under the weight of hate but rises by the yeast of love
That sorrow is endless and ancient and new
That we are also shattered birds with broken feathers
That what we see in colour is also possible in black and white and gray
That Spain is our crucible (if we be Greek enough to see it)
That whatever seeps into the earth colours the earth and daubs our eyes with its tints
That what has happened before will happen again and already, somewhere, is
*
And the View of Toledo – where do we place this, not just in history but within the liniments of ourselves?
Ah yes, the indefinable answer because no answer is final
The colours accusing and consoling
The sky telling of things which are and which will be
The various greens and the various blues
The absence of a single figure – the singular one I expect to see on the ridge whenever I see this painting
The swath of clouds befitting the St Francis series
The judgement and the challenge
The fierce pride of execution and the serenity of achievement
The painting contradicting then reconciling itself to itself
Nor passive observation permitted
The spontaneous cry of the eye which says City my city
The answering voice which says Yes!
*
And in the Disrobing of Christ we are all rendered naked
Nor do we understand the Breaking of the Fifth Seal (no more than we do the preceding four)
For we are, again, where we ever will be – on the ridge above Toledo seeking Toledo light