" Painting the SS America "
I paint her like this, from a low angle, waterline;
she towers in cobalt and a potion of ultramarine
and vermillion;
devoured by darks,
dazzle-disappearing in light.
She glides towards me, I feint and play,
brushstrokes suggestive of a New York dockyard
past midnight.
She is there and not, dismissive of the tug
that braves the nearness of her bow,
she is here yet gone, ethereal and beribboned
in autumnal mist, funnels reflected red in
the deep and surge of pthalo blue, faint memory
of almost white where water, sliced , shows angst.
Born into turmoil, sleek lady greyhound of the Atlantic,
elegance and quiet power.
I am creating a sky without stars in my homage,
glint of floodlights, a full tide and the ever open gates
of horizon.
My hands are marked with your colours,
involuntary stripe of pigment over cheek;
I create you again and again, art deco years ago
until now, as you sway imperceptably in the reef
you chose to be your home.
Broken but unbowed, your port tilt of dying
Overflown by gulls,
overseen by the painter whose bones will rest
someday near your own.
© 2002 Vienna (Carole Barley)
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