R Young. L’Odyssée. Mixed mediums on canvas. 70 cm x 50 cm. 2021.
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L’Odyssée
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When they asked him his name
And he said Odysseus
They didn’t believe him
Why would they in these days
Unless the old sage has no potency
—
Sitting up there on the shelf
The way the sage will do
Left alone to draw portraits
Paint the unexpected crow
Again alive knowing that
—
The tale of the crow’s wing
What you see, it’s all in the con-
Text , don’t you see?
He said to the bottle of gin
Harbinger willed out of diagonal
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Diatribes by dreamers flying
Wagered out of the oak copse
Pretending to be the sign
Of some old Maximus betting
On forgetting how damned often
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The raven cracks into the sky
As if bolder than the last stroke
Of laurel-scented time, forgotten
Water, clouds, sand blossoms bolder
Than time beating the sky all to
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Hell, then rewinding, replaying the
Chameleon role of the sad soul
Swept away into the same story but
Different story every time clanging
Cherries, bells, stars, black bars
—
Endlessly
studio arago 