ANTWERP
 |
| Alan John Ross, (6 May 1922 – 14 February 2001) |
Of crusted and silent flesh,
luxuriantly
Spread under cavaliers and
Christs, under eyes
Of students scrutinizing the
texture of tombs;
And the pearled light and
saintly images
Create their own quiet, a
residue free from surprise,
Away from the glitter and
moan of the port.
But people, like the air, are
wafer-thin;
Around them the weight of
their curbed
Desires, their instinctive
defeat when faced
With the unknown
challenge-kisses are barbed
For the pledged majority,
(ugliness tighter and tighter laced)
It is all unsubstantial, unsensuous,
this outside world
Where happiness so rarely
conforms to desire, and
All real passion is
compressed to a miniature
Area of paint, a poem, where,
alone, we grow to our true stature.
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