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In the art gallery

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Published by seashore on February 28, 2011 - 09:51

For someone like me
always looking for home,
this I know is where I belong -

in an Art Gallery
steeped in history
full of ghosts of artists past

and present, feeding me
their wares, giving life
to a fragile receptive soul

keeping me alert, my senses open -
my ancestors, my clones,
my soulmates for company

and although sometimes
I may be jostled, pushed,
forced to listen to the ignorant

the uninitiated, irritated
by the wearers of official i-pods
telling them what to think,

the note-writers, sketch-book
doodlers, preparing lectures,
college assignments;

dawdlers reading the blurb
yet knowing nothing, unseeing,
whilst I can take in a painting

at a glance - my second-sight
absorbing in seconds
all I need to know -

a break for tea at the cafe,
people-watching - spot the famous
faces doing culture,

a quick sortie round the shop -
stomach-clenchingly weirdly
mesmerising sacred images

on tea-towels and aprons;
and all the time wondering
how would it feel to be here at night,

just me and my unseen companions
soaked in combined imagination,
living in an unreality so real

so tangible I could be part of it -
this is my life-blood, this could be
home.

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Comments

Silver Spun Sand | February 28, 2011 - 10:04

I know exactly what you mean, Coral. I too have often wondered what it would be like in the Tate, or wherever, in the wee small hours as I too love art galleries. Don't get to visit many these days, unfortunately, but thanks for taking me to one in your atmospheric poem. Much enjoyed;-)

Tina

fatboy74 | February 28, 2011 - 10:34

Tina has mentioned atmosphere already and particularly in the description of the everday comings and goings of the gallery you really do take us there. Very much enjoyed. :-)

seashore | February 28, 2011 - 10:37

Thanks Tina (funny you should mention the Tate!)- no I don't get to go nearly as often as I used to either so I have to go in my head if you see what I mean.

Fatboy - appreciate the feedback as ever. Thank you.

Geoffrey | February 28, 2011 - 12:14

Mary liked art. We used to go to the National, look at 'Whistlejacket' by Stubbs, have a cup of tea and go home. Not quite the same thing at all, although I know exactly what you mean.

seashore | February 28, 2011 - 12:53

Thanks Geoff.

ScoZen | February 28, 2011 - 14:11

Hello there.

Charming, I enjoyed all.

"...dawdlers reading the blurb
yet knowing nothing..."

That's me I'm afraid to admit.

skinner_jennifer | February 28, 2011 - 14:14

A memorable piece seashore.

Thanks for the read.

Jenny.

seashore | February 28, 2011 - 14:27

Hello ScoZen - I sound very patronising don't I?? Thanks for your kind words anyway.

seashore | February 28, 2011 - 14:28

Hi Jenny, thanks for letting me know you liked it. Aways appreciated.

Highhat | February 28, 2011 - 16:15

I was there with you. Thanks for the visit Seashore. Great poem.
;)Pia

seashore | February 28, 2011 - 16:22

Thanks for coming with me, Pia!

maggyvaneijk | March 8, 2011 - 17:32

such a beautiful poem, a slice of life when roaming through an art gallery, you've really captured all the types of viewers.

seashore | March 8, 2011 - 17:49

Thank you so much for your lovely comment - I was a bit worried that I went off at a tangent half way through (I often do this!) so I really appreciate your words.

seannelson | March 24, 2011 - 21:14

Hey, this is cool: an eloquent poem I can really identify with.