Poem: ‘The Gallery’
Douglas Dunn, 17 April 1980
See, how this lady rises on her swing Encouraged by the brush of Fragonard, As light as love, as ruthless as the Czar, Who, from her height, looks down on everything.
When on a canvas an oil-eye of blue Has tiny fissures, you can stand behind, Imagine time, observe, and condescend. Wink at, and spit on, those who are not you.
Out of the eye of Christ, you might see God; Or, from your swing,...