Tuesday Poem, "Caught on Memory, Art Students' League, 1957"

Caught on Memory, Art Students' League, 1957

A blind salmon swimming

after my older brother,

I pluck a name from the catalogue.

George Grosz. I know enough

to know he's famous,

but not for what. And from Germany,

soon to repatriate. Gill hooked. First

day of class, stationed by the door,

newsprint pad propped against easel,

I gasp as the male nude strikes

two-minute poses. Legs wide, calf muscles

taut, arms stretched overhead.

Leaning left, fingers spread.

My charcoal breaks.

Five poses, ten, warm-up

for a long study

of his lean buttocks, the black

stool on which he rests one heel.

A group clusters, teacher hidden,

words inaudible, then swarms

as he moves to another

drawing, coming closer until

the small man, arm lifted to correct

foreshortening, thick marks on a timid sketch,

is revealed. He catches my eyes,

stares, unblinking.

                                It's hours

before he looks away

and I grab my tablet, leave 

the room, never to return.

This was published in an extremely small journal called "Purple Patch" in London. The editor just Xeroxes whatever he's accepted and shoves it in rather haphazardly.

I've always been fond of finding subversive or radical, very unconventional, places to send poems. My first work was published in "Struggle," a small radical  journal that I've always liked. That editor sometimes sends me notes written in the most beautiful handwriting. He's true to his philosophy, a blue-collar worker who supports his political ideals. I quite admire him, Tim Hall.