11/22/1963

Fateful motorcade

Wherein history careened

Like a stray bullet

***

nb: the prominent Pop Artist James Rosenquist painted ‘President Elect’ (featured image) in 1961, nearly 3 years before JFK’s assassination by Lee Harvey Oswald. But take a closer look at the image and you will see that it is astoundingly prophetic of the assassination. The sleek section of the car recalls the motorcade where it all happened, and the harrowing Zapruder footage of Jackie Kennedy clambering across the hood of the Lincoln Continental. Even the mirrored surface of the Wheel in Rosenquist’s painting appears to me as a perfect rendition of the Texas School Book Depository, where Oswald calmly waits, along with the bullet whose tenuous trajectory would dramatically alter the course of history. But the truly haunting image is located in the dead centre: a piece of cake bleached of all colour, torn apart by those deathly pale hands which reach from the pristine visage of JFK, an image which represents the moment of the bullet’s impact…

 

Advertisements

Ode to J. G. Ballard

Curator of cascading cavalcades and causeways of carnality,

Virtuoso of vivisection, mosaics of calamity,

In whose worlds a prosaic insanity festers midst cortex;

Synergies of synapse and syntax, an existential vortex.

Through a geometric rhetoric of plaza and high rise,

Come parables comparable to Freudian mythologies.

Where avian conclaves of Loplopian apostles soar,

As the corpses of collossi are numbly washed ashore.

Marooned tycoons wander in some highway purgatory,

Metro meets Mecca: all hail the gods of multi-storey.

A Triassic redux as concrete jungles plunge neath tide,

From Shanghai to Shepperton he pedalled, forever wide-eyed…

***

Exquisite Corpsing (a surrealist poem)

Latent gospel plucked from slumber

Writhing as seething logic tears asunder

These retinal confessionals which drawn

From the tattered slacks of droning hacks whose dawn

Is borne from fleeting mania amongst ceaseless cognitive curfews

Where spontaneous poetic passions percolate like zeppelins doing corkscrews

Where cubist contortions reign and the blighted blatherings of historians

Wither into stony columns of drivel and whitespace – trivial emporiums

Which shy away from the kaleidoscopic sensorium of surreality

An exclusive realm of poets and purveyors of psyche, far beyond mere animality

***

 

NB: featured image is Max Ernst’s ‘triumph of surrealism’ (1937)