Kokoschka
I give my world a lapidary sense;
Kids flying kites, and frisbees have their place
Despite the hint of national disgrace,
Despite the tyrants who would oversee it.
I only ask the artist should have space,
Some money and good whiskey, just in case,
You understand, I've seen it twice come crashing.
What I can't stand is all that talk of grace
As though such words could pause the human race.
If young I'd slap Adorno in the face.
There was poetry during Auschwitz.
Schiele
It’s true the working girls will run to fat,
From street to street men rush to paint the whores,
My sickness is that splodge of yellow paint,
The green of youth transfigures into sores.
Why tut? I brought the close-up to the nude,
My sister and my lover and my wife
All posed to bring you this important truth:
That pubic hair is too the stuff of life.
Don’t ask for antecedence, hidden trends,
Nothing exists beyond the hips and throats,
No greater thesis, nothing for the bores,
No doubt Freud proved this in his many notes.
So much to do before the party ends,
Just time enough to sleep and paint the whores.
'My sister and my lover and my wife'
I had to look that up they weren't all the same person. No, he was more normal than that.
Thanks for the poem, Great as always.