Tag Archives: Bruges

Dali Exhibition:Bruges

” Quick !”,
” The camera !”
aim,
picture;
before the buildings all
up skirts and run away;
tourists huddled in gloomy
noonday shadows of The Belfort.
Nearby they’re exhibiting Dali,
though I can’t quite determine
its precise geographic location,
the blind waffle-vendor tells me,
indirectly that Dali has been
relocated to a nearby aubergine;
” You’d scarcely believe it had sufficient
room to house all of Dali’s effulgent textuality”
at that the midnight grinning tabby-cat
pronounced itself satisfied with its
idiomatic translation of the
sightless vendor’s account;
” unlock the secret aubergine portal and
you’ll never need to approach any lemon again,
citrussy traitors the lot of them!”
hectored the petty feline demagogue
in the spirit of an alfresco symposium;
I antithetically posited that not all
lemons were conspiratorial and was,
” I tawt I taw a puddy-tat” aware
that Belfries emphasised a deep human
urge for freedom and democracy ?
disquieted in that Sylvesterine manner
that all Cats display he reiterated
that Dali extricated the snot
from his own nose,flicked it at
the world and the critics said,
that it was art,truth and beauty;
” yeah,but what about all those conspiratorial Lemons?”
we concurred, the Feline and I.

In Bruges

A soft elegant turquoise
caresses your eyes,
inviting you to join
and enter into the day;
a day of glances and looks,
talk and walk, coffee and books;
still now,languid at eight in the morning,
early buses down from
the station circumnavigate
the splendid Markt ,
diverting to destinations
hidden in a
nuanced symmetry of slowly
revealing labyrinths hewn
and cobbled,restored,narrow
and poignant two-storied brick
houses with neat serrated roofs
in angles and parabolas
fanning out from Langstraat
up to Jerusalemkerk with
their careful clever twists,
you navigate by spires,
cathedral and churches
and totemic Belfort ,
clocked and counting,
its innard three hundred and sixty-five steps
a challenge for later ;
now, bicycles, delivery vans
and the morning commuters are
unravelling their silken-thread
routes and your eyes trace a
lazy line on your pocketbook map,
from where you are to where
you need to be,
here in Bruges,
it’s all the same.

Dali Exhibition:Bruges 2008 (Rebooted 4 march 2019)

” Quick !”,
” The camera !”
aim,
picture;
before the buildings all
up skirts and run away;
tourists huddled in gloomy
noonday shadows of The Belfort.
Nearby they’re exhibiting Dali,
though I can’t quite determine
its precise geographic location,
the blind waffle-vendor tells me,
indirectly that Dali has been
relocated to a nearby aubergine;
” You’d scarcely believe it had sufficient
room to house all of Dali’s effulgent textuality”
at that the midnite grinning tabby-cat
pronounced itself satisfied with its
idiomatic translation of the
sightless vendor’s account;
” unlock the secret aubergine portal and
you’ll never need to approach any lemon again,
citrussy traitors the lot of them!”
hectored the petty feline demagogue
in the spirit of an alfresco symposium;
I antithetically posited that not all
lemons were conspiratorial and was,
” I tawt I taw a puddy-tat” aware
that Belfries emphasised a deep human
urge for freedom and democracy ?
disquieted in that Sylvestrine manner
that all Cats display he reiterated
that Dali extricated the snot
from his own nose,flicked it at
the world and the critics said,
that it was art,truth and beauty;
” yeah,but what about all those conspiratorial Lemons?”
we concurred, the Feline and I.

(footnote:- originally composed in situ,next The Belfort,Markt,Bruges June 2008;after having imbibed somewhat beforehand!)

In Bruges ( Rebooted 9 February 2019 )

A soft elegant turquoise
caresses your eyes,
inviting you to join
and enter into the day;
a day of glances and looks,
talk and walk,coffee and books;
still now,languid at eight in the morning,
early buses down from
the station perambulate
Markt’s splendid circumference,
diverting to destinations
further along hidden in a
nuanced symmetry of slowly
revealing labyrinths hewn
and cobbled,restored,narrow
and poignant two-storied brick
houses with neat serrated roofs
in angled and parabola’d straats
fanning out from Langstraat
up to Jerusalemkerk with
their careful clever twists,
you navigate by spires,
cathedral and churches
and totemic Belfort,
clocked and counting,
its innard 365 steps
a challenge for later;
now,bicycles,delivery vans
and the morning commuters are
unravelling their silken-thread
routes and your eyes trace a
lazy line on your pocketbook map,
from where you are to where
you need to be,
here in Bruges,
it’s all the same.

(this poem was originally published and first appeared in The Elephant #3,Summer2011)