It's been great to come across work by friends/fellow painters who have also stayed here... This poem is for them and for Alison in appreciation of her wonderful hospitality.
- The Portage, Marlborough Sounds
Ah Wayne, your vintage bottles
and vigorous Torea Bay paintings! I’m not surprised
to find you’re very present
here. As are you, Don, with your rollicking
clouds and delicate pencil
islands. (I’m pleased to know
you found the one you’d lost; errant pencil
and island, both. I see now how their similarly worn
and whittled shapes might slip easily through
the cracks of the Sounds, your Kowhai
And John - of course, you and the shimmer
of your songs hang in the air here, too.
My private desires notwithstanding, everything is
exactly as it should be.
I sleep and eat and write
yet am not without companionship,
conversation or colour.
Of today’s inclement weather, Alison said
“Would you believe we look
onto lilac water some days lit
by sudden shafts of sunlight. But this!
This is grey. Hard, cold
grey and dirty green… And two
walkers still out in it. Best light
the fire, Mark. They’ll need flames
and food by the time they find us,
welcome strokes the minute
they get in.”
Sunday, 30 August 2009