At night and even by day if the eyes have been prepared,
She has the exact appearance, summer lightning in miniature,
Backwards and forwards, flashes of light pass from her,
As she plants her feet, digs in her heels, and grows her own standing.
If wrapped in folds of paper she shines just as strongly,
At her pleasure she produces faint phosphoric lights,
Which separate into the shape of a thousand shining points,
When she plants her feet, digs in her heels, and grows her own standing.
Experiments succeeded in making salt water shine,
By adding her to the liquor of a dozen pickled herrings,
But the roughest treatment causes her to glow more brightly,
So she plants her feet, digs in her heels, and grows her own standing.
In the mild evening air with her body entirely luminous,
Surrounded by a vapour which readily takes fire,
Others can see their hands from the light shining from her,
When she plants her feet, digs in her heels, and grows her own standing.
© Anne Seagrave 1997.
from The Ramus Exhibition to celebrate the Bicentennial of the National Botanic Gardens, Hugh Lane Gallery 1998. Anne permitted the use of this poem (from her performance) to be used on my previous blog Girl in Green Shoes, which is taken down. I am republishing it here.
Chris Murray 