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MARCEL KOPP
TOUCH THE ROCK
For the child of the New World
to visit the Old Continent
is to find a mass of old stones
set upon one another, temples
or ruins, tumbled over one another.
Rocks.
Today's people over there
are but the shadows of those who built
of those who tore asunder.
Shadows.
The child of the New World
leaves behind the cameras recorders sketch pads
their elders used to tote along
but goes bare hands open mind
approaches the rocks in reverence.
Rocks.
Temples and cities. Marbles and granites. Walls and caves.
But the people are shadows, obnubilated glossolalia,
errant reminders among the staunch
among the stones.
Bare hands and bare hearts humbly touch
the rough and the smooth, the cool and the searing
with the tip of the finger or the flat of the palm.
In that slit of eternity, they fuse with
the quarrymen and the masons
and they listen
to the columns of the heavens
to pictograms of incantation, to the aqueduct of fertility
to a wall of safety, another wall of shame
to the statue half out of the block
to the ice of the North Face of the mountain
that has stood there always.
Later in the New World, those hands and hearts speak
and listen to the arches and the pueblos and the sequoias
and the drifts from Old Faithful
and even with the stem
of a wildflower.
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Download the painting "Marcel the Magician"
by Andy Levesque
Marcel-400pixels.jpg
Marcel-1200pixels.jpg
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