the madrigal, volume iii
gaynor kane, after Another Place, Antony Gormley’s sculptures at Crosby Beach
Odurate figures made of hematite, pyrite, ilmenite.
Iron ore - found in the sun, stars, planets.
Humans deface them, paint them, suffocate them
under plastic, decorate them in football scarves
and jester hats. Gulls shit on their heads.
Nature embellishes with lichen and barnacle jewels.
One Iron Man transitions, pink tutu softens angles,
while prudish people avert eyes from nakedness.
Sculpted eyes have nothing else to do but stare
at iron-like tankers smoothing flat-sheet horizon.
Some days, rough truffle foam waves, batter
iron men in a stew of oystercatchers.
Some evenings, silhouetted torsos observe
white windmills rhythmically rotating
before sunset under navy and orange clouds.
In the new dawn, sunrise behind their backs,
a containership sails slowly west, waves mesmerise,
swooping gulls enthrall, worries swept away in sway.
During winter hightides, Mermaids come at night.
Their long locks trailing behind them through seaweed
and sleeping shoals to wrap their tails around metal legs.
To place hot kisses on cold lips.
To sing songs to ferric figures
in hope of metamorphosis.
When the iron men come alive, they wake up slowly,
savouring smooches, learning to feel warmth of touch.
They see moonbeams lighting up the seabed
and waltz under waves, spinning sea-creatures;
enchanted by their beauty, golden tresses swirling,
coral lips pouting, shimmering iridescent scales.
Tomorrow the tanker will pass again
and they will wonder if it was all a dream.
More info at www.gaynorkane.com