Summer 1961 • Vol. XXIII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1961 |

A Mirror for Moderns

Rich girl, poor boy, learn from one Oldest Master. Steel, Corning Glass, or Pittsburgh Plate It doesn't matter, he's always right. He'll do his best if you tell him he has to. He's a very rabbi of good and evil Ready to teach where no one else is able. At your motion no call for leaky skylight, Palette, palette knife, brush or easel, No call for camera, tripod, and model. He'll find your single characterizing highlight Nor skimp or fudge when it comes to blights and blots And manage it all on sixty or eighty watts. If you're like me he'll find a tiny window Brighter than the eyeball's white, The very quintessence of light, Near the colored iris. Oh what crescendo Of self-love and loathing inside! His art Draws out interesting secrets from the heart. Mornings Old Master's better at motes than beams, Evenings the other way around. Between the two I think he's bound (You've known him to flatter half your night with dreams, Fool you the rest as you wake shaggy, uncouth?) To

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A Taste of Ashes

By George Hemphill

Rich girl, poor boy, learn from one Oldest Master. Steel, Corning Glass, or Pittsburgh Plate It doesn't matter, he's always right. He'll do his best if you tell him he […]

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