blockbusters from Hollywood
or movies about cool thugs
or war things or love things
or dazzling, hectic animation.
I only wish to experience one film,
but it hasn't been nor will it be made.
I want to watch it once every month.
And it should be in black-and-white.
The life and so many still moments
of Tomas Tranströmer looking around
and into Nordic scenes' beautiful grays
and watching the art things that come
leaping from behind seascape or forest
or dripping with an odd numinous dew
from the secret rims of island flowers
to flow as figures of speech magically.
There must be very little action or dialog.
This film will carry my eyes with his eyes.
I will breathe as if my lungs were filling
with an atmosphere of rugged mountains --
metaphors of surge and the haunting of solids.
No one will make a film about long days and years
of gathering eyefuls and then transforming substance
into such quiet lines tracing the form of a hidden god.
That poet must sometimes smile at the situation.
He has wrought such special effects and few care.
Not a documentary, this film would be the highest pitch of drama.
Image from LA Times
No comments:
Post a Comment