The photographs I don’t take are full of them.
I used to take so many but didn’t know till
after the fact. Oblivious. Now I won’t risk it.
Everyone has their theories. Or maybe awarenesses.
As you’d expect, given what we put our bodies through.
I tell myself that leaves are shrivelling on lucerne
trees right where I’d be taking a photograph —
but this doesn’t mean ‘giving up the ghost’. I’ve
always found solace in clichés; they suggest
things will happen again or just keep on going.
Many mice are digging out front, judging
from the many holes that are appearing. I never
see them in action now. I could have maintained
the watch at twilight, hoping. And I am dysfunctional
at dawn and would see things that aren’t there
or unable to make up their minds. Wanting
to know more but already knowing too much.
Strange how many seeds can be unearthed
from bare, baked ground. It’s not an issue
of dormancy, but shape. Again, my arrogance.
Some are only husks brought to light —
you can see right through them, and so can I.
Flash photography is the ruse they see through.
Incredible how small they always are — a pixel. Or two.
The photographs I don’t take are full of them.
John Kinsella’s recent poetry books include Drowning in Wheat: Selected Poems (Picador, 2016), Insomnia (Picador, 2019) and Brimstone: A Book of Villanelles (Arc, 2020). Salt Publishing will bring out his poetry collection Pastoraclasm in 2023
I used to take so many but didn’t know till
after the fact. Oblivious. Now I won’t risk it.
Everyone has their theories. Or maybe awarenesses.
As you’d expect, given what we put our bodies through.
I tell myself that leaves are shrivelling on lucerne
trees right where I’d be taking a photograph —
but this doesn’t mean ‘giving up the ghost’. I’ve
always found solace in clichés; they suggest
things will happen again or just keep on going.
Many mice are digging out front, judging
from the many holes that are appearing. I never
see them in action now. I could have maintained
the watch at twilight, hoping. And I am dysfunctional
at dawn and would see things that aren’t there
or unable to make up their minds. Wanting
to know more but already knowing too much.
Strange how many seeds can be unearthed
from bare, baked ground. It’s not an issue
of dormancy, but shape. Again, my arrogance.
Some are only husks brought to light —
you can see right through them, and so can I.
Flash photography is the ruse they see through.
Incredible how small they always are — a pixel. Or two.
The photographs I don’t take are full of them.
John Kinsella’s recent poetry books include Drowning in Wheat: Selected Poems (Picador, 2016), Insomnia (Picador, 2019) and Brimstone: A Book of Villanelles (Arc, 2020). Salt Publishing will bring out his poetry collection Pastoraclasm in 2023
