Richard Beale:  Thirty Years of Painting the Circle in the Square
 

 I don't understand a word,
 not one,
 until he starts talking about mandala.
 He is mispronouncing the South African president's name,
 I suppose,
 but don't mind
 because for a moment I am bright enough 
 to be in the gallery.
 Then I figure I must be wrong;
 surely I would have heard if Mandela painted 
 during his twenty-seven prison bound years.
 So I look at the pictures with the most intelligent expression 
 I can devise.
 I witness circles in squares on the canvas
 and guess that his talk about painting the circle in the square 
 isn't about that monument you have to drive around on Main Street,
 isn't about where he painted, but what.
 So I stop trying to understand the words 
 and simply feel what the pictures hum.
 
 Shadow upon shadow,
 mirrored treasures sought and found.
 A man seeing himself and joy in moonlit water,
 welcoming stars to join him.
 Flowers unfolding to four corners 
 hosted by a southwestern moon
 guiding its followers out of suffering.
 Midnight cat refusing dragonfly tea,
 trees casting for bird
 and sky,
 home to souls lonely and loved.
 
 Words on the tip 
 of a paintbrush
 filling empty spaces,
 telling spirit's journey.

Julie Damerell







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