[on the installations of Ilya and Emilia Kabakov] REPOSTED ON THE PASSING OF ILYA KABAKOV, MAY 27, 2023
Kabakovian wonders filled my eyes
like the varnish on a history I could not recall
confetti marches round the
kitchen table
with forgotten spoons upraised
a secret roof-blown catapult to
Space
a cloud with hardly any
borders
the paintings of a milder climate
set up against old walls to dry
someone singing off in the distance
the mystical simple means to save
a friend far-gone:
you will succeed at magic, if you try
just
concentrate...
it's up to you
Cezanne like interruptions of
the Party line
someone saved everything for
everything
not everyone can live like this
managing sudden snowfalls in
the corridors
finding the hidden gardens in
white walls whispering dreams
to the baseboards painted
only brown or green-
the parapets are leaning
though I don't know when
the rooftop studio will
telescope again
into far clouds and the spiral
staircase between star
and star will seem to hold no one
at all
angels off in the distance somewhere
are lining up for this new exhibition
passing me by
near the velvet ropes they sigh
crumpled up like paper roses I know
you won't forget the brittle bright accounts of
your mama
toast and tea in a broom closet off to the side
while the angels gather light and wait for you
the last one out
to close the door
mary angela douglas 4 december 2009
