The Black Pool #2
Dublin, an outsider looking in.
13th January 2016
Faustine Mary is a recent arrival to Dublin. She approached us last November asking to get involved. When we saw her sketches we thought it would be great to get her out there, drawing what she sees on the streets of Dublin, with fresh French eyes. We weren't disappointed. (See The Black Pool #1)
We asked her again for a few words on what she saw when she was out there drawing. She wrote us a poem. We like this girl.
Click here to go to the poem at the bottom of this page.
The Black Pool
Thousand of stupid crows
disperse their trembling surge
on the red bricks walls.
The immobile fog,
crystals and silver,
fucking freezing in an icy blast
Sleepy faces and tense grey hands.
Watching the nude trees,
I can guess the dry sound of their twisted branches.
Dublin is slowly waking up,
Yawning in the smoke,
Snaking in and out,
Vanishing in yellow buses.
The memory of the sun subsists somewhere,
In a murmured word,
In a brief sparkle on a blind window.
Wrinkles and oblique looks,
The old man of the bridge
Keeps on jabber about his lost life.
He observes around him the endless swinging
of fleshy thighs revolved by too-short skirts.
I saw the wind crumpling the Liffey;
Early workers dropping cigarettes in puddles;
Breathless teens, scarlet cheeks and hooked braces;
Dust on the old picture of Meath Street.
At night, the river twinkles in blue and pink.
The labyrinth of streets takes away the flood of passerby.
Saint Paul's dome and its escort of scaffoldings
Cut out the sky in weird silhouettes.
At the last hour, the black pool stands still.