of the painting, back to a story of how these boats arrived at that point on the sand from having delivered "the crying woman, hands wrapped with rags/ that smell of myrrh". In such a journey, the painting is now mythic, and the words explore immense ideas, enlivened by the narrative's touching on the absences echoing within each pitch of the brush.
from The Guardian: Poetry Workshop: Words on pictures
also The Guardian: Poetry Workshop: Words on pictures (part two)
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