Poke in the Eye

Schutz show coming to a close.

Heard poet Paul Guest give a reading amongst all those drawings.

Schutz, "Untitled," 2005, Gouache and Ink on Paper, 14"x20"

His poems start with a particular question or thought. If you could interview Godzilla what would you ask?

Schutz, "How We Would Talk," 2007, Ink on Paper, 22"x23"

A drawing by Schutz starts with a question too.

Schutz, "Swim, Smoke, Cry," Detail, 2010, Gouache and Ink on Paper, 38"x50"

How do you depict someone swimming, crying, and smoking?

Schutz, "Untitled," 2008, Ink on Paper, 19"x25"

NOTES FOR MY BODY DOUBLE

by Paul Guest

The plot hole by which you must enter in

to the story is a doozy, a real humdinger,

if you will, and it is all made of fire,

the way the stars are made of fire,

though we dream them to be utterly cold

and prickly with a sad light. Nothing

ever stops in my world to hear me

singing to you. I have always loved you,

sweet twin, beloved doppelgänger,

alien lump of word in my mouth,

language I spent three years learning

only to forget when it grew too hard

the phrases that meant something:

Dear, I am your long lost butter cookie;

and, I am sorry, it was accidental,

but I have dipped the poodle in laudanum.

Let us do away with digression

for the night, though to me

it has always seemed the heart’s core,

and think on our motivation

for the lines to follow:

the suddenness of our sorrow is shocking

and the day is hollowed out

and here at this moment,

this crucial hinge of the breaking heart,

I think of the day years ago

when I was a boy and came upon my uncle,

a fish’s tail clamped in his teeth,

tearing the skin from the fish with such force

I could hear it —

and I felt so strange and empty

I have never spoken of it

to anyone, or let myself on a day

whole with sun think of it.

What he was doing, and why,

I never asked; there is never

an answer large enough for a world

so huge with meanness.

And I was pulled from myself

but couldn’t feel a thing,

and this is your motivation,

mirrored self, speaking back

the words I make wrongly,

lifting the heavy, crude lot of anything

I can’t. You must know me

exactly, apart from yourself,

to give back to the world what I can’t.

You must know the angles

of light so well the shadows

will accept you like a brother.

You must not choke back my breath

when the ashes on the wind

blind even the birds in the trees.

Schutz, "Poke," Detail, 2010, Ink on Paper, 20"x18"