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| Henri-Edmond Cross Pines along the Shore 1896 oil on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Edgar Degas Dancers in Rose ca. 1900 pastel on paper Museum of Fine Arts, Boston |
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| Édouard Vuillard Luncheon 1901 oil on cardboard Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Édouard Vuillard Garden at Vaucresson 1920 distemper on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Édouard Vuillard The Small Drawing Room - Mme. Hessel at her Sewing Table 1917 oil and tempera on paper, mounted on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
rotten oasis
Treachery abounds, look
inwards! Your bird jangles its small
swing. You're getting sleepy, very
sleepy. In a vulnerable tyranny.
Leave for now the marksmen to
their desolations, they ruin everyday
life. & luck can't do anything
about the undying devotion of
the undead, putting their backs
to the bus shelter while
crumbs still stick to the dishes.
I guess someone is a king of France & apart
from whom nobody is a king of France. Same
rockstar, different poem. I like icons
& the toxic halos of figureheads, I like
to beat people up & rehash among the swan.
I was born in captivity, having
fucked the right people, thick
in the France of it. The uniform you
design may still be stripped & not in
some pleasant mannerism. I guess treachery
abounds & scruple keys the addresses
out of their shining wrappers. I guess gin
relieves the need for whiskey, I guess I
can think as well as talk. Come to
think of it, I spoke to your exo-
skeleton. It had been
sacked for cribbing a back salary
from your stunt double. I watched
you chewing & the human body
is a great mystery. Sun, look out for yourself.
Embody your own adaptation.
You've got no corner on fire
& marauders upbraid those
vehicles invisible to them.
Nobody is a king of France, licked
all over like a stamp, my every garbage at
the actual border,
making it, making it over, taking up the slack.
The bottle broke in your bag & you're
getting flammable, very flammable. Luck
knows nothing, peels down
like a stocking & I
thought, why wait any longer,
& found myself caught in
the breast of the beast
as it staggered to carry
my up the stairs. His clothes are
dirty, but his hands are a sumptuous pyre.
What's so perfect about a stranger,
the greasy smoke of being
swallowed up or disappearing.
I can't carry the remainder.
– Judith Goldman, from Vocoder (Roof Books, 2001)
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| Paul Signac Evening Calm, Concarneau, Opus 220 (Allegro Maestoso) 1891 oil on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Albert Besnard Horses 1894 oil on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Maurice Denis Springtime ca. 1894-99 oil on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Paul Gauguin Farm in Brittany ca. 1894 oil on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Pierre Bonnard The Seine at Vernon ca. 1925 oil on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Henri Le Sidaner Statues - the Garden at Versailles 1900 pastel on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Jules-Edmond-Charles Lachaise and Eugène-Pierre Gourdet Garden Pavilion in Forested Landscape before 1889 oil on canvas, mounted on blue paper Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Pierre Puvis de Chavannes Cider ca. 1864 oil on paper, mounted on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |
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| Pierre Puvis de Chavannes The River ca. 1864 oil on paper, mounted on canvas Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York |