Rothko's Chapel Poem by Richard Cole

Rothko's Chapel



At first you see nothing,
eyes adapting to the low light,
sky light from above,
and then, out of the dark
plum, deep russet
and oxblood so nearly black
it’s more than black,
emerges a slow radiance,
a generosity
of auras and barriers
becoming thresholds,
maps and open windows
opening the night,
art nailed
to fourteen panels,
each station one less
terminal, each terminal
our next arrival.

Staring at God, these paintings,
if that’s what they really are,
become incarnate, beyond insight,
definition, settled faith
and the powers of illumination,
and you see the truth. This dark
and ascending sacrifice, this patience, this mortal
beauty will save the world.

Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: art
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Douglas Scotney 13 May 2014

but are WE within its sights, RC?

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