TO MY MEMORY - COME BACK ALL IS FORGIVEN.

                                                                            XIX
I don't mind getting older
But what I most regret
Is the difficulty I have in remembering
And the ease with which I forget.

I once had a wonderful memory,
Could remember where we'd been
What we'd done, who we'd met
And all that we had seen.

Now I go upstairs to fetch something
Then stand in the middle of the floor
Because I cannot remember
What I've come up for.

And if I am talking about
A person - or a place,
The name I need suddenly
Disappears in space.

Sometimes I work around the name
Hoping my listener won't realise
That all this elegant eloquence
Is but a cunning disguise.

I go through the alphabet
To find the word's first letter
Or pounce upon it suddenly -
That doesn't work any better.

It hovers on the outskirts of my mind
J-u-s-t out of reach.
Impervious to curses, cajolery
Or the techniques that memory experts teach.

If I ignore the elusive word
I very often find
That at some unexpected moment
It pops back into my mind.

I meant to end this poem
On a profound and helpful tack,
But the final verse has fled my mind
And refuses to come back.......

August 1997

PICASSO'S PRACTICAL JOKE

                                                                              XVIII

Picasso was a very good artist
When he was in his prime,
But found that proper painting
Took up too much time.

So he discarded accuracy
And found to his surprise
That it really didn't matter
Where he put his model's eyes.
.   .   .   .   .   (He invented bio-morphic rearrangement
.   .   .   .   .     of human parts)
                                                                                                                                                            
Then he cut back on detail
And limited his colours as well,
But the simpler that his art became
The better it did sell.
-   .   .   .   .    (He was an expert in schematic expression.)                

Now Picasso was no fool,
He acted with restraint
He didn't flood the market -
It saved him money on paint.

He left his easel in a corner
And whenever he'd nothing to do
He'd pick up his brush or palette knife
And add a squiggle or two.
.   .   .   .   .(His plastic inventions also extended to sculpture)

Only the title tells you are
If you are meant to see
A model  -  scenery or a still life
There are so many things that it could be.
.   .   .   .   .(Picasso destroyed the philosophy that representation
.   .   .   .   .is a pre-condition of picture making.)

The experts took Picasso seriously
They didn't know his pictures were a prank
While Pablo laughed uproariously
All the way to his bank.
.   .   .   .   . (They called him an avant garde innovator
.   .   .   .   .  and extrovert proselytizer)

I'm sure all this is libellous,
Scurrilous and possibly untrue
But this is still a free country
And I'm entitled to my view.

1991