I visited the current William Kentridge installation, showing at the IZIKO National Art Gallery in town on a bright summer's day.
Perhaps it was the at first intimidatingly loud music, the rattling of the machine, or the quietness of the rest of the other exhibits, but when I came home I penned this poem.
Oh, William
investigating the dimly-lit room
of screaming speakers, screens
and a moving machine,
you walked around the room
feeling its sights and sounds
the galloping monster stood
in the middle of the room,
rumbling, restlessly puffing.
transfixed on your movements,
I watched as you gently deciphered
William Kentridge like a morse code.
you're always look to ideas,
whether murmuring or thundering,
yet, also, to my whispering mouth
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