Academic journal article Field

Fanfare for the Dinosaurs, or, the Trumpeter

Academic journal article Field

Fanfare for the Dinosaurs, or, the Trumpeter

Article excerpt

Agnes Martin, Untitled (Innocence)

As if I had done a thing to deserve it-this delight

-the afternoon air is

filled, not only with the usual clatter of mountain spring

-the paving trucks dragging

their stomachs along the newly-milled curb like seals heading up

the beach, the nickel hail flipping across the aluminum

porch's broad sun hat-but

with the blowing of a young trumpeter who, by afternoon,

has already worn right through

someone in the house and finds herself rehearsing in the yard.

Nothing is ejected from my walls-not railroad spikes, antlers

found prone, stone fragments printed

with fossilized ferns. For Agnes, innocence is six pale bars.

Even in the film, she is

herself canvassed in stripes. Perhaps a profession is a more

serious aesthetic commitment than I realized. Note:

in a coat resembling a

pile of rugs, the one woman in the English royal trumpet

corps. Some things are not worth it.

This trumpeter has no particular location to speak

of-not like the next-door Post-it entreating us to please

return the rake. She knows three

entire songs, including a fanfare. …

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