In front of me sit two photographers,
swapping thoughts on a gallery of shots;
contemporary, digital philosophers
sharing the joy of pixilated dots.
They scroll through images and often pause
to seek critique from a like-minded peer;
they relive the moment, wonder its cause;
they reflect upon a setting and think it queer
that light through a shutter would strike a pose;
shift attention to itself and so steal
the focus of the frame – and so it goes,
who knows the prism – as would light reveal
. I watch from a distance – stealing quotes.
. Adjust my frame of reference – taking notes.

© Tim Grace, 8 July 2012

To the reader: I sat alone, absorbing my surroundings; translating what I saw into comprehensible passages of ink… taking notographs. Behind me, two men shared a table and their photographic enthusiasm. Their expert mastery was evident, but so too was the thrill of light’s incidental intrusion. The mischievous play of light is hard to replicate in poetry. Can you over or under expose a word … is that the role of an adjective?

To the poet: Snapshots capture incidental moments; it’s difficult to elevate interest above a casual glance. An environmental scan doesn’t always return a topic of literary note. Occasionally, the mundane is given gloss; just enough to raise an eyebrow or prick an ear. The jotted-poem, like the snapshot and the pencilled-sketch, has to reflect its momentary inspiration with readiness and brevity; stretch the point and you’ve lost the plot… easy does it.



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