Meditation on Art and Artists. Rainer Fetting

By Craig Martin Getz

If I were color blind, truly blind to color,

I would just see the cock, the heavy outline black,

the balls’ forest razored curve

coming out of chiaroscuro.

If I were color blind, there would only be a burning,

a melting of wax, my straw hat’s dripping brim

haloing my naked body and the wind

warm in the subway tunnel.

There would only be a punk rock concert of sorts,

a bunch of colorless gashes and broken lines,

shouted blunt notes

in a supposed clash of harmony.

There would be a mere wash of canvas smearing

a meaningless flat background and random spray

instead of these foaming turbulent waves

crashing at a surfer’s gaze.

I would leave my own palette full of hardening blobs

if beneath the surface there

were no oil.

I would only see the fact that we no longer fuck

if I were color blind. An archer the other day pulled

back his bow and I opened my mouth to Haley’s Comet,

the one that comes once in a blue moon.

He and I would’ve been just two scary dogs

raising their haunches to a gym toilet,

had his golden towel not fallen to Earth.

There would’ve been a mere shower of nebular particles

in the wake of the earthly celestial body fading

its pinkish grandeur.

If I were color blind, maybe life would be easier

and all this art

the texture of a night forest.


Craig Martin Getz BA Humanities from Cal State University, Northridge & Universidad Compultense, Madrid; has been living in Barcelona since 1989. English teacher. Ex-Governing Body member to the European Youth Parliament in Berlin. Photographer; several solo exhibitions in Spain. Work on FLICKR. His poetry has appeared in DIAGRAM, Mastodon Dentist, Blue Earth Review, Barcelona INK, Emerge Literary Journal, Subliminal Interiors, The Gorilla Press, Agave Magazine, Wilde Magazine, and Northwind Magazine