The next poem does come out of art, in a way; it came from the introduction by Richard Gombrich to a book about the history of shadows, of cast shadows, in painting. But I was interested in the idea of shadow as a guide to you when you don’t know what is happening to yourself.
Indian Princess Picks Lover out from Gods
Thank God we cast
A spot of shadow in our lives,
Said the Mahabharata bride,
Facing five versions of her groom -
Your man himself plus four male gods,
Four dead-spit images, self-xeroxed in his shape -
Who recognised that heartbeat,
The man she’d have to part with
By the shadow at his heel. Gods don’t go round
Casting shadow. Things we do and feel
(As a leader in The Independent
Put it afterwards) are incomplete,
Imperfect, therefore real.
