WILLIAM DORESKI

THE LAST MANIFESTO OF THE YEAR

Another bombastic afternoon,
the wind muttering in shrubs,
watercolorists leaning easels
against tame and friendly trees.
This is the weekend of art when
studios open like ancient tombs
and tourists rave along back roads
to discover an unknown genius.
We walk to the nearest atelier
where ceramics squat on shelving
erected just for this occasion.
Curious folk mob the potter.
She waves a pale and feeble wave
while her black lab sports and grins.
The day bulks against the mountains.
The wind won’t fade until dusk.
The watercolorists pack up
and leave spoor of many colors
in the fallen leaves in the park.
We’ve learned that art isn’t art
unless someone suffers for it—
artist, bystander, or curator.
Someone must testify that paint
on canvas or notes on a staff,
a pot in a kiln, a wool tapestry
speaks for a dark that underlies
even the boldest autumn day.
the wind crumpling the leaf-fall
as if it bore the words of gods.

William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Cloud Mountain (2024). He has published three critical studies, including Robert Lowell’s Shifting Colors. His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in various journals.