On The Illustrious Illustrator Arthur Rackham Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

as if he dipped his brush in mist

how else could he accomplish this rendering

of moonlight and shadows

on the page before you

fresh still from the unacknowledged realms

where he dwelled seemingly

two places or more

at the same time

entering by a door held upon by querulous elves

in a refinement unexcelled

who else

could bring such vagaries to watercoloured light

the wake of the wind and the Princess in flight

in a twilight seeming

more acute than dreaming

ghostlike but clear as the clearest stream

rendering the thing you yearned for

in earliest childhood, the visual language for it

recalling long forgotten years

in the very same colors

that have disappeared.

but there, on the fern breathed page

the imprint still remains.

mary angela douglas 6 september 2022; 23 february 2023