In this new poem, Lesley Burt explores the work of Van Gogh, discovering in it the possibility of a world ‘unclaimed by names’.

Advertisements

‘At the end of each song he lays the saxophone on his lap, leans over and spits into a tin bucket. The floorboards under his chair are worn from years of heels tapping syncopated rhythms. His toe breaks through the sole of the boot, yet the shine remains jet black and sharp…’