Fire

Fire starts its own fire from down up

Was like this from the start, still never still

Partying small time in boyhood’s wide sky

Crackling fallen leaves boiling the billycan.

Charging trees is a matter of minutes

Flesh unprepared for these raw surrounds

Awful majesty that mayst obscure the sun

Its shadows permanent remains, seasons.

Loss inscribes its final exercise

The practical givens of eating and breathing

As columns of smoke by day drift seawards,

As downunder the humus sun desiccated

Gathers further dust flicker, another day

Surviving its own burn down, far from words.

This is a detail from Keith Haring's last painting, on exhibition at the NGV. Having immersed myself in Basquiat and Haring for some time it was moving to be confronted with this work near the exit which, like most of Haring's paintings in the show, is Untitled. He made the painting, using his trademark lines, as he was dying of AIDS. On a large gold background are outlines of an upreaching human figure in green, various kinds of red squiggle, and purple dot-dashes that obey the force of gravity. Some time was spent pondering this wonderful painting, produced in extremis.