Kate Ennals is currently doing the MA in Writing in NUI Galway. She has lived in Ireland (Dublin, Cavan, Galway) for the last 20 years, and worked as a co-ordinator and manager in various anti poverty and community sector programmes.
She has managed a variety of communication networks and enjoys working with local people.
Kate writes poetry and short stories in her spare time.
We inch along in a crowded crawl
Craning necks inspect pictures on walls
A thick wavering line with no artist’s perspective
dissolving itself in divided directions
Copious eyes, heads, and arms: a tangled impression
Of the paintings themselves hanging in Tate Britain.
The slow moving cohort of profiled faces
collectively struggle to embrace the senses
To absorb the abstract, make sense of the marks
Understand the title by reconfiguring the art.
A humane tide in a gallery’s ocean
Composing together a Picasso in motion.
In The Hands of White Men
You can feel it in process,
embedded in tracts,
in the bricks and mortar ,
In the stacks of paper,
In the suits and shoes
That tap out the tune
of the big white men who
Behind soft slow smiles,
moulding and shaping ,
working the facts the way that they are,
have always been.
Gripping and strangulating
Ideas and dreams.
Tall, or fat, skinny, long nosed
The keepers of custom
maintain the status quo
with bureaucratic tools
That inveigle and anoint
Divide and rule,
pick and point
According to scales,
according to whim
According to him.
The regulations they impose
To frame the world
To give them control
The hands of big white men
Embrace us all.