Tuesday, February 4, 2025

Paul’s Tattoo

Paul’s Tattoo
By Mark Doty 

The flesh dreams toward permanence,

and so this red carp noses from the inked dusk
of a young man’s forearm as he tilts

the droning burren of his trade toward
the blank page of my dear one’s bicep

—a scene framed, from where I watch,
in an arched mirror, a niche of mercuried glass

the shape of those prosceniums in which still lifes
reside, in cool museum rooms: tulips and medlars,

oysters and snails and flies on permanently
perishing fruit: vanitas. All is vanitas,

for these two arms—one figured, one just beginning
to be traced with the outline of a heart—

are surrounded by a cabinet of curiosities,
the tattooist’s reflected shelves of skulls

—horses, pigs?—and photos of lobes and nipples
shocked into style. Trappings of evil

unlikely to convince: the shop’s called 666,
a casket and a pitbull occupy the vestibule,

but the coffin’s pink and the hell-hound licked
our faces clean as the latex this bearded boy donned

to prick the veil my lover’s skin presents
—rent, now, with a slightly comic heart

warmly ironic, lightly shaded, and crowned
as if to mean feeling’s queen or king of any day,

certainly this one, a quarter-hour suddenly galvanized
by a rippling electric trace firing adrenalin

and an odd sense of limit defied.
Not overcome, exactly; this artist’s

filled his shop with evidence of that.
To what else do these clean,

Dutch-white bones testify? But resistant,
still, skin grown less subject to change,

ruled by what is drawn there:
a freshly shadowed corazon now heron-dark,

and ringed by blue exultant bits of flame
—yods, the Tarot calls them, fire-tongues

of intensity, as if the self contained too much
to be held, and flung out droplets

of sweat or flame, the dear proud flesh
—stingingly warm—a steadier hand

has raised into art, or a wound, or both.
The work’s done, our design complete.

A bandage, to absorb whatever pigment
the newly writ might weep,

a hundred guilders, a handshake, back out
onto the street. Now all his life

he wears his heart beneath his sleeve.


About the Poem


Mark Doty’s poem Paul’s Tattoo explores themes of memory, loss, and the lasting imprint of love and experience. The poem describes a tattoo on Paul’s arm—an image of a green-blue fish, likely a koi or something similarly symbolic. This tattoo serves as both a personal emblem and a broader metaphor for resilience, beauty, and the way past experiences stay with us.

Doty often writes about queer identity, mortality, and the AIDS crisis, and Paul’s Tattoo fits within these larger themes. The tattoo, permanent and vibrant, contrasts with the fragility of life. It suggests a desire for something lasting amid impermanence, perhaps hinting at Paul’s own struggles or the inevitability of loss. The poem’s language is lush and evocative, characteristic of Doty’s style, and it uses imagery of water and movement to reinforce ideas of transformation and survival.

Ultimately, Paul’s Tattoo is a meditation on how people carry their histories—both physically and emotionally. The tattoo becomes a marker of identity, love, and remembrance, much like poetry itself.


About the Poet

Mark Doty is an American poet and memoirist known for his luminous, deeply personal writing that explores themes of beauty, loss, memory, and queer identity. Born in 1953, he has published numerous acclaimed poetry collections, including My Alexandria (1993), Atlantis (1995), and Fire to Fire: New and Selected Poems (2008), which won the National Book Award. His work is often associated with elegy and reflection, particularly in response to the AIDS crisis, as seen in his moving poems about love and grief.

Doty is also a celebrated memoirist, with works like Heaven’s Coast (1996) and Dog Years (2007), in which he blends poetic language with deeply felt personal narratives. His writing is known for its lush imagery and precise attention to the physical world, often drawing on art, nature, and urban life.

A highly respected literary figure, Doty has received many awards, including the T.S. Eliot Prize, making him the first American to win the honor. He has also taught at various universities and is still an influential voice in contemporary poetry.

1 comment:

uvdp said...

If the mirror is mercury, it must be old: banned since 1835 in France. I prefer the reflections of old mirrors, I can't say why.