I am not sure how much this is a poem about a tattoo artist, or about a loss of innocence (or BOTH) - but I love it! Thom Gunn, who died in 2004, was one of America's most original, unique and powerful poetic voices, and this is him at his freshest and best. It was included in his very first anthology, published in 1962. If you want to find out more about Gunn, click HERE; to read his obituary, click HERE. In the meantime, this is the poem...
Blackie, the Electric Rembrandt
We watch through the shop-front while
Blackie draws stars - an equal
concentration on his and
the youngster's faces. The hand
is steady and accurate;
but the boy does not see it
for his eyes follow the point
that touches (quick, dark movement!)
a virginal arm beneath
his rolled sleeve: he holds his breath.
...Now that it is finished, he
hands a few bills to Blackie
and leaves with a bandage on
his arm, under which gleam ten
stars, hanging in a blue thick
cluster. Now he is starlike.
by Thom Gunn (1962)
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