I lie with my love while she sleeps,
Her book of poems discarded.
Even though I do not sleep, I dream.
I dream of another life for me,
Where I can paint all day.
I dream of escaping this city,
With its rows and rows of identical houses,
All crammed in, oppressive and menacing.
They suffocate me while I sleep,
So I stay awake and daydream.
In my daydreams I see myself in
the country.
A cockerel crows to wake me
up And I rise immediately,
Energised by a plan that I made the night before.
Yesterday my wife picked a huge bouquet of
Wild flowers from the meadow
And arranged them beautifully in a glass vase.
Their blooms filled the house with a sweet aroma
And transformed every corner of our humble cottage
Into a place of tranquillity.
I knew then that I had to paint them,
But the light was already fading,
So I resolved to do so in the morning.
I do not stop to use the washstand or change my clothes.
I do not take a drink or prepare breakfast.
I simply rise and begin.
I push the paint out of its metal tube and savour the sight
And sounds of it escaping its confines.
It oozes out in a thick curly
worm, onto my palette.
I inhale the smell of the
oils
And a million memories dance in my mind.
Sitting at the knee of my
grandfather As he mixed his paints on this very palette.
My first tentative attempts to put paint to canvas,
With his hand next to mine,
Poised to assist.
This poem was inspired by ‘Couple on a red background’
by Marc Chagall (1983)
http://www.abcgallery.com/C/chagall/chagall106.html
I love this. I like the way that using a piece of art to inspire writing opens up new ideas and helps to break away from the confines of our own experience.
ReplyDeleteI love this too! It is not obscure, yet benefits from more than one reading (and a view of the painting). It reminds me how the important relationships in our lives inspire any artistic endeavor, including creative writing.
ReplyDeleteI think this is enchanting. It contains some lovely phrases and has a timeless quality about it. It's perfume lingers long after it has left the room.
ReplyDeleteIt is so interesting. I read your prose poem first and had such a wonderful image painted in my mind, and then saw the painting, and it wasn't the same image, but I could see how the two completely related. I wonder what was in the artist's mind. Writing in this way is like a multiplex of creativity, breeding more and more different inspiration - such a good idea, and beautifully written.
ReplyDelete