Think of a painting. Any painting. If the painting could come right out and speak to you, what would it say? Write an entire dialogue between you and the painting.
I chose to write a conversation between myself and this painting
I saw a painting in a
museum once
Picasso’s “Old
Guitarist.”
Inside was a man in blue
Head bowed,
Clothes torn,
And bony fingers
poised
On silent guitar strings.
“What’s wrong?” I
asked.
He didn’t move.
“What’s the matter
with you?”
He blinked.
“Are you sad?”
Slowly, very slowly
He raised his sunken,
lifeless eyes.
His skeleton hand
fell limply across guitar strings,
VWONGGGG!
The eerie chord penetrated
the painted canvas.
I covered my ears.
His thin lips twisted
in a sickly grin.
“What do you
want?” I asked.
“To die.” He said
I could tell he had
once been a handsome man
Proud and tall,
With high cheek bones
and a thick head of
hair
Now he was bent.
Now he old.
Now he was
Balding,
And broken,
And sad.
“Is there anything I
can do?” I asked.
Avoiding my eyes
He plucked the guitar
strings
One by one.
“Nothing” He said.
And cradling his
guitar,
turned to face the
wall.
I reached to put my
hand on his shoulder,
But found only smooth
paint
On rough canvas.
Powerless,
I turned away
From the sad, broken
man
And moved to the next
painting.
I'm dying to hear what other paintings inspire people to write. If you like this prompt and decide to write on it, please share! I'd love to see what other people come up with!
Also I could really use some title ideas for this poem. I can't seem to find one that fits.
Also I could really use some title ideas for this poem. I can't seem to find one that fits.
I'm, like, giddily excited to share this with you. I wrote it a year or two ago, but your poem reminded me that I did! :)
ReplyDeleteLouvre
I found myself within a pressing crowd:
Flashbulbs bursting,
chatter constant like the sea
as we bobbed about her,
our cameras held like periscopes
above our unseeing eyes
The painting was no bigger than a page,
a muffled smile
behind a buffer of roped barricades
and layers of thick glass
Having got the shot
I turned around;
just opposite the tiny woman was
a painting the size of the wall:
a feast, with dogs and drinking,
and pillars as high as the room;
Christ in the middle,
silent among the crowd
The clamoring behind—
what was it for?
Some seated woman,
an armless goddess,
or perhaps a dying slave?
They may look at the standards
and see something worth talking about;
but awe only settles
when the work itself
inspires silence.
Hilary this is beautiful! Is "the passover" the other painting you are referring to in this piece? I didn't realize it was in the same room as the Mona Lisa. Thank you so much for sharing this with me. I've always wondered what it would be like to see the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, and you have described it so well. I can just visualize the crowds, and cameras, and "unseeing eyes." I loved it.
DeleteWhat a cool idea and what a beautiful, moving poem you wrote, Heather! Amazing!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Susanna!
Delete