Still Life With Brushes

Developed a poem to go with a painting of mine

 

Still Life With Brushes

 

Bright brushes rest against an edge,

alive in grind-free coffee cans.

They guard against their gaunt-eyed artists,

ceding slumber like Lenten luxury.

 

Well beyond your viewer’s sight

before all foreground, left or right,

speckled hands and jeans and shirt

proclaim the painter in the night.

 

You see a head, an artist’s prop,

vacant eyed and shadowed neck,

etched hair waves across the top

and not the drama in the lights

unless with color brilliant, vibrant

he wakes you from bland reverie

and squeezes like a tube of paint,

until you’re feeling frail and faint.

 

Speckled hands and jeans and shirt

proclaim the painter in the night.

well beyond your viewer’s sight

beyond the foreground, left or right

 

Chiaroscuro sings the rose

black shadowed in the backlit light;

ceramic glaze of ripest peach

sparkles shine on rounded urn

to challenge bold magenta cloth

whose folds protest in violet hues

while happy tubes of paint await

the canvas’ immortal fate.

 

For well beyond your viewer’s sight

past backgrounds that stare black as night

his paint-specked hands and jeans and shirt

proclaim the painter of the light.

 

Reviews

[Gandré]

Your poem is an beautiful example of an impressionistic poem. The moment is captured more than the accurate depiction achieved.

"They guard against their gaunt-eyed artists,
ceding slumber like Lenten luxury."

It is a clarity of the theme in the picture, subordinated to harmonic effects.

"Chiaroscuro sings the rose
black shadowed in the backlit light; "


You used in the poem the whole-tone-scale of the visual impression of this painting, which you posted with your poem.
sparkles shine on rounded urn
to challenge bold magenta cloth
whose folds protest in violet hues
while happy tubes of paint await
the canvas� immortal fate. " =====>>>>>>>>>>>this is, what I call ....the absolute beauty.

What a flirt your poem is!

[C. Harter Amos]

I love your 'painter of the night' with 'happy tubes of paint'. Thought the poem itself was well back-lit and three-dimensional. I'm convinced the painting muse is a night stalker - never have known a gifted artist who didn't have more creative juice flowing late into the night. Thank you for another poem easy on the ears with pleasant mental images. I'm not familiar with the piece of music, but it complemented the poem and picture. - Mimi.

[R George]

"vibrant/ he wakes you from bland reverie/and squeezes like a tube of paint,/
until you�re feeling frail and faint."

Bland reverie. Brilliant. A painting within a painting. Art within art. Sorry it took me so long to get to this one. It was worth the wait though. One of my favorites of yours for certain. Keep writing more for me to be awe inspired by. I wish I could write poetry well. You make me think I never will. You are that wonderful

[Barry S. Maltese]

Wonderful piece! Lines like, "while happy tubes of paint await - the canvas? immortal fate." Give great highlight to to picture that you paint with your words. A picture as vivd as the artist in your poem. Great job

[Ron Cole]

Remarkable! This appears to be a difficult muse to write poetry on, and you have pulled it off "smashingly"! Excellent work, David!

[Cari Lynn Vaughn]

Beautiful. You paint a picture with your words. It feels like a very spiritual piece as well, something subtle and sublime going on within the context or process of creating. Well done.

[Kara Emily Krantz]

the line about sqeezing like a tube of paint was such a great image... well done :)

'speckled hands and jeans and shirt
proclaim the painter in the night. "

i loved that the first time i read it, and was really happy at the way you repeated it throughout. well done :)

hugs

[Amy Widmer]

Love the painting, by the way. This poem reads like it should in a coffee house or in one of my modern poetry books. Love your stuff!

[Kevin Connolly]

Well beyond your viewer�s sight
before all foreground, left or right,
speckled hands and jeans and shirt
proclaim the painter in the night.

Tyger, tyger burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
(Or words to that effect.)

That's how good your poem is, David, it reminds me of Blake's classic. Although yours is about art, and very artistic it is too.

(And that swirling bestaudiocodes image makes me think: "There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man.")

Great poem and a great picture (very Van Goghian).

[J.P. Bristow]

David!!!!!
"Bright brushes rest against an edge,
alive in grind-free coffee cans.
They guard against their gaunt-eyed artists,
ceding slumber like Lenten luxury."
.............This is ripe with flavor-....I love the play on words Lenten Luxury what..a sly devil you are......catholic?....-->because that would be even more amusing. then to top it all off you knocked my socks off with

"Chiaroscuro sings the rose ......................------------------>
black shadowed in the backlit light;
ceramic glaze of ripest peach
sparkles shine on rounded urn
to challenge bold magenta cloth" .........oh such an interplay.....of shadows, light, colour, ....the contrast in angles too.....but sensually dark..........almost had to look over my shoulder for a chill crept up my spine feeling like I was being stalked....lol lol..well I have babbled long enough.....gist is I really liked it. lol lol

[Antony]

David, I believe your talking about more then this piece of art. I'm positive this poem carries a whole different message. I think the third and fifth stanzas hold the real meaning behind this poem. I may be wrong but your great use of words leads me to this thought.
Tony