Thursday, August 15, 2013

Woman in A Poppy Field

(Camille’s private thoughts regarding Monet.)

 How quick you are to acquaint me

with poppies and the sun

slanting its rays through the poplar trees.

The light burns hypnotic

in your eye. The moment is your mistress

bright and unpredictable. I ‘m the fixed detail

of an oil on canvas; absorbed well by its linen breadth

and your greed for perfection.


Will you ever understand a woman

is more than the loom work

of her parasol and gown?

Even they are borrowed for this scene.

You cannot afford the fine clothing, only

bowls , bottles and brushes

for  your painting, a bridal trousseau for art.

I am jealous, so I cry

corseted in silk and silence.

If only your hand would pursue

the  pain glistening  on my face,

then you might grasp the intangible.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Claude Monet once said regarding his obsession with capturing the light, “I’m sure I’m chasing the merest sliver of color. It’s my own fault, I want to grasp the intangible.”


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