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Repeter Depuis le Debut

Répéter Depuis le Début 
The Pink Studio, by Henri Matisse, 1911.

Perception fuses like melted rose quartz,
fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes
like the naiveté of childhood returned to age. 
Melted images rose in two dimensions,
rose in repetition, mothering the pieces.  
Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence, 

fuses on the lens of Matisse’s puzzled eyes 
on naysayers & followers, his morphosis reigns.
The stimulus silent, light’s effect returned, burned
lens now open to the madness of pattern, pieces
of left brain obliterated; right reinforced; art,
Matisse’s obsession oozed from his pores
puzzled synapses explored and explored,
eyes dry as a bone, from sleepless nights, sigh. 

Like the naiveté of childhood returned to age,
the Madonna appears, or the muse Aphrodite reborn, 
naiveté sexless tasted clean, pure, purged in white.
Of the patterns outside, he’d reproduce those within
childhood wide-eyed he approached & there he
returned again & again paying homage to the core,
to reiterate images in pieces of two dimensions
age left the left brain obliterated – reinforced the right.

Melted images rose in two dimensions.
Images, giving meaning to negative space,
rose ground beneath the pestle of repetition
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
two halves male-female, left-right, up-down 
dimensions all an idiocracy depicted his fright,

rose in repetition, mothering pieces, 
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys
repetition reiterated, quartz ground beneath the pestle
mothering the pieces of two dimensions,
pieces of puzzle, conjoining parts, triangularly staged.

Quartz, genteel rosé, shown in transcendence. 
Genteel, childlike, Matisse adored illumination, art
rose with repetition, a mothering the of pieces, 
shown in the dance, in stance, in transfigured delight,
in loops, sockets, knobs, holes, tabs, slots & keys,
transcendence an illusion, of optics, of light.

First Published in Ekphrastic: writing and art on art and writing 2016

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2016


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  1. Date: 7/22/2016 9:27:00 PM

    Have you ever heard the song about Vincent Van Gogh by Don McLean? Your poem reminded me of it. I don's remember much of the French I took in high school. Have not been to the Museum of Modern Art in quite a while. Picked up some postcards at the Metropolitan Museum of Art with images of Renoir on them. Peace & Love Matthew Anish
  1. Date: 7/22/2016 12:10:00 AM

    Exquisitely written, Debbie. I love the third stanza in particular. Beautiful. T.J
  1. Date: 7/20/2016 8:40:00 PM

    Debbie, if you hold down your 'Alt' key and press 0151 on your numeric keypad (not the numbers across the top of the keyboard) you should get an em dash. Hope that helps. If not, here's some spare em dashes — — — . ps- they don't appear until after you release the Alt key after typing 0151. Viv x
  1. Date: 7/19/2016 11:40:00 PM

    So much to see, Debbie. Like the way 'rose' works , as a verb and the French for pink. Intentional? Also, any particular reason for using ampersands in places? Terrific piece. Viv x