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Best Famous Gauguin Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Gauguin poems. This is a select list of the best famous Gauguin poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Gauguin poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of gauguin poems.

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Written by Barry Tebb | Create an image from this poem

A Hope For Poetry: Remembering The Sixties

 There was a hope for poetry in the sixties

And for education and society, teachers free

To do as they wanted: I could and did teach

Poetry and art all day and little else -

That was my way.



I threw rainbows against the classroom walls,

Gold and silver dragons in the corridors and

Halls; the children’s eyes were full of stars;

I taught the alphabet in Greek and spoke of

Peace and war in Vietnam, of birth and sex and

Death and immortality - the essences of lyric poetry;

Richards and Ogden on ‘The Meaning of Meaning’,

Schopenhauer on sadness, Nietzsche and Lawrence on

Civilisation and Plato on the Theory of Forms;

I read aloud ‘The Rainbow’ and the children drew

The waterfall with Gudrun bathing, I showed

Them Gauguin and Fra Angelico in gold and a film

On painting from life, and the nude girls

Bothered no-one.



It was the Sixties -

Art was life and life was art and in the

Staff-room we talked of poetry and politics

And passionately I argued with John. a clinical

Psychologist, on Freud and Jung; Anne, at forty

One, wanted to be sterilised and amazingly asked

My advice but that was how it was then: Dianne

Went off to join weekly rep at Brighton, Dave

Clark had given up law to teach a ‘D’ stream in the

Inner city. I was more lucky and had the brightest

Children - Sheila Pritchard my genius child-poet with

Her roguish eye and high bright voice, drawing skulls

In Avernus and burning white chrysanthemums, teasing me

With her long legs and gold salmon-flecked eyes.



It was a surprise when I made it into Penguin Books;

Michael Horovitz busy then as now and madly idealistic

As me; getting ready for the Albert Hall jamboree,

The rainbow bomb of peace and poetry.


Written by Andrei Voznesensky | Create an image from this poem

The Parabolic Ballad

  My life, like a rocket, makes a parabola 
 flying in darkness, -- no rainbow for traveler. 

 There once lived an artist, red-haired Gauguin, 
 he was a bohemian, a former tradesman. 
 To get to the Louvre 
 from the lanes of Montmartre 
 he circled around 
 as far as Sumatra! 

 He had to abandon the madness of money, 
 the filth of the scholars, the snarl of his honey. 
 The man overcame the terrestrial gravity, 
 The priests, drinking beer, would laugh at his "vanity": 
 "A straight line is short, but it is much too simple, 
 He'd better depict beds of roses for people." 

 And yet, like a rocket, he flew off with ease 
 through winds penetrating his coat and his ears. 
 He didn't fetch up to the Louvre through the door 
 but, like a parabola, 
 pierced the floor! 

 Each gets to the truth with his own parameter 
 a worm finds a crack, man makes a parabola. 

 There once lived a girl in the neighboring house. 
 We studied together, through books we would browse. 
 Why did I leave, 
 moved by devilish powers 
 amidst the equivocal 
 Georgian stars! 

 I'm sorry for making that silly parabola, 
 The shivering shoulders in darkness, why trouble her?... 
 Your rings in the dark Universe were dramatic, 
 and like an antenna, straight and elastic. 

 Meanwhile I'm flying 
 to land here because 
 I hear your earthly and shivering calls. 

 It doesn't come easy with a parabola!.. 
 For wiping prediction, tradition, preamble off 
 Art, History, Love and ?esthetics 
 Prefer 
 to take parabolical paths, as it were! 

 He leaves for Siberia now, on a visit. 

.....................................
It isn't so long as parabola, is it? 


© Copyright Alec Vagapov's translation
Written by Barry Tebb | Create an image from this poem

Gauguin In The South Seas

 They have my own fear of the dark,

Tupapau - spirits of the dead they call it;

Returning late with oil I found fear of it

Had spread my vabine naked on the bed.



Manao-Taipapau means ‘she thinks of the spectre’

Or ‘the spectre is thinking of her’, either way

She is afraid; I marvel at a tongue so readily ambiguous,

Lying across her forked thigh.



I buy rum for her ‘many parents’, for her

One cheap dress a month suffices; in return

She gathers fish and wild-fruit from the blue

Mountain groves where no white man walks.

Once when I fished from the long canoes

A fish caught the hook in its lower jaw, laughing

I learnt this meant my vahine was unfaithful :

She answered ‘Beat me’ but I lay down by her side.

I bathe in ‘the stream of life’, naked to offend

The priestly beetles - Cezanne’s ‘red shout’ indeed.

Waiting for mail I accumulate bills, pictures and sores

Side by side, lying down alone in the dark.

Book: Radiant Verses: A Journey Through Inspiring Poetry