Best Cezanne Poems
DESSERT TABLE
Yes, it’s a beautiful spread
A tantalizing sight
With not Cezanne depth or solidity, but
Our hostess’ fond delight
She’s gathered not justs -
Not just cakes, cheeses and fruit
But a famous pot of snowball flowers,
A tall bottle of ultra-expensive wine, to boot
Now witness her many noted guests
Completely sated, become indecorous, loud,
A regular old-times gathering –
This flouncy, pot bellied, gut roaring crowd
And there are eager eyes, thrust noses
The sober might spy
Peering through banister slats, through cigar smoke.
For just one taste they would die
A wedge from an extant white, coconut cake,
Circus of green wrapped sweets,
Strawberry shortcake, cheesecake
An invitation what they seek
I fear, though, this luxury shall go elsewhere
The pastries, cheeses, fruits gathered all,
The youngsters, discovered, sent off to bed,
And cookie, chauffeur and butler shall have themselves a ball
CEZANNE STUDY – The House of the Hanged Man
Late Autumn
Buried in a hill,
Steep as descent from humanity,
A country house stands.
It’s late autumn,
Deep, sick autumn –
Deep as the plunging cellar door,
And fronting, its branches stripped, begging skyward,
This raped tree
Which no longer hides the window –
The window, like a large, trumpeting mouth.
*No E flat clarinet here,
*No Eulenspiegel, opaque humor.
No – The whole, a ground interment,
Is color of rotting flesh,
This God-awful house!
*Til Eulenspiegel was a German buffoon who delighted in playing
nasty tricks on the nobility. He was hanged.
*The E flat clarinet is high pitched, capable of sounding the pitiful
cries of Til as he mounts the scaffold
There are days
when I don't look
for much, just an old chair
on the back porch,
a few thoughts
to pick over, perhaps
a memory to recall and,
to entertain the eye,
splotches of sunlight
to dance around
a cup of coffee
cooling on a table.
Life distilled
to such a simple array
of mental bric-a-brac
set in a familiar scene.
Cezanne knew it
in a bowl of fruit.
And yet how clear
the moment, how
this bright beam
of consciousness illuminates
a patch of existence
making it a lens
into a world trembling
on the brink of becoming.
I keep returning
for more.
-- Re: Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas, Rue de Fleurus #27, Paris --
What would Gertrude. What, Gertrude.What, Gertie?Have thought.Have thought what thought?Thought thought driving,forward,remorselessly.Remorseless Remorse? Forward.Never reverse;no reverse.No.No remorse.
Remorseless,spurning reverse,seated.High!Seated high in Auntie.Then in Godiva seated. Looming.Enormous.
Looming enormous.Unsinister presence. Certain presence.Definite.Definitely not sinister. Positively looming;enormous in brown. Brown,
in brown corduroy,driving Paris.
In Paris,through Paris.Looming high in Paris in Godiva.With Alice,
quiet beside her. Quiet; always, Alice. Alice always.
And zipping, about -- coming to Rue de Fleurus 27.
Zipping to Rue de Fleurus.To 27. And Alice so able.
Able Alice, each a.m. transcribing.Able Alice typing.Automatic Gertrude.
Typing Gertrude.Great Gertrude.GeniusGertrude.Talking Gertrude.
Genius talking.Great brown Gertrude; Gertie, to Alice.
Absorbing, talking, buying art --- buying Matisse.
Absorbing Matisse.Showing Matisse.Banishing Matisse.
Selling Matisse,collecting Picasso.Great Gertrude -- genius Gertrude
at court, holding court at Rue de Fleurus 27.
And Leo.Gone Leo.No Leo at Rue de Fleurus. Not at 27
After Leo, after Mr. Stein, after brother Leo. But there was Alice.
Alice was there Among Braques.And Cezanne.
(Not Matisse.)No longer Matisse, but Picasso.
And Picassos, Picassos, Picassos!
And Alice; alongside, was Alice.Next to, was Alice.
Alice next Gertrude,Gertie, G. --- Gertrude, Miss Stein.
Genius Gertrude Stein Quiet Alice always.
And a great Gertrude. A great brown Gertrude. A leviathan.
A passing ship; a great leviathan.Gertie, a genius.
A hugeness.A shibboleth.But to Alice,
just Gertie.
To the proud parents, Anna and Theo
A serious lad, silent and thorough
A clan of preachers
And dealers of art
From the southern Netherlands came Van Gogh
When sent to school, he did not want to go
The separation led to much sorrow
But he learned to draw
Whatever he saw
Sent off to sell art in Paris, Van Gogh
His happiest time, and now in love, oh
Till the landlady’s daughter told him no
Now a broken heart
Surly to sell art
Fired from his job in Paris, Van Gogh
Vincent sought out a coal miners’ burrow
A priest of sorts, but a squalid fellow
The church was appalled
And cursed his resolve
To the asylum for crazy Van Gogh?
His father baffled, on the verge of foe
Art interest, once again, began to grow
Back to school again
This time, in His name
To paint in the service of God, Van Gogh
School’s out, back to his parents he would go
Using neighbors as subjects to ditto
Proposed to his cousin
Which she found disgustin’
Burning his hand to see her, holy Van Gogh!?!
Now off to The Hague, a family furlough
To live with Sien, a boozing bimbo
A man to see ya…
Caught gonorrhea
Three weeks in the hospital for Van Gogh
The pain of loneliness drove him back home
Once again, a failed love with fair Margot
Then Vincent’s father died
He grieved deeply inside
The tragedy further refined Van Gogh
Finally, Vincent’s work was in the know
“The Potato Eaters” made an art show
Just add more color
Said his dear brother
Rubens brightened the dark gloom of Van Gogh
Vincent’s diet: coffee and tobacco
Mixed with absinthe began to take its toll
Though he kept on painting
Then Paris, more training
The end was getting closer for Van Gogh
The masters: Monet, Degas, Pissarro
Cezanne, and Seurat in his studio
Influenced his style
Learning all the while
That time was running out for Mr. Van Gogh
Then he moved to Arles, bad health in tow
Completing great works the whole world would know
“Sunflowers” (in vase)
“The Café Terrace”
Minus one ear, the frail, ailing Van Gogh
With his tattered mind, and mournful woe
Committed to the asylum, Mausole
With his final works
“The Church at Auvers”
“Starry Night” was painted in pain, Van Gogh
“At Eternity’s Gate”, he was sorrow
Wandered into a field, farmer’s fallow
Put a bullet in his chest
In hopes of peaceful rest
“The sadness will last forever”, Van Gogh
A few of my favorite things
A few of my favorite things
Looking at paintings of Cezanne Rembrandt Van Gogh and Rodin
thinking of their lives and of their times
of where and when they painted
of why and of who they where with
These are a few of my favorite things
Listening to music of Coplan’s Appalachian spring
Beethoven’s ninth symphony jazz of miles monk colt rain
songs of Dylan chimes of freedom and blowing in the wind
These are a few of my favorite things
Thinking of the past
when Robert Kennedy touched a small black Childs face with a tender
hand and asked if he had eaten that day
and of his speech when he told the crowd king had died and quoted the Greek poet
Aeschylus
even in our sleep pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until in our own despair
against our will comes wisdom
through the grace of god
When Joan Baez in Sarajevo during the surge in bullet proof vest
changed places with a street musician Vedran Smailovic who plays a cello in
the public square she takes his place and sings amazing grace
When jimmy carter befriends a little boy Mattie J.T. Stepanek who wrote poetry of just peace and a message of hope in his short time of life
Of the first responders who went fearless into the falling towers to save lives
These are a few of my favorite things
When in the wilderness and mountains peaks or lakes and rivers
seeing wildlife in their habitats amongst the swarms of morphing swallows and sunbeams and rainbows the quite springs and moving tides
and gulls in their nests
These are a few of my favorite things
Sitting in a café with a friend or a quiet walk along the shore
talking about books and ideas of the day
of feelings experiences and such things
of creating something of beauty to share with others
These are a few of my favorite things
Hanged man leaving time now to yesterday
A dimmed light a black in the windows bay
No children in garden or Christmas lights next year
Going on to death so leaves us bringing up the rear
Inspired perhaps by strange hanging fruit in the trees
Nuances rope chosen long ago a freedom the breeze
God bless go young man on to your destiny
PS
This really should have been titled “The house of the man who hanged himself “
But the famous painting by Paul Cezanne the famous French impressionist of the title drew me to it.
The view from my house looking down toward the dead mans house , the incline, the curve , the colour
of the building is so uncanny , so similar to the painting - its very melancholic .
This poor young man was buried on St Valentines Day last.
*Image of Winslow Homer's 'The Gulf Stream' provided by, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
TrueheARTedness
Poetic Form: Rhyme
Neath lolls the abyss, some monster shifts, ontop heaves mammoth swells --
ship wane toy'ishly, rocked side to side, amidst the roaring sea.
Accomplished panoramic art, celebrates the scape by heart,
for Winslow Homer's nature, the American name rings bells.
Faraway, choice views the Monet as none had stood beside it,
yet fate brings on a mystic stare, pupils up close, concoct spells
from a traipsing fool -- a hall waits, Renoir, Matisse, and Cezanne.
Freed eyes vigorous strokes of Van Gogh's refuge, not parallels
since sought asylum was the sanctuary where'd he be free.
Celebrates the scape by heart, accomplished panoramic art,
sparked artist's insights, charm us like coins flickers in wishing wells.
2021 April 24
*8th Place*
A New Abracadabra Poem
~~Emile Pinet: Judged 2021 June 01
A painter in Le Havre called Eugene
Found the 'outside' mor his scene
Monet quickly became a fan
Claude taking aboard the views of this man-
And so ,Impressionism began
Note:Monet (1840-1926)& Eugene Boudin(met in 1858) Claude labelled a painting in Eugene's
style 'Impressionism Sunrise'.Scorned by the critics(at first !)Monet & his friends
Dgas,Cezanne,Renoir et al adopted Monet's title to describe their revolutionary style
The Artist
I need a Muse.
Do you think it could be you?
Can you pick up a paint brush
And show me what you can do?
I need a painter of portraits;
To fill in the gaps inside my head.
I need a Goddess of Love,
To notice the stuff I write in my bed.
I need an Artist, who is simply magnificent,
A breath-taking vision, who is simply Heaven sent.
I need an Angel to paint me a Picasso,
Of my poetry in pieces, before I end up like Van Gogh.
Slightly impaired by deafness, I guess.
Going grey now; thank you stress.
Hi Mona, how’s Rembrandt?
He’s been seen drinking in a bar,
With somebody called Cezanne?
Call Michaelangelo; Donatello will have a plan.
Leonardo’s busy with his inventions,
But here comes Raphael.
Turtle Power! Hi Master Splinter.
Do you have your easel and paints ready
To see you through the winter?
Paint me a story
And I’ll write you a picture.
I think if the two of us worked together;
What I see, to you could become much clearer.
Are you sat there looking for some inspiration?
Then read one of my poems, sing one of my songs;
Maybe then you could paint our creation.
Maybe then I could write poetry about your art.
My vision brought to life,
With the gift of your care.
Paint a picture of us together,
So you will remember that I will always be there.
If you ever need some inspiration,
Just creep inside my mind for a little vacation;
From reality, from your personal Demons.
You will see we are all the same.
I have as many foibles as you do.
My heart belongs to any Woman who truly wants it.
But she hasn’t told me how she feels yet,
So I guess I can’t live without it.
But soon I will meet someone
And offer them my love.
Because an artist without inspiration,
Is like a poet who has never been in love.
Joyous tragedy! Shakespeare laughs
As he tears apart love, with just a couple of paragraphs.
Dead and gone! Not our fair Juliet.
If Romeo had just gone home instead;
He would have turned into a moody poet.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
With
earthly
green and blues,
his blended view
birthed
the
new way-
a bridge from
impressionist
art
to
abstract
expressions-
a father of
all
Ekphrasis 'Mont Sainte-Victoire by Cezanne
CEZANNE tasteful tahiti timeout
Dust shed from long - gone memories
Old clothes cleared from the corners of dark closets
Cobweb caked, stained over time
(It no longer fits)
(Is this mine?)
(Wait a minute...i remember!)
Orange Happiness.
Mayfair.
The faded sunshine print on an old dress.
Like thin cardboard.
An old song.
Silently retreating into the corner.
Tendrils of string.
An echo.
(I have been waiting for you)
Dirt under my nails.
Dust smeared accross my sweaty December brow like thin oily brush strokes by Cezanne.
And still time for the soul is different somehow. Undeterred by gravity.
Dizziness. Inertia.
(Where are you going? Please don't leave me.)
Slipping away.
Floorboards crumbling beneath my feet like thin sun-baked clay.
Grapping onto old friends by their snaky cobwebs, my fingers ripping through their time - torn clothes. Slipping away into the Grey.
Falling.
(what am i doing here...?)
"...hello Granny! We've come to visit you! Do you know remember us?"
With temps and the humidity
No longer off the chart,
We made a visit to the Met*
Since we’ve been starved for art.
A Winslow Homer show would soon
Be packing up and so,
It seemed to be the perfect time
For us to up and go.
The hordes had not arrived yet,
Thus the galleries allowed
Us time for a relaxing look
Without a pushy crowd.
Before we left, we stopped to see
Our faves – Cezanne, Monet,
Van Gogh and several others,
Making it a lovely day.
Although the Covid variant
Is here and on the move,
It’s time for us, museum-wide,
To get back in the groove.
*Metropolitan Museum of Art
I wonder what would the Father of
Modern Art have thought
Could he have seen the work consisting
Of a squiggle and a dot
Hanging in a big museum
Where the viewers hem and haw
And try to tell each other of
Its meaning wild and raw.
His "Still life With An Open Drawer"
Is as real as it can be
And needs no interpretation from
The art elite for me.
Cezanne painted true what he knew
With a bit of abstraction in all that he drew.
Written for Brian Strand's contest
Paul Cezanne Artist
"Still Life With an Open Drawer painted 1877-1879