Edvard Munch, Jealousy
Edvard Munch
An Ekphrasis Stylized Poem of Jealousy
Oh, ancient Oden!
I summon your primitive hand.
Take this oiled brush I hold,
and order my strokes with your command.
With deep red, spilling like blood across the land,
she appears as the object of my affection,
nude and reaching toward a tree
as if to lure my enemy, with want and lust-filled attention.
Is there reason, lord, why my foe is portrayed in Crayola-like imperfection?
Is he to be, Newfoundland, and she as Norway with Viking confiscation?
And are the greens not depicting my envy,
a reprieve from the harsh white lands of Greenland?
And now you insist… I portray myself, or maybe Leif,
or perhaps a Christian King!
Why do you torment me so?
Why can’t I just let this brush go, before a Berserker I become,
to seal my fate through fires run,
across my own pire I’ve tried to overcome,
and on success blazoned before the cross, to be succumbed?
Once filled with hedonistic jealousy, in my exhaustion,
I am finally outrun,
back into the green Norse woods I retreat, weak and numb…
to mend my wounds, and lust for your power hence come,
to paint another day.
by Martin Braun
July 11, 2023
Copyright ©
Martin Braun
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