After the Van Gogh Immersive
Painting so many sunflowers,
like writing about the same thing
many times, to find
its details, its roundaboutness.
Every angle of sunflower,
the closeups, the blooming,
the stages of dying,
Vincent looked and looked and looked
at the sunflowers so many times.
He knew he didn’t see,
at first look,
all of something.
Oh Mama, I wish you could see
the Iris-in-white-vase painting
that you so loved.
Vincent’s brushstrokes
of cobalt blue
that you, Mama,
placed in our home,
in our hearts.
Let me write about
tiny things,
a crab, a moth,
like the tiny things
Vincent painted.
Let me write the thing
alive!
An old couple
hold hands as they sit
and breathe in
Vincent’s images.
The clasp of their hands
like the sunflowers,
stem and blossom leaning
to support one another.
How Vincent could see
the roots of trees beneath the ground.
How a poem can dive
so deep in image,
that the listener
goes beneath what’s heard.
Because Vincent
could create
from his simple tiny room,
because he could show us
the stunning splendor
of his simple tiny life,
I can bow in gratitude
and show my human kin
the beauty that is here.
©Susa Silvermarie 2022
Susa dear. This is a splendid poem and post. Particularly sweet to me today on what would have been my momma’s 100th birthday (she only made it to 73, younger than I am now.) Love the inclusion of the Van Gogh images. Really appreciate seeing them.
Beautiful Susa!
Susa.. thanks for your unique perspective on the experience of this work and ….. always remembering Mom! We had gone. Quite amazing ! … but you have just given me a deeper appreciation! “Write the thing alive!”