Van Gogh’s Stendhal
Cincinnati Museum of Art – early 2000s sometime
Van Gogh was on my
right hand side
next to the door.
The red against ash white
tree trunks
shared words with
my soul
from across the room.
The only thing I could see.
Closest I’d ever be
to the man who felt life
from the aching inside out.
Not the victim of it.
Life a victim of him.
Lopped off an ear for love.
He did.
That’s love, I reckon.
Docent three steps ahead
turns corner out of the room.
Van Gogh took my hand.
Let me show you,
he says.
Raised strokes
palpable
from feet away.
Layer the paint.
Life is layered.
Layer the paint,
and it breathes
like you and I.
By my wrist,
he lifted my hand.
Feel, he says.
With fingertip, I glaze
decades of time.
A tree painted
by a man so alive
he was called mad.
Shh, he says,
nothing is dead.
Time is rhythm
The signature of beating heart
slowed to the rate of decaying paint.
I did it.
Alchemy.
It slowed for me.
It slows for you too.
Breathe.
Now.
Weak in the knees,
I grab the door facing.
Scan the room to see
if anyone saw me
in my nakedness.
15 thoughts on "Van Gogh’s Stendhal"
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So much 💙.
“a man so alive
he was called mad.”
So well caught (throughout, but especially there): I wonder if this is why, unlike fans of so many artists, those of Van Gogh speak of him like a brother/lover/friend (I feel the same). The Doctor Who episode about him wrecks me every. Time. Wrote a piece after it, here, a couple PoMo’s ago.
In case you’re curious, or would enjoy a moment of shared Van Gogh frission:
https://lexpomo.com/poem/concision-and-grace/
I’m not sure if you will see the comment I left there. Thank you for sharing that with me. I cried watching that episode. It’s powerful.
This was my response to your poem.
“It’s beautiful. What is life if not experiences through ripples between the poles? Being accepting of it equally without labeling good or bad. Is what is and a starry night. And of course those last lines bring forth Milton. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
Thank you for reading mine.
I’m happy to have found two poems here. Thanks to you both for sharing.
I’ve seen that painting. It’s breathtaking! I like your poem as well–consider opening in present tense (the poem moves that way, later, on its own.
Yes, that makes sense. Thank you. 🙂
💙
I enjoy this, moving between narrative and ekphrastic senses
🖤 who felt life
from the aching inside out
loved this, and he was no victim either to you.
Rarely are we victims. Rarely.
“Van Gogh took my hand.” Lovely, you take us right along with you two. Thank you.
🙂 Thank you for reading.
My favorite part is when Van Gogh takes your hand. It’s just so darned intimate — as is the entire poem.
Felt like one of the most intimate experiences of my life.
This shakes me. It is, itself “alchemy.” Thanks for the trip.