Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Inspire Me Wednesdays: Week 8

As a kid, I loved words that flowed together lyrically.
Then I reached my teenage years and I lost most of that love. My struggles with  english class and Mr. William Shakespeare quickly drained any enthusiasm I once had.
But slowly, my love for poetry and literature has creeped back into my life. Many poets and writers have affected me, which encouraged me to dust of the ol' high school stuff and left me to wonder why I didn't get it. (My son's explorations of everything literary as he was growing helped reawaken my interest!) 

I hope to share some of these new and old discoveries over the weeks. A
 favorite is this poem by Billy Collins... clever, engaging and a story about the creation of art.


 In most self-portraits it is the face that dominates:

Cezanne is a pair of eyes swimming in brushstrokes,

Van Gogh stares out of a halo of swirling darkness,

Rembrandt looks relieved as if he were taking a breather

from painting The Blinding of Sampson.

But in this one Goya stands well back from the mirror

and is seen posed in the clutter of his studio

addressing a canvas tilted back on a tall easel.

He appears to be smiling out at us as if he knew

we would be amused by the extraordinary hat on his head

which is fitted around the brim with candle holders,

a device that allowed him to work into the night.

You can only wonder what it would be like

to be wearing such a chandelier on your head

as if you were a walking dining room or concert hall.

But once you see this hat there is no need to read

any biography of Goya or to memorize his dates.

To understand Goya you only have to imagine him

lighting the candles one by one, then placing

the hat on his head, ready for a night of work.

Imagine him surprising his wife with his new invention,

the laughing like a birthday cake when she saw the glow.

Imagine him flickering through the rooms of his house

with all the shadows flying across the walls.

Imagine a lost traveler knocking on his door

one dark night in the hill country of Spain.

"Come in, " he would say, "I was just painting myself,"

as he stood in the doorway holding up the wand of a brush,

illuminated in the blaze of his famous candle hat.

Billy Collins
(click for more poems!)

Take care,
Karen xo


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