Van Gogh, After an Attack
Theo, I’m doing better.
The attack came like thunder
out of a clear sky.
For weeks I couldn’t think straight.
What I need now
is the distraction of work,
and quickly:
the trees’ flowering season
is nearly spent.
When will I be allowed
to paint outside? The creamy
blossoms of almond trees,
and the pinks of the flowering
plum trees, awash
in the afternoon mistrals,
will soon be lost.
These mistrals can shred a man
like thistle.
On the day of my attack
I was supporting my easel
with big rocks,
the canvas trembling.
I finished the painting
in a fog:
it was as if my brushstrokes
were birds who knew
instinctively where
to fly to.
I am sending you a number
of rolled up canvases–
blue hills and yellow cornfields
under a lemony sky
viewed from my window.
You must frame them in white
like brides, their future
ahead of them.
by Bob Bradshaw
Editor’s Note: Art lovers will recognize this poem’s narrative—Van Gogh writing to his brother Theo. This poem bridges the gap between words and the imagery that informed so much of the artist’s life.
Leave a Reply