Paul Revere by Cyrus Dallin, North End, Boston



Sunday, February 17, 2013



On the wall hang my three breasts,
blue arms, blue flowers, some green
weeps from my two noses. In the studio, 
I 'm cold, my flesh crawls along
the floor and penetrates the canvas. 
He touches all my parts and parts 
of me are painted in a geometric scheme.
My gilt, bronzed head aches; 
it must have been the wine we drank
last night. (Those five cubed women had 
a little too much, too.) He promised 
more than paintings and wire constructions, 
and I believed his art for art's sake.
Now I stand corrected before his canvas
while he reaches for some red and makes 
me fight a dog. I no longer care 
how he uses me. I'm just a working girl
trying to keep her job.



FreeThinke said...

Grandeur of a Sort

Grandeur of a sort so rarely seen
Nostrils flare and eyebrows start to raise.
Under no constraint to withhold praise
Harridans and hustlers turn pea green.

Ladies feel the breath stop in their throats;
Looking fixedly at everywhere,
Except the spot where others gape and stare,
While he who has it calmly stands and gloats.

Ogleworthy ones have special rights
Sparking fights whenever they wear tights.

Still they occupy a favored space
Inimitable, above the commonplace

Exhibiting most coveted delights
Half pityingly as they gaze down from the heights.

~ FreeThinke - 2012

Shaw Kenawe said...

Grandeur of a sort, indeed!

Curt Fouts said...

Unlike Shaw and FreeThinke, I know nothing of poetry, but I "get" this one!

Why did Picasso make one eye bigger than the other? Because he wanted you to notice the eye!

I enjoy the abstract period, but not so much its descent into cubism, although I sympathize with the urge.

Have either of you seen the movie, "Frida?" The critics gave it OK ratings but I thought it captured the woman and the times beautifully, and the music was amazing and nostalgic.

Oh, on Shaw's poem, this amateur gives it two thumbs up!

Shaw Kenawe said...

Curt, I did see Frida, and I really enjoyed it.

Thank you for your thumbs up on the poem. I workshopped it in Alan Dugan's poetry workshop a while ago, and he told me it was publishable. I sent it out, and got it published in a small poetry journal.

The poem came to me as I looked through a catalog of Picasso paintings.

Always On Watch said...

FYI. Sad.

FreeThinke said...

I reason, Earth is short --
And Anguish -- absolute --
And many hurt,
But, what of that?

I reason, we could die --
The best Vitality
Cannot excel Decay,
But, what of that?

I reason, that in Heaven --
Somehow, it will be even --
Some new Equation, given --
But, what of that?

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Shaw Kenawe said...


Any news?

FreeThinke said...

I never lost as much but twice
And that was in the sod.
Twice have I stood a beggar
before the door of God.

Angels twice descending
reimbursed my store.
Burglar, Banker -- Father!
I am poor once more.

~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Alas! No news, Ms. Shaw. A complete mystery. Truly baffling and frankly unnerving. I have not given up hope, but ...

Always On Watch said...

I was wondering when you find solace in Emily Dickinson's words. She had words for nearly every circumstance, didn't she?

Anonymous said...

That Picasso look like The Mother of All Hangovers.

Your poem is good, but why would you want to submit to the rule of a raging misogynist like the late Pablo? He may have enjoyed the favors of many women, but I doubt if ever loved one of them. I should think a feminist would have nothing but contempt for Pablo.

----------> Katharine Heartburn

Shaw Kenawe said...

Dear Katharine Heartburn,

You've make the mistake of assuming that the speaker of the poem is the same as the writer of the poem.

The speaker of the poem is like a character in a novel. The author of a novel can use historical settings and people and make up a story around it. Poems can do the same thing.

The speaker in this poem is a fictional character placed in a fictional setting but with historic references to Picasso and his paintings.

Shaw Kenawe said...

Also, KH, talent doesn't give a damn about the artist's character. All through the ages, some of the greatest art has been produced by some of the nastiest people.