My son sent the following poem to me because it was assigned to him in his class at the U. He was arguing why it should be included in the Norton Anthology of English Literature as a representation of modern poetry. I really like it.
Even though we live a few hours away from a major art gallery, we have consistently visited the Minneapolis Institute of Art once a year. It’s always a treat for everyone. Art, including picture study, has always been an important component in our lives. In fact, when my eldest son first went off to college and had his first break with his buddies, I wondered where they would go and what they would do. He went on his break and posted all sorts of pictures on Facebook. I smiled when I saw the photos because, as it turned out, they spent much of their time at the Art Institute of Chicago. Looking, I suppose.
Anyway, here is the poem I wanted to share with you about visiting an art museum. Do you visit a certain art museum? Do you pick up postcards of your favorites when you leave, too? Does the world look different afterward? I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I did. For a real treat, listen to the author read it here.
Leaving the Tate
by Fleur Adcock
Coming out with your clutch of postcards
in a Tate gallery bag and another clutch
of images packed into your head you pause
on the steps to look across the river
and there’s a new one: light bright buildings,
a streak of brown water, and such a sky
you wonder who painted it – Constable? No:
too brilliant. Crome? No: too ecstatic –
a madly pure Pre-Raphaelite sky,
perhaps, sheer blue apart from the white plumes
rushing up it (today, that is,
April. Another day would be different
but it wouldn’t matter. All skies work.)
Cut to the lower right for a detail:
seagulls pecking on mud, below
two office blocks and a Georgian terrace.
Now swing to the left, and take in plane-trees
bobbled with seeds, and that brick building,
and a red bus…Cut it off just there,
by the lamp-post. Leave the scaffolding in.
That’s your next one. Curious how
these outdoor pictures didn’t exist
before you’d looked at the indoor pictures,
the ones on the walls. But here they are now,
marching out of their panorama
and queuing up for the viewfinder
your eye’s become. You can isolate them
by holding your optic muscles still.
You can zoom in on figure studies
(that boy with the rucksack), or still lives,
abstracts, townscapes. No one made them.
The light painted them. You’re in charge
of the hanging committee. Put what space
you like around the ones you fix on,
and gloat. Art multiplies itself.
Art’s whatever you choose to frame.
Nancy is an avid learner, mother, wife and observer of bright eyes. The wise words of Charlotte Mason have helped her and her family build a love of poetry, too. Visit her blog at Sage Parnassus.
That’s lovely Nancy! Poetry and art combined. It’s true though isn’t it, you find yourself “seeing” the masterpieces in creation once you’ve grown in appreciation for art.
Ooh, so many memories stirred up from this one post and how great that your son sent the poem to you.
The Clark is our traditional visit at the end of each term and they allow each child pick a postcard for free before leaving. This act leaves me a bit dizzy as I tend to hold my breath in anticipation of which postcards my children will pick.
Our boys had told a family friend that they were studying Giotto this term. Last week a packet arrived in the mail with postcards of Giotto’s works and a note, explaining how she hoped they would enjoy the postcards she had collected when visiting Padova, Italy forty years ago.
You’ve left me feeling warm and fuzzy 🙂
Richele
Richele,
Now THAT’S a cool story. How she blessed your children – 40-year-old postcards! Have I mentioned that I can’t wait to meet you?
Sursum Corda,
Nancy
What a cool poem and what a cool son you have too!! Thanks for sharing. Art to real life. Love it! It reminds me… I’m off to look for a certain print to give my mom for her b-day gift!