Landscapes
 

Rev. 2

Portrait of a Landscape Painter

I don’t know how to do
your dimensions—the reach

of a tree as if for a hand,
the home touched real

on the horizon. I can’t generate
your wave, find the mood

of your ocean—the slash in
your stroke, your more

physical act of inspiration.
There’s no pretty line

in my wrist, my mountains
are faceless, birds are simple

and distant. I can’t grasp
your night and day, feather

in your faintest light, cast
shadows fine enough to slip

past a frame. I won’t dabble
in intangibles, or ripple

your fluid moon, finesse its
bright path to the bend of

heaven, or cake on your light,
make bones of reflections.




Rev.

Landscapes

I don’t know how to do
your dimensions—the reach

of a tree as if for a hand,
the home touched real

on the horizon. I can’t generate
your wave, find the mood

of your ocean—the slash in
your stroke, your more

physical act of inspiration.
There’s no pretty line

in my wrist, my mountains
are faceless, birds are simple

and distant. I can’t grasp
your night and day, feather

in your faintest light, cast
a shadow that slips beyond

the frame. I won’t dabble
in intangibles, or ripple

your fluid moon, take its
bright path to the bend of

heaven, or scatter your death,
make bones of reflections.




*Notes: reflections vs your reflections








Landscapes

I don’t know how to do
your dimensions—the reach

of a tree as if for a hand,
the home touched real

on the horizon. I can’t generate
your wave, find the mood

of your ocean—the slash in
your stroke, your more

physical act of inspiration.
There’s no pretty line

in my wrist, my mountains
are faceless, birds are simple

and distant. I can’t fake
your night and day, feather

in the faintest light or stretch
your shadows beyond

the frame. I won’t dabble
in intangibles, or ripple

your fragile moon, pave
a bright path to the bend

of heaven or scatter the water
with the bones of reflection.

Hi, James—

Some beautiful language here. I must confess that I was unsure whether the N is a landscape painter telling his beloved that he cannot capture her in his painting, or a portraitist speaking to Nature admitting his inability to capture her nuances. The first reading makes more sense, and “your more /physical act of inspiration” would support a tangible object providing the inspiration, but the title, and his refusal to “scatter the water / with the bones of reflection,” seems to support the second reading.

Glenn

I read it pretty straightforwardly as a painter who feels unable to capture the landscape adequately, but perhaps I am misreading it? I enjoyed the language, in any case.

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Brushstrokes of couplets. I agree with Glenn and Hilary in their interpretation, but want to come back and examine some of the imagery closely — there's something I'm feeling but not seeing yet, which is exciting. Poems should always excite, I think. I'll be back. (It's past my bedtime and I must read a little.)

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Revision Posted
 

Thanks much Glenn, Hilary, Jim—

I’ll come back and expand this response. I more than half wanted this to slide off the board, but maybe I’ve found a little more of the soul of the poem? I don’t know, but thought I’d give it another go. Cheers~

James, I haven't been around consistently and missed commenting on this. The revision is an improvement. I like this for what it is. How it uses what he can't understand/do with the physical world as a motif for what he can't quite do in life and relationships.

As I read it I do wonder what it'd be like if it was more stripped of the direct communication. If it wasn't directed toward a single individual. If the emotional frustration, the inability to reach the emotional connection, was about the world.

I may be way off the ship here. It's merely something that occurred to me while reading and it is a workshop.

Hey, John, thanks for the input. I really did want this a bit more focused on an individual (it doesn’t have to be any particular individual…) for this poem. But I was a little worried about the repetition of “your” etc and, as this hasn’t garnered much interest, you know, I’m certainly open to another approach. The poem suddenly started to evolve in some ways and I've been trying to catch up… Thinking about it and very glad you came by.

Happy that it excited you in some way, Jim, and agree re poems—especially if it happens to be yours. If you aren’t surprised, don’t expect your readers to be surprised, that sort of thing… I do think that I needed to make the poem a bit clearer, and, as it turned out, focused. Thanks much for commenting.

Hi Hilary—maybe not quite that straightforward, but pleased that you enjoyed the language. And welcome!

Thank you for your specific comments on how you interpreted the poem, Glenn. Can I say neither? Though I really don’t mind different interpretations. I think, however, I could have been clearer about something and hopefully the revision is an improvement. Appreciate your thoughts.