Monday, April 20, 2009

" I thought of questions that have no reply ..."



(6x9)

Somewhere in the USVI ...
I wanted to give the rocks a try; with their geometric volume, they shouldn't be hard to paint--light side, dark side. But I wanted to be more "painterly" about it.

Here it is nearly the end of the month and I haven't included a poem by a poet from whom I could select an outstanding poem, or two or three!, for every day of the month, Robert Frost. Here's one of many favorites, a tuft of couplets:


The Tuft of Flowers by Robert Frost
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the leveled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been -- alone,

'As all must be,' I said within my heart,
'Whether they work together or apart.'

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a bewildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o'er night
Some resting flower of yesterday's delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

'Men work together,' I told him from the heart,
'Whether they work together or apart.'



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7 comments:

Sharon said...

I love this. Very soft and atmospheric. Makes me long for a weekend at the coast.

Bill Evertson said...

Beautiful pallet and poem to share it with - Thanks Laura :)

Laura Trevey said...

the rocks are very "painterly" indeed... lovely colors :)

Jennifer Lawson said...

Laura, this is beautiful. The rocks rock!

caseytoussaint said...

This is stunning! I love the way you exploit the watery qualities of this medium.

Teresa said...

What a lovely, loose seascape. Looks so inviting!

Barbara M. said...

Hi Laura,

I love the lyrical quality and the light. I've seen this scene, or one like it in Prince Edward Island, where the light dominates. Lovely work, and once again a great poem.

Take care,

Barbara

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