I am going to try to look on the bright side of a recent flood in the basement. I wouldn’t have had to go through all of the soggy cardboard boxes filled with cute books of poetry written by my daughter in Grade seven or all the little school books when she could hardly write anything that makes sense- all the letters are backwards or upside down even, but the pictures are adorable, almost surreal.
I was trying really hard to throw out a soggy book of poetry by Lawrence Ferlinghetti. Do I love the poems in this book? Not really. Do I love that it was given to me by a man, the only man who has ever given me a poetry book. Yes! I have little pencilled asterisks next to some poems…. Were they my asterisks? I do believe so. They are the only poems I kinda understand.
Here is poem 14 from A Coney Island of the Mind
Don’t let that horse eat that violin
cried Chagall’s mother
But he kept right on painting
And became famous
And kept on Painting The Horse With Violin In Mouth
And when he finally finished it he jumped up upon the horse and rode away waving the violin
And then with a low bow gave it to the first naked nude he ran across
And there were no strings attached
( Here is another painting I saw at the WAG )
I find it an interesting coincidence that I just got back from the Winnipeg Art Gallery where Chagall was one of the three amazing artists they had showcasing there.
I was also lucky enough to go to a Chagall art gallery in France almost thirty years ago, before I even knew who the artist was. Those were the days of Eurail passes and sleeping on barren rooftops in Greece. I believe the young folk go to Thailand now.
I wonder what sort of art is in Thailand? Giant sculptures of Buddhas, I imagine.
Stay tuned for my next blog about the lovely woman stone sculpturist I discovered at that very same day in Winnipeg.