For Robert M Barnes.
What mastery of the brush and knife do I see before me?
Extravagant images have indulged my eyes with rapture.
Mountains and valleys of colour display an astute
construction only a gifted mind could conceive.
Pigment piled majestically upon pigment in such dazzling form,
the great Titan could not have thought to colour his own pallet.
In this sunlit room I bask, entranced and earnestly humbled
by the abundant splendor of so much careful pulchritude.
He stands nearby, unhurried, confident, quiet and smiling,
supported by his angular assistant, the veritable companion
on wheels, its strong frame firmly holds that other fighting
the advancing ravages of a cursed internal enemy.
I marvel at his hands, they have created, nurtured on to canvas
vigorous tones, subtle dashes of light and shade in patches
too numerous to decipher, those spacious havens of delight
creating images of our world to fill the hantle with pleasure.
One scene captivates, it is but a small example of his gift.
Eight trees stand, their tight trunks burnt with deep indigos,
rubicund sunset, absorbing me into their evening languor.
I am satiated with visions of happiness touching my soul.
They metamorphose into four broad barked giants, each
with equal colour telling me I have seen inside their sap.
He looks with amused detachment at his offspring,
waiting for a comment, a judgment, a commitment?
Questions come to me; I ask, the responses are delivered
with careful honesty in the gentle brogue of his Scottish ancestry.
He speaks in low tones, almost whispers, answering with easy
words of explanation, while making casual inquiries of my nous,
Exposing without rancor my limited knowledge of the medium.
I flinch at each query unable to raise my own answers to his
exalted level of understanding; he does not ridicule but
nurtures me towards his acquaintance of this age old agency.
He is an artist of unique talent marking his own space on
the universal canvas, awaiting the opportunity to depart
without grandiose recognition and euphoric clamour, for his
oeuvre will carry him unto the throne of remembrance.
Adrian Kavanagh. January 27th 2009.
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2 comments:
A mighty poem Adrian. I found myself marvelling at your use of words in this poem. to the extent that I was forced to look up words in the dictionary (not often do I need to do that!) I always admire a wordsmith! Having seen Robert's 'Railyards' exhibition at Inveresk, the poem truly captures this artist's style.
This is a touching homage to an artist you obviously admire greatly, Adrian. I imagine he would be very moved by your praise. I would have liked to meet him.
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