Dulwich Art Gallery Poem by Ananta Madhavan

A window in the art gallery
Frames a taut green, a low wall, a road;
And on the road a shuttling of cars;
Beyond, a hedge and secretive trees;
And farther still, the indifferent sky.
Nothing too picturesque in this:
And the composition is surely faulty.

My shoes have creaked homage unto
Many a personage and landscape,
Congealed in dust and oil in this gallery of art.
I have paused at canvas windows,
The visionary views of master painters,
In dutiful salutation to their coaxed creations
For the price of a meal, perhaps,
Or even less, for fame.

Be appeased, masters. Your genius or talent
Can be sampled or treasured
At the Reception, as souvenir postcards,
Diminished in the craft of reproduction,
While keeping faith with form and colour.
I do not mock your toil, nor disdain
The patrons who have decked these walls
With laminated light from you.
It is only that my eyes would like another lustre,
My feet demand the damp fatigue of grass,
And my eyes are calling for an exit from the gilt frame.

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London, July 1970