Gauguin In Brooklyn Poem by David McLansky
Gauguin In Brooklyn
How kind seem now
Those Brooklyn days:
The studio light
Dimmed mid-day;
The tiring nude's
Peak out a window
Eyes guarded, lewd,
A life in limbo;
The clay, the paint,
The books, the dust,
The photographs,
The naked lust;
The friends, their noise,
Their eager laughter,
The spider webs,
The threaded rafters;
Those times are gone,
But Art remains,
To prove that we
Were not insane.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/23/2024 4:23:49 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Sounds like the good ol' days to me! Nicely done!