Henri Detoulouse-Lautrec (1864-1901) Poem by Lulu Gee

I’d love to meet Toulouse-Lautrec
From the nineteenth century
Taking his hand in mine
To places quite unsavoury
I’d sit next to El Greco
Van Gogh, maybe Degas
Laughing at clown Chocolat
In his suit of peau de soie

Lautrec lived in Montmartre
Leading a prominent life
Painting wonderful characters
With brush and palette knife
Adoring the dancers
La Goulue and Jane Avril
Dancing the naughty Can Can
For clients of vaudeville

Sitting in the Moulin Rouge
In black felt bowler hat
Sketching vigorously
A high-wire acrobat
The orchestra crescendoed
Jane Avril did the splits
An encore was applauded
That lasted ten minutes

He loved portraying faces
So quirky and so raw
Artistes in gay abandon
With hair the colour of straw
Under hats of velvet
In shades of eau de nil
Their lips like fresh picked cherries
Painted with cochineal.

The dancers teased Lautrec
Sketching with charcoals
Their saucy petticoats and
Black stockings full of holes
Capturing the vibrancy
Garishness and verve
Showing but a glimpse
In his pictures to observe

While dancers gaily squealed
High kicks with jubilation
Showing their drawers to all
Provoking titillation
Lautrec, an alcoholic
Excessed on pastiche
Encouraged by his artist friends
And the nouveau riche

Portraying Parisian theatre
And all that it entailed
Under the glare of footlights
In his sad life, curtailed
I see him in a smoky bar
Alone but for his art
Or painting Yvette Guilbert
In the backstreets of Montmartre

A sadly deformed man
Crippled while still young
Well spoken and well dressed
In his waistcoats of shantung
Alas, good living took him
Womanising and drink
But a tragically eccentric
Parisian, don’t you think?