Arnolfini Variations Poem by Roger elkin

I A Wedding Portrait

i.m. Charles Causley

Young man, young woman gazing down
praise painter’s skill for drawing eyes
not first to note your union
of flesh, but his reflected face
placed boldly at the picture’s focal
point, and, just above (almost like
some travelled Kilroy-signature
but penned in showy Gothic scrawl)
his witness: Johannes de eyck
fuit hic.1434.

Once seen, Giovanni, right hand
vertical like the risen Christ’s,
seems too straight-laced, expression bland,
face glum, eyes quenched. Close by his waist
fingers extend to touch his bride –
not firmly clenched, but hand in palm –
as he intones his bond to her.
Broad-brimmed hat, oddly worn inside,
looks haloish; his bearing’s calm,
proud, secure; grey cloak limned with fur.

Giovanna, in love’s shade, green,
left hand on paunch, face Virginal
and meek, stands silently, her mien
pure as she accepts her bridal
state. Eyes scan the floor. Her rich gown
with snaking trim and pleated folds
distracts the gaze from her full womb
where breeds their need’s consummation.
Denying all that marriage holds
unique, her quick form’s their lust’s tomb.

To illustrate their piety
they must have paid this artist well
for, near the glass, her rosary
hangs down; while mirror’s roundels tell
Christ’s via crucis; and the carved
chairback frames St Margaret’s tale. Note,
though, he hints their death: the griffin
terrier at their feet seems some suave
knight’s tomb-dog, with, on high, one lit
candle for a votive offering.

Symbolic perspectives apart,
the detail depicts the tenor
of their times. But, though citrus fruit
ripening for use to bring labour
on, his near bed, their scattered shoes
suggest the haste to fix love’s vows
before her day, such niceties
as sin and shame van Eyck reviews
by having portraiture espouse
fidelities in art, and eyes.

II A Dog’s Eye View

i.m. U A Fanthorpe

Took a dog’s day snapping at heels, scratching at doors,
nearly wagging my tail off to get in on this. Though I traded
three good-dogs, Master didn’t want me included, but Yan-man,
smelling of linseed and with streakmeat smock, insisted – see
him reflected in the background – though he even left me off
till just before he cleaned out his brushes on the wall. That’s
why I’m walks-now up to him. The she-man standing in the door
has whined two sunfuls about nothing but confinement. Suppose
it means no going here-boy all today. Again. She keeps turning
to sunlight the new fetch-boys she’s brought in. Why won’t she
seek-out with me? Master’s not himself either. He’s not usually
so serious and pale, but there have been growlings long into
the fire with the grey old ones who clean behind my ears and
upordown with sit-begs; and now he’s wearing Sunday clothes
and hat, even though it’s a selling-day, and he’s indoors.

I blame that other she-man. Since she came here, there’s all
those gnawbones littering the floor, or pushed just under
the day-couch. Then by the see-self on the wall there’s the gristly
string she walks her fingers on while she talks to herself. Once
I could heel-boy and seek-out her eyes, but something’s come
between us. Now I have to stand a walk-away to see her face.

I used to be Master’s lap; but now she’s the one that has him
rough-and-tumbling, though you wouldn’t know today. He isn’t
even good-boys with her, doesn’t walk-smile; and his voice is
like the big black book he speaks aloud each day. She’s not sit-stay
for long, but throw-fetched, then stretched her length on the day-couch.
If she’s got that after-eat-now feel, the big lie-down’s close at hand.

To make things worse, there’s woof of coming child. Hope it isn’t
Master’s brother’s brat who pulls, prods and two-legs me, then yelps
when I nip, and mouth-wides when they bang me like the rug. Couldn’t
stand that today. Though Yan-man’s got a wag-tail likeness, it isn’t
worth getting famous to be framed by kids. Oh, Dog forbid.