Van Gogh, La Méridienne oú La sieste, d'apres Millet
Chopin's birthplace in Zelazowa Wola near Warsaw. Vintage Postcard.
Yet, the intensity of the art of both creative souls indicates a spiritual and creative affinity. Deep inside, they were kindred spirits, it seems to me - sensitive, emotional, lonely, somewhat embittered and incessantly creating, completely dedicated to their art. Also, they both loved the open fields in the summer...Many of Chopin's letters from rainy, grey Paris to his family in Poland contain notes on nostalgia for the childhood summers in the village - with folk music, sunlight, and fun!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUHmr7ZCSoI (Chopin's Mazurka Op. 7 No. 1, played by Artur Rubinstein)
Reconstruction of the double portrait of Chopin and Sand by Delacroix, 1838.
Chopin's death-bed by Teofil Kwiatkowski, 1849
Chopin loved art and artists - his best friends included Eugene Delacroix (1798-1863) who painted the famous double portrait of Chopin and George Sand, later split into two, and Teofil Kwiatkowski (1809-1891) who painted the composer at his death-bed, surrounded by family and artistic friends. He valued highly the art of Auguste Clesinger, a sculptor who later married George Sand's daughter, Solange (Chopin took their side against Sand) and, after the composer's death, designed his tombstone in Paris.
Chopin's tomb with sculpture by Clesinger
Mentions of painters are rarely found in Chopin's letters to family or friends, though in an early letter, the 15-year old pianist writes about his own artistic efforts. On August 26, 1825 from Szafarnia to family in Warsaw, Fryderyk mentioned his sketch of a folk musician from the village, that he drew after witnessing an impressive harvest performance by villagers. He refers to himself as possibly being a "painter, blinded to the quality of his own work." The most notable part of the letter, however, is its extensive description of the folk performance: hearing the music live in the village provided Chopin with a life-long inspiration for composing mazurkas and stylizing village music into high art.
Another famous letter to family, of 18-20 July 1845, written from Nohant, is filled with descriptions of sculptures as part of artistic news from France. While the letter mentions some artists by name, its title to fame lies in its discussion of nostalgia and remembering Poland's fields in rainy Paris - being in "imaginary spaces" (espaces imaginaires) of the heart. It clearly reveals the homesickness and loneliness of the composer, even surrounded by nature on the beautiful summer estate in Nohant.
The Anthology is now available on Amazon.com
Paintings by Van Gogh inspired many poets, most recently gathered in an anthology Resurrection of a Sunflower (2016) edited by Catfish McDaris and published by Pski's Porch. I was thrilled to have three poems included in that almost 600 page brick of a book. It is available at the Van Gogh Museum in Holland and online, if you want to know what paintings most inspired the poets.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hvqFOEPgJQU (Mazurka Op. 7 No. 2, by Artur Rubinstein)
My "Mulberry Song" published in "Resurrection of a Sunflower" was reprinted on the Poetry Laurels Blog in May 2017 - and it is found below.
http://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2017/05/celebrating-poetry-in-poetry-month.html
Another poem that I wrote "after" a Van Gogh's painting is entitled "Azure" and was inspired by La Méridienne oú La sieste, d'apres Millet from 1890 - an astounding painting of azure, sapphires and gold yellows that I saw in Paris in 2014 (see the image above). Since, my blog also reports on Monet's Waterlilies with a cycle of poems inspired by those amazing paintings, and contains tons of photos from Paris, I'm reproducing the poem below.
http://poetrylaurels.blogspot.com/2014/05/lilie-and-konwalie-in-paris-monet.html
Azure
~ after Noon by Van Gogh and Millet
Half of the day's work is done.
She curls into a ball by his side
He stretches up, proudly thinking
of the bread they will bake,
the children they will feed.
Noon rays dance on the straw
they cut with their sickles
to finish the harvest when the sky
is still the bluest of summer azure.
She took the first fistful of stems
solemnly, among the rolling waves
of wheat ocean. She made a figurine,
placed it high up on the wooden fence
overlooking their fields. She learned
it from her mother, her mother before her,
generations reaching back to that first
handful of grain, droplets of wine
and water spilled at its feet.
The offering for the goddess of harvest.
They move together in consort
in the white gold of silence.
They rest together, two pieces
in a puzzle of bread to come.
(c) 2016 by Maja Trochimczyk, published in Resurrection of a Sunflower
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4iIAD1Juaz4 (Mazurka Op. 17 no. 2, played by Yundi)
The Mulberry Tree by Vincent Van Gogh at the Norton Simon Museum
Wild Hair
Millicent Borges Accardi
Yellow mustard moss, green white
Gray lines.
A blue box learning
Up against the tree
Or perhaps a leather
mail bag
Near by.
Each stroke, a finger
Print,
A pushing back
of thick
Paint
The curl of a brush end
For leaves
And puffs of colorful
smoldering.
Millicent Borges Accardi's new poetry collection may be found on Amazon: Only More So @ Amazon and more information about her on her website:
Another poet inspired by The Mulberry Tree, Madeleine S. Butcher, imagined a lovely scene in the countryside, while Vincent painted and a child kept him company:
Sophie and Vincent
(after Van Gogh’s painting “The Mulberry Tree”)
Madeleine S. Butcher
It could be that this mulberry tree
is low enough for a child to climb
for a fine hiding place
to survey her domain
of far hills and reaching fields.
She might hide from her nurse
who is calling her name,
a wee figure almost gone - past the long fields -
her white apron flies up like a miniature flag.
And so this child becomes part of a branch
so still she is, sitting above
in the tangle of limbs
under cover of leaves
waiting for her friend in their mulberry tree -
with his satchel of chalks and charcoal and pens
who sits by the trunk in his wide-brimmed hat
fingering his pastels, ruffling the paper
and slowly, he too, grows quiet and still,
gazing out at the fields and the following hills,
their silent domain.
The afternoon moves along
to the swirl of leaves and buzzing bees,
the soft grit of chalk, the scratch of pen
the heel of his hand blending sky to earth
wind to cloud, branch to leaf -
fields and sheltering hills.
The afternoon moves along with the sun
and an occasional shiver of limb and leaf
as mulberries are picked and many are eaten
but most are dropped in a perfect lazy rhythm,
down straight down on his wide-brimmed hat.
(c) by Madeleine S. Butcher, forthcoming in "Grateful Conversations" anthology
Kathi Stafford, the co-editor of the "Grateful Conversations" anthology, saw in the painting something quite different.
Kathi Stafford
There is no blue without yellow and without orange.
~Vincent Van Gogh
The branches flare out. They'll go so dead
in winter that one will think, What can come back
from that? But Lazarus arms surge unbound
in spring. Now the surface blurs orange and yellow,
purple fruit hidden in the air. A cauldron whirls
Deep beyond the woods. Mitten-shaped leaves
paw what the bark stands down, as an autumn
brush heads to closure. What can arise from
this consistent loss? A plain mystery shows itself
in the roots, twisted, Medusa hair swirling
Asps into the cold air. The tree collides with night,
stars and all. Fence posts built from the Mulberry,
haphazard in night air. Fruit bark hues
blaze in a bounty. I hold them in my hands
as well. Precious are the stripes of the wounded tree.
(c) 2013 by Kathi Stafford, forthcoming in "Grateful Conversations"
For me, the Mulberry Tree is a supernova, exploding in an invitation to stop and feel the connection to Cosmos:
The Mulberry Song
~ after van Gogh’s Mulberry Tree at the Norton Simon Museum
Maja Trochimczyk
I am the mulberry tree, ablaze with color
before the last day of autumn
before the last day of autumn
I came into being in a flurry of brush strokes
on a cardboard, under the azure expanse of unfinished sky
on a cardboard, under the azure expanse of unfinished sky
turquoise – into cobalt – into indigo
green – into chartreuse – into amber – into gold
green – into chartreuse – into amber – into gold
buds into blossoms – into fruit – into earth
to fall – to fall not – to end – to end not –
to fall – to fall not – to end – to end not –
to begin
The brightest star, an ancient supernova,
I am aglow but for a moment
I am aglow but for a moment
I outshine reality with artifice
exploding off the canvas
exploding off the canvas
paint – paintbrush – swansong
leaves of the earth – ripples in the stream – crystals in the air –
aflame, all aflame
aflame, all aflame
I make magic of the mundane shape of the world
sic est gloria mundi
sic est gloria mundi
it is – it will be – it is willed to be –
once captured in a frenzy of light, becoming
once captured in a frenzy of light, becoming
time transfigured into swirls of awareness
crystallizing at the edge of oblivion
crystallizing at the edge of oblivion
I am the mulberry tree – I am the alchemist tree –
let my song fill your day till it glows –
let my song fill your day till it glows –
become pure gold with me
(C) 2016 by Maja Trochimczyk
The Mulberry Tree painting was so inspirational, that I dedicated another poem to this out-of-this-world tree - and it was recently published in the "Eclipse Moon" - an anthology of the Southern California Haiku Study Group edited by William Scott Galasso (2017).
There are no seasons in the Norton Simon Museum in Pasadena, or rather it is always the beginning of autumn, when you approach the blazing mulberry tree of Vincent Van Gogh. It came into being on a piece of cardboard, in a flurry of brush strokes, under the azure expanse of unfinished sky. I see the bare cardboard peek from under the cobalt and indigo traces, layered briskly by Vincent’s paintbrush, in a frenzy of passion. This tree is the brightest star, an ancient supernova: it glows, but for a moment. Yet, it outshines reality with artifice, exploding off the wall, imprinting itself onto my retina, to endlessly flourish in my mind. I come back two months later, and there it is, still exploding, still golden, still dancing in a frenzy of light,
time transfigured into
gold swirls of awareness –
the alchemy of art
__________________________
The anthology took its title from a haiku by Diana Ming Jeong:
eclipse moon
an abyss forged
over time
Now that we have returned to moonlight, it is time to listen to a nocturne (Op. 9 No. 2, illustrated with Van Gogh's "Starry Night"):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg
