Virgil’s Muse

I remember you drawing,

one hand on the pencil,

the other hand, pressed

against your forehead,

your body curved.

A bare foot peered out

from a crocheted Afghan

gathering the stellar

distances of light

as if toes can

discern the yes

in eyes.

Having lost sight

of a swallow returning,

you abandoned the sky,

devoured the rocky, tree-lined horizon

to find yourself

perched

on a window sill,

your hair in flowers,

an anjou pear

beside you

forever resting on a bruise

its shadow pouring

over the edge

of your sketchbook,

not what happened, just the way

I imagine it.

A note about the poem:

A few days ago, I received an email from Margaret (Peggy) Campbell. In the email, she referred to my last blog post, "Pears." She also included the Corot painting ("Woman Covered With Flowers, Reading") and her original poem, "Virgil's Muse," which she allowed me to publish today. I thought her email would be of interest to those of you who enjoy following the long threads of inspiration, those intimate places where ideas touch, the secret spaces where poetry and paintings are born...

Hi Lauren,

I want to thank you for your posting about pears... What I want to say is that your painting of the pear with the flower in the glass jar helped me to write the attached poem for the sixteen-year old daughter of an old friend of mine. This poem is also connected to Corot's "Woman Covered with Flowers, Reading" (1845)...

During a period when I could not see, I made a collection of painted and collaged "telescopes," and I inserted the poem into one of those telescopes, with a tiny copy of your pear over the telescope's end....sort of like looking at the moon, and seeing a pear.

Nice to see you at the gallery. I am terrible at gallery openings. In the presence of art, I find it impossible to speak.

Yours,

p

Generous Permission

Virgil’s Muse

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