To my mother, the painter

The way you talked of Cézanne
and Paula Modersohn
we kids expected them
to walk in any time and
join us for lunch, tea or dinner.
It took us a few years
of growing up to realize
they were long dead.
I’m not sure now
what is more alive
to my sister and me –
the naive image of
these artists as friends
we simply had not yet seen
or the paintings
we saw later in books
and museums.

– Johannes Beilharz (© 2013)

Note
This poem was initially published in 2013 by Writers Asylum, an excellent online publication that ceased to exist – without explanation – around 2015.

About beilharz

Writer, painter, translator, photographer
This entry was posted in Archives, Art, Gedichte, Kunst, Lyrik, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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