Gratuitous Love

Christ_of_Saint_John_of_the_Cross

Gratuitous Love, Robert Sieczkiewicz

Dare I speak to you, of a special Love,
One where its roaring flame, shall never die,
Every thought of you, carried by a dove,
To make a new star, above in the sky,

Gratuitous love, so misunderstood,
Oft’ returned to giver, with such disdain,
Reject my personal love, if you could,
Then spiritual love, you too abstain.

If love is send to you, without request
for reward, accept with an open heart,
as such a person, may be heaven blest,
Giving good reason, not to be apart.

For you to accept love of mere mortal,
Readies you for the mighty immortal.

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The creator of this painting may come as a surprise to you.  It did for me.  It is Salvador Dali, which he painted in 1950.  I have had a thought about gratuitous love in my mind for many weeks and finally decided to work it out in my mind.  Dali gave me part of the answer with this the painting.  The perspective is both human and divine, ephemeral and eternal.  Notice the lack of blood or nails.  Rather than seeing the rocks and dirt of Golgotha Dali paints a heavenly perspective.  In my poem I do the same by claiming that love goes beyond the confines of this earth.  I hope Gratuitous Love gives you something to ponder for awhile.

Memories in Tears

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Memories in Tears, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz
This cold winter day, I walked to the east,
The slowly sinking sun, is now behind.
Turned into a narrow lane shown worn least.
Looked at cold naked chestnut trees aligned.

Followed the frozen lane towards the back.
Drew closer to an agonizing sound.
Saw a frail old women clothed in dark black.
Her naked knees meeting the frozen ground.

Tears on her shivering chin, jumped to their death.
With hand extended, gave her a tissue.
Last tear refused to touch, the frozen earth.
Looked at headstone, understood the issue.

Just how many more years of painful tears,
Will be shed for love, of so many years.

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This is Paul Cezanne’s Path of Chestnut Trees in Jas de Bouffan in the Winter.  I chose it not be cause it excited me but because it interested me.  Much like the Hopper painting that I showed awhile back.  It was Cezanne’s family home for some fifty years.  The painting itself is simple.  What is dominant in the picture?  The trees.  But why?  In my poem I use the word gangly which refers to tall thin people.  Speaking again of the poem, are these gangly chestnut trees pallbearers?  You decide.

 

 

The Wind

Winslow_Homer_-_The_Gulf_Stream_-_Metropolitan_Museum_of_Art (1)

 

The Wind, Robert A, Sieczkiewicz

Cannot see thee, but thee are surely here,
As thee can speak to me violently,
Yet not a word of thee enters my ear,
And still thy force guides me decidedly.

Thy power commands that the trees whistle
Songs, which touch people in varying ways,
Some songs so dire, a want of dismissal,
Others so gentle, people ask delays.

Thy power commands the water to take
Shape. Normally flat, it jumps at thy call.
The stronger thy call, the larger the wave.
If thy call be soft, the wave shall be small.

Wind, with all thy mighty power will thee,
Guide, the only love of my life to me.

 

To have the poem read to you click the arrow below

Read by Rob Sieczkiewicz

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I chose this painting by Winslow Homer for one reason.  The broken mast.  It is not the water that is in control of this man’s life.  It may take it, but it is the power of the wind.  If the wind calms down and is favorable, meaning that it blows in the right direction, just maybe, the wind will blow him back to the one he loves.  And from a religious perspective the wind is God acting upon His people.  In one gospel Peter and other disciples are in a boat that is being tossed about and Jesus calms the sea.  Some times people do no like what their God does and other times they do, but in the end the continue to ask for favors.

Winslow is frequently noted for his painting of the sea but his range is much wider than that.  Having been a young boy once, it is possible one day I will tackle his “Boys in a Pasture.”  I can smell the hay on the small farm that I grew up on. On second thought the smell of the chicken manure remains stronger.

 

The Summer Rose

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The Summer Rose, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

This joyous month of June and here thou art,
The most beautiful of those before me.
Chivalry is my approach from the start,
As before I’ve been taken to my knee.

Your beauty excels beyond all others,
Yet thorny can thy disposition be,
Forcing some to invoking their druthers.
That will not however be true of me.

Study thee have I from both near and far,
As well as history and pedigree,
To avoid a fearful motive to spar,
For my wish is to hold you breathlessly.

With two hands I caress thee ev’r softly,
Looking upward, dreaming of us warmly.

To have this poem read to you click arrow below

Read by Rob Sieczkiewicz

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The question of today’s poem is obvious, is the speaker talking about a rose or a woman? I’ll leave that up to you.  But to look at the young lady in the painting I’d think it would not be a rose.  The creator of this so gentle beauty is Frenchman Emile Vernon (1872-1919) who was born in Blois, France.  His birthplace in on the Loire River that run up to Orleans and on to Provins where roses were grown for their oils to make perfume.  This may be why he painted so many beautiful woman with roses.  The thought that entered my mind was why did Emile dedicate so much time to painting women in such fine detail?  And why didn’t he join the Impressionist movement?  I think the answer lies in his mentor, William Bouguereau, whose favorite theme was “Son thème de prédilection est la représentation du corps féminin.”  He painted women. There is little written about Emile Vernon.  No one has ever published his biography that I can find.  It could be that his short life of 47 years was just a simple life but for sure he left his footprint. The link below will provide you with additional views of Emile’s work.

Emile Vernon

I would also recommend this website

 

To The Diamonds, Goodbye

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To The Diamonds, Goodbye, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz 
The first fickle flakes finally fell on
the fertile fallow fields of father's farm.
As they met on the ground it was chiffon,
Ever so light a blanket to keep me warm.

The quiet unmolested snow fell through,
the night. 'Twas the night of the virgin snow.
This day our pillaging we shall eschew.
This day is contrition of here and now.

I look to horizon off in the east,
The sun has sent its light but not its heat.
Saw billions of diamonds to say the least,
Glistening all across the county seat.

First the roar then the corner of my eye,
Came the snowplow, to the diamonds, goodbye.

Click on arrow below to have this poem read to you

Read by Rob Sieczkiewicz

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There is a natural beauty in the virgin snow.  But there is a practical reason for this blanket.  It protects the barren lands from the winter winds’ erosion.  There is also other reasons, one being it gives the land time to heal from man’s use and abuse of the land.  The snow supplies new life to the land beneath it.  Each one of the diamonds may be considered as a vitamin pill.  In the poem I use the snow plow as a symbol of technology that has helped humankind to increase production per acre but at what cost?  As the world’s population continues to climb the demand for food does too.  We strip our planet of more of its forest to plant more crops by bring in more chemicals and equipment.

 

Never to Say Goodbye

This detail of the painting Primavera (Allegory of Spring) was done by Botticelli for Lorenzo di Pierfrancesco de’ Medici, a cousin of Lorenzo the Magnificent some time around 14Simonetta182.

The reason for the detail for, of course, the poem that I share with you today.  Sandro Botticelli was in love with Simonetta Vespucci.  It was obvious by his paintings.  The likeness of her appears in so many of his paintings, especially when Botticelli painted Venus.  In Primavera Venus appears.  I need to give you some background on Simonetta.

Simonetta Vespucci (née Cattaneo) was born during 1453 and died on the 26th of April 1476.  Primavera was painted six years after her death.  Her beauty earned her the title La Bella Simonetta.  By way of marriage she became an Italian noblewoman of Genoa as the wife of Marco Vespucci of Florence who was the cousin of Amerigo Vespucci. Moving to Florence with her husband she attracted much attention, especially that of Giuliano de Medici who wooed her and had her picture, painted by Botticelli, on his banner for a jousting match. Botticelli painted portraits of Giuliano and Simonetta but never the two together which would have been great for my purpose, but no such luck as the paparazzi  did not exist in the 15th century even though the Camera Obscura was available. There is plenty of interesting happenings in the history on Simonetta, Botticelli, and the Medici family but for now I am happy to offer an image via a poem of a beautiful woman and a man who would have her even if her name is not Simonetta.

Never to Say Goodbye, Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

They stood there motionless as the wet wind,
 Weaved a veil of her long gold flaxen hair,
 Each with a small smile as if they had sinned.
 She parted her hair to accept his stare.
For him each second with her was treasured,
 As he paints her beauty to the canvas,
 Of his mind and in his heart so pleasured,
 Even knowing the existing crevasse.
With weather so dark why do they linger?
 Do each have a secret wanting to share?
 Each measuring words to avoid danger?
 Suddenly, the gust broke the muted stare.
Again she parted her hair to be met,
 With his kiss. Meeting not soon to forget.

Click play arrow below to have poem read to you

Read by Rob Sieczkiewicz

 

Meeting Death Revisted

Yesterday I posted my poem Meeting Death.  For some reason I wasn’t comfortable about it.  There was something missing.  The poem has somewhat of a personal connotation and before I talked myself out of it I posted it.  Well I have made a slight adjustment in the words but today I include what was missing, a Edward Hopper painting.  This spring while at the Brandywine River Museum of Art I saw a couple of his paintings.  His Sunday 1926 captivated me.  I made note of it knowing that some day it would be put to use; so here it is:

Hopper-Sunday-1926

 

I, sitting there Sunday at noon, the eye,
In the sky closed. My world was in darkness.
Shocked was I, that there was nothing awry,
All went about their everyday business.

How does one plan for a day like today?
In the stillness I could not think, confused
And without answers, with nothing to say.
I claim adulthood. I can’t be recused.

Life has been a life of impunity,
Challenges have been a simple repair,
Rewards have been great opportunity,
But now here I am engulfed with despair.

I gasped and gasped finally took a breath,
The only guarantee is meeting death.

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The starkness of the painting is probably the first characteristic you notice.  No inventory in the stores. No people, No cars, and not even a bird.  The man is even bald, no hair. Hopper surely conjures up the imagery of loneliness.