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Monday, July 21, 2003

Irises, 1889 

White highlights on blue petals, a voltage
in bloom. A potential electric perspective gap;
the iris of the eye, the iris garden,
still air precedes the thunder clap.
Resistive edges, shadow shapes behind
the rows, a bar of clover spumes, a feint
of light filtered in ochre streaks of dirt,
control in layered strokes, vibrating paint.
Sparks arc from textured surface whorls,
a flowing current field, the flowers charged
to spread the curving spaces wide and run
the eyes down leaf lines like an amperage.

The flowers, a first mad agony, like grabbing
a live wire and convulsing in shock.

© Wyatt H Knott 2003 All Rights Reserved

The poem is mine. The painting, of course, is by Vincent:



I've stolen these flowers unabashedly from ibiblio's garden, an absolutely awesome public library and archive site with a huge catalog of works by all the masters just to start with. Hours and hours of dazed monitor glaze await you. Stock up on the pretzels, top off the glass, and start here.

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