Prompt #341 – From Art to Art: Ekphrastic Poetry

Ekphrasis, pronounced ˈek-frə-səs (accent on the first syllable), is the representation in language of a work of art—it acts as an organizing principle in poetry and fiction, making the connection between art, storytelling, and life. Ekphrasis functions as an interpretive key to a particular work.

Ekphrastic poetry consists of poems that are based on others form of art, most often paintings, but also including such art forms as sculpture, musical composition, etc. It is art inspired by art.

Derived from the ancient Greeks, Ekphrastic poetry began when students learned to write poetry by focusing on the architecture and art in museums or grand public places. The form has interested poets of the past and has made a comeback in recent years.

Ekphrasis usually includes, but is not limited to, the use of enargia. This term comes from classical rhetoric. It means to make an object appear lively before the reader’s eye. This usually happens through careful recreation of the visual artifact through verbal means, such as detailed description, use of sensory information, imagery, etc. In other words, ekphrasis normally attempts to visually reproduce the art object (i.e. painting) for the reader so the reader can experience the same effect or reaction as the poet. This is sometimes called “painterly” poetry.

Importantly, Ekphrastic poetry is more than mere textual description or verbal interpretation of visual art. Making an object (painting or other work of art) lively before the reader’s eye involves, in the best Ekphrastic poems, an emotional and perhaps even spiritual response to the work of art – achieved through written language.

The Victorian era was the last major era of literature-inspired visual artworks. Painters continued to draw influence from literature, but the influence tended to find expression in more abstract, nebulous ways, and a clear switch came into vogue—writers began to turn increasingly to the works of painters and sculptors. By the time of the Modernists, poets (especially in America) began to draw inspiration from Modernist artists. Like visual artists of the 20^th century, writers sources of inspiration from other arts media were filtered and changed by the imagination in new and surprising ways. To quote Wallace Stevens, responding to Picasso’s painting The Old Guitarist, “Things as they are / Are changed upon the blue guitar.”

Today, ekphrastic poetry has become increasingly popular. Ekphrastic poems may be thought of as literary works that that are packed with poetic imagery about visual imagery created by another artist.

When art inspires art, something unique and wonderful happens. Ekphrastic poetry exposes readers to different modes of composition and provides them with material rich in detail, intensity, and connections across various times and spaces. For poets, reflection upon about other modes of creation while engaging in the process of creating poems offers a glimpse of the spirit in all created artworks: the profound center that speaks to experience and heart, and mind, body and soul.

Elements of Ekphrastic Poetry

Source: https://notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry/

1. LUCID DETAIL — This is a requirement of ekphrastic poetry—the single biggest boulder that anchors the poem to the form. An ekphrastic poem must be scaled with description derived from its source, such that you can hear the words slithering through the grass, vines, and leaves of the page. It must be variegated, and if its inspiration operates in colorless realms, it must emit the grey mists and bright blanknesses of the depths of that dearth. An ekphrastic poem must animate the most muted detail on the art it’s describing, bringing to life the onion-shaped rock smudged into the corner beside the white blob of the stoop. Without description, without imagery, no poem can function, but an ekphrastic poem will be even more leaden, bogged down by the pale, shapeless weight of its artistic source, like a log overtaken by ghostly fungi sinking into a bog.

2. POETIC RESPONSE—Through such intensive detail, ekphrastic poetry must attempt to impart the intellectual and emotional response evoked by the inspiring art. Remember, when someone reads an ekphrastic poem, they don’t always have the corresponding art in front of them, nor have they always already seen it; they only have the poet’s interpretation. This interpretation must convey the core of the original work and also amplify it by presenting the effect the piece had/can have through the combination of its various elements. Thus, an ekphrastic poem includes the poet’s intellectual and emotional energy that was stirred up by the animus of the work of art, to be presented like a steaming cauldron of yellow curry for the reader to dip into and pull out nourishing potato pieces.

3. FOCUS—An ekphrastic poem should not wander off to examine someone’s clog while in the midst of presenting a perspective on Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s “The Wassail.” Tangents are not forbidden, but they must bolster the interpretation of the artistic source rather than distract from it. After all, the main task of an ekphrastic poem is to intensify a piece of art’s impression through descriptive, attentive language.

4. A PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST(S)—Though it’s not necessary, many ekphrastic poems will pull in the figure of the artist behind the work of art, so that the writing becomes almost biographical. In describing or hypothesizing about the mood and intent of the artist, the painting, sculpture, etc., being conjured up attains character, context, and depth. At the same time, the poet may also bring their own figure into the poem to create a bifocal lens with a meta-view of literature being written about art.

5. A PORTRAIT OF THE AUDIENCE—In a similar way, ekphrastic poems may also pull the audience itself into the roiling, colorful, complex soup that is words about other art. This breaking of the fourth wall has two effects: it helps the reader feel a certain sense of community with all the other people who have actually seen the original work, and it draws the reader’s attention to the fact that they are reading a poem about a work of art. Along those lines, an ekphrastic poem should make itself clear to its audience that it is an ekphrastic poem.

6. ARTWORK’S DERIVATIVE — Finally, ekphrastic poetry must revolve around a source that can be categorized as art. The poem cannot spring from nowhere; if it does, it’s simply a poem. The poet must identify one or several compositions — whether painting, song, or something else — as art, and from that definition, proceed to compose the literary piece. In other words, to write an ekphrastic poem, the poet must sit down with the goal of writing an ekphrastic poem about a creation they’ve already pin-pointed.

What to Do?

1. Describe – translate what has caught your visual attention into written language. This is the simplest for of ekphrastic poetry.

2. Describe but imagine beyond the artwork; think and write about what the artwork calls up for you (emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually).

3. Make Someone or Something in the Artwork Speak – give a voice to something or someone

    in the artwork you're considering; let that person or things "speak" through your poem.

4.  What the Artist Might Say – imagine the artist’s perspective his or inspiration for the artwork and the artwork itself; create a "voice" for the artist and on the artwork and let him or her speak through your poem.

  

5. Put Yourself into the Artwork – an ekphrastic moment poem may seemingly have little reference to the original artwork, and that's okay. this is the most challenging kind of ekphrasis and often produces startling and memorable results. The idea is to let the artwork lead you into something other than itself. Let your subconscious take over, introduce multiple subjects and layers of meaning.

Writing an Ekphrastic Poem

1. Spend some time looking at a painting.

Consider the following before writing:

• What is happening in the painting?
• Who or what is the subject of the painting?
• What mood does the painting suggest? 
• How do you relate personally to that mood? 
• How does the painting "speak" to you?

2. Poets create a "sensory pool" by paying close attention to sight, sound, color, light, feeling, movement and other tangible aspects of a subject. Try to disregard your analytical mind or any historical knowledge, and instead experience the artwork through your senses. A poet doesn't need to "know" facts about a piece of art. Instead, the poet experiences the artwork. Write down notes about what you experience—memories, sensations of smell or touch, impressions of the images you see inside the art. These will help you form your poem once you've decided on your approach.

3. You can approach the ekphrastic poem in several ways, and as the poet it's your choice. You may write about your experience viewing the art, about an experience the artwork draws from your memory or a monologue or story you imagine coming from a voice inside the painting or sculpture. For example, you might speak from the voice of the Mona Lisa or imagine what people are thinking as they stroll through Central Park in a painting. The choice is up to you, and what notes you jotted in your sensory pool will help you pick.

4. Arrange your notes into lines. You should know from your notes whether you're writing a narrative poem or a lyrical poem. A narrative poem tells a story, so if your notes have recorded a memory in story form, start from the beginning and tell the story using only concrete language of the five senses. If, instead, you've written a lyrical poem that is more of a collection of notions from an experience, begin to organize them into lines. For example, if your poem captures the scene of a busy sidewalk in a city where pedestrians are walking around a statue, organize your ideas based on how well the lines fit together, whether rhymes can be created, and whether you want to capture the flow of motion in the area.

5. Begin to revise your poem by reading it aloud. Listen to the way the words sound. If any lines are redundant or if several words are unnecessary cut them out. Focus on sound and alliteration, which means the repetition of a consonant or vowel sound. Look at the poem on the page and decide if you want it to have a particular shape. You might organize the lines into quatrains, or four-line stanzas, or you may decide on couplets, which are two-line stanzas. Your poem does not have to have any formal shape or structure at all, though, as it could be a free verse poem or  a prose poem.

 Writing Suggestions:

1. Select any work of art (it's a good idea to start with a painting, but any other artwork can be used), and let it "speak"to you.

2. Spend some time reflecting on the artwork.

3. Jot down notes or free write about the artwork.

4. Following the guidelines below, begin writing an ekphrastic poem.

Guidelines:

You may want to create a dialogic in which you journey in "conversation" between the painting and your text. Or you may avoid referring to the painting at all (other than, perhaps, a mention in the title or subtitle).

Be sure to acknowledge the artwork somewhere in your poem (I like to do this at the beginning of the poem, just under the title).

1. Don’t just describe the artwork you’ve chosen; let the artwork be your guide and see where it leads you.  Relate the artwork to something else (a memory, a person, an experience, a place).

2. Some ways to approach your poem:

·      Speak directly to the artwork; that is, address the subject (or subjects) of the art.

·      Write from the perspective of the artwork, or adopt the persona of the artwork itself (i.e., write as if you are the Mona Lisa. 

  

·      Write in the voice of the artist who created the artwork.

·      Write from your own experience or imagination.

3. Work with strong images and, if you tell a story, be sure not to overtell.

4. Think about including some caesuras (pauses) for emphasis, and leave some things unsaid—give your readers space to fill in some blanks.

5. Pose an unanswered question or go for an element of surprise. Let your poem take an interesting or unexpected turn based on something triggered by the artwork.

6. Look at the “movement” of the artwork you’ve chosen and try to represent that movement in your line and stanza breaks. For example, if a painting “moves” across the canvas, find a way to suggest similar movement in the way you indent and create line breaks.

Example:

Here’s an example from my book A Lightness, A Thirst, or Nothing at All. A few years ago, one of my closest friends committed suicide, something that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Shortly after, I was looking through a book of Pre-Raphaelite paintings when I came across Millais’s Ophelia. I thought about Shakespeare’s play “Hamlet” and remembered how Ophelia’s death took place off stage. For me, the backstory of both my friend’s suicide, the play, and the painting resulted in the following poem:

Just Perhaps

(After Ophelia by John Everett Millais)

Buoyed by her dress, she barely breaks the water’s surface—arms outstretched, palms upturned. Pansies float above her skirt. There are daisies on the glassy stream, and, there (to the left, above her head), a bird on the pollard from which she jumped or fell. Broken willow, broken bough.

And just perhaps, as Hamlet’s mother said, she’s still alive and singing—see, her mouth is open, and her eyes; and just perhaps, she doesn’t know how close to death she is—or why this painting makes me think of you. Your death was not offstage the way Ophelia’s was (the ladder placed, the rope around your neck); nor was the way you parted from yourself, the silent swinging—only air beneath your feet.

Copyright © 2016 by Adele Kenny. All rights reserved.

From A Lightness, A Thirst, or Nothing at All, Welcome Rain Publishers

 

Prompt #274 – Where the Painting Stops and the Poem Begins

 

Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog 

By Caspar David Friedrich (c. 1818)

Every now and then, I like to revisit ekphrasis (using other art forms as inspiration for poems)—we’ve done it before on the blog, and I thought it might be a nice time of year to relax and to write an ekphrastic poem.

Derived from the ancient Greeks, Ekphrastic poetry began when students learned to write poetry by focusing on the architecture and art in museums or grand public places. The form has interested poets of the past and has made a comeback in the last decade. Right now, it seems to be especially popular.

Ekphrasis usually includes, but is not limited to, the use of enargia. This term comes from classical rhetoric. It means to make an object appear lively before the reader’s eye. This usually happens through careful recreation of the visual artifact through verbal means, such as detailed description, use of sensory information, imagery, etc. In other words, ekphrasis normally attempts to visually reproduce the art object (i.e. painting) for the reader so the reader can experience the same effect or reaction as the poet. This is sometimes called “painterly” poetry.

Importantly, Ekphrastic poetry is more than mere textual description or verbal interpretation of visual art. Making an object (painting or other work of art) lively before the reader’s eye involves, in the best Ekphrastic poems, an emotional and perhaps even spiritual response to the work of art—achieved through written language.

Through the centuries of literary history, such poets as John Keats, in his poem “Ode on a Grecian Urn” (ceramic art rather than painting, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”), have experimented with Ekphrastic poetry. Robert Browning, in his poems “Fra Lippo Lippi” and “Andrea del Sarto,” created dramatic monologues in which painters muse to themselves about their paintings. Other poets who have worked with Ekphrastic poetry include:

William Carlos Williams – “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus”

Maria Rainer Rilke – “Archaic Torso of Apollo”

Percy Bysshe Shelley – “On the Medusa of Leonardo da Vinci”

Frank O’Hara – “Why I Am Not a Painter” 

Guidelines: 

1. Use the image above (click on it to see a larger view) or choose a work of art on your own (painting, sculpture, musical composition, photograph, etc.) and write a poem based on it.

2. Be sure to acknowledge the artwork somewhere in your poem (I like to do this at the beginning of the poem, just under the title).

Tips:

1. Don’t just describe the artwork you’ve chosen; let the artwork be your guide and see where it leads you.  Relate the artwork to something else (a memory, a person, an experience, a place).

2. Some ways to approach your poem:

• Speak directly to the artwork; that is, address the subject (or subjects) of the art. 

• Write from the perspective of the artwork, or adopt the persona of the artwork itself (i.e., write as if you are the Mona Lisa.  
• Write in the voice of the artist who created the artwork.

3. Work with strong images and, if you tell a story, be sure not to overtell it.

4. Think about including some caesuras (pauses) for emphasis, and leave some things unsaid—give your readers space to fill in some blanks.

5. Pose an unanswered question or go for an element of surprise. Let your poem take an interesting or unexpected turn based on something triggered by the artwork.

6. Look at the “movement” of the artwork you’ve chosen and try to represent that movement in your line and stanza breaks. For example, if a painting “moves” across the canvas, find a way to suggest similar movement in the way you indent and create line breaks.

Example:

Here’s an example from my book A Lightness, A Thirst, or Nothing at All:

Just Perhaps

(After Ophelia by John Everett Millais)

Buoyed by her dress, she barely breaks the water’s surface—arms outstretched, palms upturned. Pansies float above her skirt. There are daisies on the glassy stream, and, there (to the left, above her head), a bird on the pollard from which she jumped or fell. Broken willow, broken bough.

And just perhaps, as Hamlet’s mother said, she’s still alive and singing—see, her mouth is open, and her eyes; and just perhaps, she doesn’t know how close to death she is—or why this painting makes me think of you. Your death was not offstage the way Ophelia’s was (the ladder placed, the rope around your neck); nor was the way you parted from yourself, the silent swinging—only air beneath your feet.

Copyright © 2016 by Adele Kenny. All rights reserved. 

From A Lightness, A Thirst, or Nothing at All, Welcome Rain Publishers

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Prompt #211 – Still Life Fast Moving & Happy New Year

Happy New Year!
It's great to be back blogging again!

I hope you all enjoyed the holiday season,

and I hope that 2015 brings you good health,

happiness and peace,
and, of course, the joys of poetry written and shared!

We’ve worked with ekphrasis before, and it’s always a great way to jump start the creative process. I thought we might begin this New Year with a prompt that takes its inspiration from a Salvador Dalí painting. (If you click on the picture, you'll get a larger image to work with.)

I recently used this prompt with one of my workshop groups, and the responses were amazing: five group members and five dramatically different poems.

By way of background on the artist, Salvador Dalí (May 11, 1904 – January 23, 1989) was born in Figueres, Spain in 1904. He is known for his technical skill as well as for his incredible imagination. Dalí was the only surviving male child of a wealthy Catalan family. After attending a leading art academy in Madrid, he became involved in the Surrealist movement (Paris, 1929), and soon became its most unmistakable and notorious member. Also in 1929, he met Gala Eluard when she visited him with her husband, poet Paul Eluard. Gala ultimately became Dalí’s wife, his muse, his principal model, and his life-long obsession.

By 1939, Dalí broke away from with the Surrealist movement. He and Gala left Europe in 1940 and spent the war years in the United States where his artistic philosophy changed as he rejected Modernism and embraced other traditions. They returned to Spain in 1947, but continued to spend time in both Spain and in the U.S. In 1974, Dalí established the Teatro-Museo Dali in Figueres to house his own art. After Gala died in 1982, Dalí’s own health declined, and he spent his final years in seclusion at home. Although considered outré by some, his work is arguably the most unique of the 20th century.

Guidelines:

• Look above at the picture of the painting Sill Life – Fast Moving by Salvador Dalí.
• Study the various images and get a sense of “what’s going on” in the painting. Imagine the artist creating this painting.
• How does the painting “speak” to you? To your life? To a specific experience that you’ve had?
• Come up with a startling opening line (make the reader want to read more), and then write a poem based (even if only loosely) on this painting. Notice how Dalí controls his subjects and makes them float in mid-air—they tilt and tango and travel across the canvas in unexpected ways. Make your words do the same thing!

Tips:

• Don’t be afraid to experiment, to “translate” the painting into written language, to suggest emotion. Flip into the unexpected, or, find a more “standard” way of telling your “story.” Dalí was a Surrealist; so don’t hesitate to give Surrealism a nod if you’d like to try that kind of poetry. Most importantly, let the artwork direct your thoughts—let your poem tell you where it wants to go. 
• Avoid cliches, sentimentality, and preachiness (poetry that beats you over the head with a message or moral rarely, if ever, works).
• Create an integrated whole of language, form, and meaning.
• Show, don't tell. 
• Move with momentum and a sense of trajectory. 
• Connect, reveal, surprise.
• Remember that your dismount shouldn't merely "sum up" the poem. Close with a punch.

Examples:

Here's a poem written by Bob Rosenbloom from my writing workshop group in which the inspiration painting reminded him of another, and he merged two Dalí paintings in this "encounter with the artist."

NOTHING BUT TROUBLE 

                  By Bob Rosenbloom

—After The Persistence of Memory and Still Life-Fast Moving by Salvador Dali

           

It is what it is, Dali said— 
generations trapped
in tar pits of parent-guilt.
Travel light, he says.

He led me into his efficiency apartment. 
What is persistent memory, he asked?
It chases its tail. Its fragrant.
It smells like bacon grease.
Character is key, he pontificates,
great art, basic. 
The fundamental rules apply.
Enjoy yourself, it's later than you think.
Make someone happy.
You're nobody until somebody loves you.

I felt like a tourist in the art world, 
a Sunday driver, thanks to Sal.
Come for breakfast on the weekend, he said.
He mixed me up with someone from Manhattan,
The Village, probably.
I'm Brooklyn born, Jersey now.
His "clocks" had melted, slid down
the walls and came to relax on furniture.
Soft wax coated the sofa and credenza.
Mounds of it clogged the kitchen sink.
Time disappears like electron traces
in cloud chambers, memory clings
like sweaters charged with enough
static electricity to light up New York.

I told him what I thought to be 
universal truth, that
God wound up a big spring
clock and walked away.  
Time has been nothing but trouble
ever since.

And here's another by Nancy Lubarsky that takes a completely different direction:


THE MESS
     By Nancy Lubarsky
 
—After  Still Life – Fast Moving by Salvador Dali

The mess – It begins innocently with
yesterday’s clothes, this morning’s
breakfast dishes, today’s mail. Over time
it spreads to floors, cabinets, drawers,
and hard-to-reach shelves.

The mess – We argue, blame each other:
Aren’t those YOUR jeans?
I thought YOU put the mugs in the sink.
These coupons – do you REALLY need them?
But it’s too late.

The mess – It grows and expands
to every surface, every corner. It’s why we
can’t shut the closet door, or pull it open.
It’s the excuse not to invite friends over,
or the reason we lug piles to the attic.

The mess – We clean it up, the next day
it’s back.  It swells through doorways
and out to the porch, the yard –
it’s our own Blob without
Steve McQueen to rescue us.

The mess – It’s become family.
We squeeze between it while
watching TV, excuse ourselves
when we trip over it.
It even has its own room.

The mess – Someday we’ll retire to a
seaside cottage with tables that can tilt
toward the water. Or, better yet, when
laundry, dishes, or paper piles feel an
ocean breeze – they will rise up,
and take leave.


And ... a murder scene by Basil Rouskas:
 

MURDER SCENE
     By Basil Rouskas      

—After Sill Life – Fast Moving By Salvador Dalí

Make no mistake,
this is a murder scene!
Don’t look at half-full
wine glasses, empty bottle’s
levitation over tables, or
orange rhombuses
on the butcher table.
Forget dried coral reefs,
and artsy-stem bowls;
they are all here to distract.

Don’t be fooled by brown leaves
or a pear’s mock grind against
the sharpened knife.
Who cleaned the blood from it?
Why would you settle peeling a pear
when you’ve just drained a queen’s blood?
And, where is the second glass?

The murderer wants to confuse —
Check out the aimless
swallow’s flight
and shadowy patterns’
nitty gritty obsession
with the tablecloth’s wrinkles.

Most of all, look at
the invisible man’s hand
on the left — he sits where
the sun sits; his seashell
doesn’t miss an ocean sound.
Is he The One?
Where did the lovers go?
No blood stains?
Where are the bodies?
Are these cherries on the table,
or her lover’s eyes?
And, where is the second glass?

And, adding on January 4th, still another "take" from the poetry workshop group:


STILL, LIFE MOVES ON, or MOVE ON
     By Wendy Rosenberg
 
—After Still Life–Fast Moving by Salvatore Dali

They met on the beach—
leaves in her hair,
sand stuck to cheeks.

He saw her through teenage
eyes, asked for a date—
dinner, his place.

She arrived before sunset,
watched his table float, and
the olives dangle midair.

An apple hit from behind
glared at her through its
pale, bruised skin.

She mistook a broccoli head
for flowers, sniffed it, thought,
How sweet.

Her parents, in a parked car,
didn’t see the water turn to
ribbon, or hear the neighbor’s,

No one’s home! They didn’t see
their daughter jump the gate,
pummel the table,

slice the pear, sip the Scotch,
or salt her ego. The gull
refused her invitation—

suggested instead she sit
in a bowl, chat with the shadows,
and move on.

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Prompt #197 – Ekphrasis Revisited

Every so often, I like to work with ekphrasis (using other art forms as inspiration for poems)—we’ve done it before on the blog, and I thought it might be a nice time of year to relax and revisit the process of writing ekphrastic poems. So, fix yourself a tall glass of lemonade, choose an artwork that “speaks” to you, gather your writing materials and a picture of the artwork, and find a comfortable place indoors or outdoors where you enjoy writing.  

If you’re not familiar with ekphrastic poetry or need a quick refresher,  click here.

Guidelines:

1. Simply choose a work of art (painting, sculpture, musical composition, photograph, etc.) and write a poem based on it.

2. Be sure to include a reference to the artwork somewhere in your poem (at the beginning, within the text, or at the end).

Tips:

1. Don’t just describe the artwork you’ve chosen; let the artwork be your guide and see where it leads you.  Relate the artwork to something else (a memory, a person, an experience, a place).

2. Speak directly to the artwork; that is, address the subject (or subjects) of the art. 

3. Write from the perspective of the artwork, or adopt the persona of the artwork itself (i.e., write as if you were the Mona Lisa).

4. Write in the voice of the artist who created the artwork.

5. Work with strong images and, if you tell a story, be sure not to overtell it.

6. Think about including some caesuras (pauses) for emphasis, and leave some things unsaid—give your readers space to fill in some blanks.

7. Pose an unanswered question or go for an element of surprise. Let your poem take an interesting or unexpected turn based on something triggered by the artwork.

8. Look at the “movement” of the artwork you’ve chosen and try to represent that movement in your line and stanza breaks. For example, if a painting “moves” across the canvas, find a way to suggest similar movement in the way you indent and create line breaks.

Examples:

"The Shield of Achilles" by W. H. Auden

"The Painting" by Jon Balaban


"Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats

"Photograph of People Dancing in France" by Leslie Adrienne Miller 

"Why knowing is (& Matisse's Woman with a Hat)" by Martha Ronk

"Landscape with the Fall of Icarus" by William Carlos Williams

By way of sharing, 

the jacket cover illustration 

on my book What Matters was based 

on the painting Beata Beatrix 

by Pre-Raphaelite poet and painter 

Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Here’s the poem the painting inspired:

In Memory Of

(After Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s Beata Beatrix)

No movement but this: subdued luminosity, sunlight

from the distant city. River. Bridge. There is always

a background (that far, this close), and what memory

does – like the dusky lines of a double shadow,

it multiplies loss.

In Rossetti’s Beata, a sundial casts its metal wing

on the thin, blown hour when leaving begins.

Red dove, white poppy: the woman, transfixed,

slips – diffused like light through darkened glass –

her hands open and soft.

I am here and you aren’t. It is summer –

the sky is clapper and bell, the lemonade sweet.

I can almost hear you singing. In that voice

without margin, the notes I remember most

are high and low.

Poetry Prompt #79 - From Painting to Poem

"Il Penseroso" by Thomas Cole (1845)

Ekphrastic poems are based on other forms of art, most often paintings, but may also include  sculpture, musical composition, dance, etc. You can read more about ekphrasis if you click on fifth tab in the page bar above. You will also find the following informative: Ekphrasis: Poetry Confronting Art  and Notes on Ekphrasis.

This week, I thought it would be interesting to move from painting to poem by writing about a painting (with an invitation to post your poems for sharing). I've chosen "Il Penseroso" by Thomas Cole, one of my favorite painters and the founder of the Hudson River School. Interestingly, Cole's "Il Penseroso" was inspired by a poem of the same title written by John Milton in 1631 ("Il Penseroso" by John Milton)

Keep in mind that ekphrastic poems do more than offer textual descriptions or verbal interpretations of visual art. Take a good look at Cole's "Il Penseroso" and see where it leads you. (Click on the image for a larger view.) Notice details.

You may want to begin by jotting down your impressions, images inspired by the painting, and feelings, memories, or experiences that the painting calls to mind. Think in terms or your emotions and your spiritual response to the painting.

Some questions to consider before writing:

What is happening in the painting?

Who  or what is the subject of the painting?

What mood does the painting suggest?

How do you relate to that mood?

You may want to create a dialogic in which you journey in "conversation" between the painting and your text. Or you may avoid referring to the painting at all (other than, perhaps, a mention in the title or subtitle).

If the Cole painting doesn't work for you,  feel free to work with one of your own choosing!

Famous Ekphrastic Poems:

"Ode on a Grecian Urn" by John Keats 

" Musee des Beaux Arts" by W. H. Auden