I really like this painting, Melanie. I like how the crows are all in different poses as though some have been there several minutes and others have just arrived. It is as though the artist was capturing that feeling of things not quite beibng settled in and static. Hard to explain but I hope that makes sense.
This is a great point you make: "People drop the most curious information about themselves when they are face to face with art. It's a brilliant way to learn about facets of a character that would never come up in the mundane setting of a dinner party." I suppose in a way, I've just done that by revealing my interest (fascination?) with all things crows. ;)
Yes! I agree, it feels very dynamic, like they're all caught mid-motion.
I might have gathered your enthusiasm for crows from your substack, but definitely I imagine that if we were looking at this painting together in a museum, we'd both be getting excited about the composition.
I just want to say that *we’ve* never gone to the MFA together. Isn’t that weird? I’ve never had a membership. I’ve never gone enough to justify one. I’ve just gotten one for the Gardner though, which is my favorite art museum. I think the MFA would give more for the money, but this was a sentimental purchase. The Isabella affected me the most as a child.
The crow picture is awesome. I should try to find it the next time I’m at the MFA.
Goodness we haven't ! That is a deplorable oversight that we should rectify immediately. I propose that we need to have two different expeditions, one to the MFA and one to the Gardner. We haven't been back to the Gardner since the kids were little. I love the space and their collections, but because what's on show is not constantly changing like the MFA , I get complacent, thinking we could go at any time. Whereas I feel like most of the time trips to the MFA are either to meet up with people, to catch a special exhibition, or to coincide with a particular area of study. But I really do want to get back to the Gardner so I can dream about moving in and making it my permanent home.
What I find amusing in the "hamburger not a sandwich" argument is that it started with the youngest child holding most firmly and quite alone to the absurd conclusion that it is not a sandwich and without her arguing anything at all, a large portion of the rest of us coming around to where could at least imagine the argument in favor of her position.
It's the combination of cuteness and fierce stubbornness that makes everyone want to capitulate to her determination. I will not that the child who was not present at the discussion at the MFA when he was caught up on what he had missed of the argument was not swayed by any of the arguments and most obstinate in the insistence that a hamburger is CLEARLY a sandwich.
In general line breaks are first a gut thing, and then I look back at them after the fact while editing to make sure I can justify them.
I was initially trying for the constraint of a syllabic line of 10 syllables, which I more or less met. Line 1 is short, having only 9 syllables, but it was a perfect line as it was, so I left it and didn't try to rewrite or pad it. Line 5 is already long, 11 syllables, so to include "come" stretches it to 12. I could have rewritten the line, and in a more polished poem I might have. But at the same time I kind of liked the effect of the slight break between "already" and "come". I think maybe that little gap echoes the separation between the crows and the actual death, between the dead bodies and the harbingers. That's one of the things that fascinates me about this painting, is the suggestion that the crows are late to the party, they've missed the mark on being proper harbingers. Enjambing the line also puts a little more emphasis on both "already" and "come", where having "come" on the same line gives it less stress.
Now, that's just how it reads in my head. It might not actually work for any readers.
" I think maybe that little gap echoes the separation between the crows and the actual death, between the dead bodies and the harbingers. That's one of the things that fascinates me about this painting, is the suggestion that the crows are late to the party, they've missed the mark on being proper harbingers."
I marvel at how you are able to draw out the details and unspool the threads of a painting and see an entire story behind it. The Prose was like a love letter to museums. I need to take my kids to our local fine art museum, which I fully intended to do this summer, but I keep putting it off for that magically perfect day when everyone is able to come. We bought a pass this year when "The Great Wave" came to town, and I should take advantage of the curated experience you describe so compellingly.
It's funny because if you asked me to tell you a story about the painting, I couldn't. I'd be stuck. But I always start with a physical description, trying to pin down for myself what it is about a particular painting that is singing to me. And then sometimes a detail will suddenly open a door and I find myself standing in the middle of a story. I often don't know the beginning or the end, but I can feel their shape and so I can create the illusion that they are there. I don't think I could do it in prose. It's only the act of poetry and the need to find the next line and the next that can unlock that particular door.
I've given up on waiting for a day when everyone can come. We've started just picking a day and whoever can come, comes. I'm sad not to have everyone there, but it does make the logistics easier. And the reality is that if we waited for that day, we probably wouldn't go. Somehow we didn't go at all in 2024 and I didn't realize it until now. We went in Nov 2023 and then in January 2025, but last year was a hard year.
This is fascinating, Melanie. Nonfiction prose (literary analysis, recounting the vacation, reading synopsis etc.) comes easy to you. Your doorway into the written word is the act of attunement instead of a narrative arc. Then through the things, you get to the ideas. Do you write fiction? I can imagine yours coming out rather Marilynne Robinson.
I have tried to write fiction and I just can't. When I was a child my only ambition was to be a novelist, but I've never even written so much as a short story. When I've tried my hand at it, all that comes out is moody descriptive passages. I can't fathom characters or plot. I don't actually believe in the reality of any character I try to make up. My children are fabulous storytellers and I envy them that. Who knows perhaps I'll turn out to be one of those people who write a first novel at age 70, but so far all my talent seems to be in the area of nonfiction prose and poetry.
Your effortless nonfiction prose and strong storytelling in ekphrastic writing have me personally convinced there's a novel in there somewhere. But since poetry is the pinnacle of writing forms, you have nothing to prove. ;) (I tried my hand at fiction the other day and was undeniably rusty. I would like to branch out and write short stories and novels as my kids get older. I probably have to write some very bad first drafts in order to make this dream come true.)
Brilliant idea meeting distant friends/new friends at the museum! I can easily imagine the interesting conversations that could arise in the trio of two friends and a masterpiece!
In my teenage years I had a beloved painting at the Boston MFA, which I went to several times on visits to relatives. I even had a poster print of it on my wall, but I don’t know what happened to it when I moved out. I don’t remember the title or artist. I’ve searched their online archives but never quite found it (of course I’m sure I’d recognize it instantly! 🤷♀️😆) But I love when art just hits your soul like that!
Oh I know that feeling of loving and losing and not being able to find your beloved again. And now I'm so curious about the painting you loved and lost. What kind of picture was it? A landscape? a portrait? And interior space? A still life?
It reminds me of the story that Lucy reads in the magician's book in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader that she can never read again but has such a pull on her. There's something almost tragic about it but also rather magical. And yes it is wonderful that art can make those deep connections and sing in your soul.
Ooh, I love that about Lucy. We're always looking for that world beyond that we can't quite catch.
The painting was a view through a window, with landscape beyond, mostly muted tones, grey and white, but some yellow. My MIL has a different print of a seashore through a window that's meshed with my memory so I'm fuzzy on the details of my original print after all these years! But I still carry with me the longing that it stirred. That longing for the world beyond!
I love the MFA too. I wish I could have visited again on our recent trip to Boston, but there wasn't time, and I probably wouldn't have asked it of my husband. He endured both the Gardner and the Farnsworth during our sojourn in New England, and I am grateful for that!
I really like this painting, Melanie. I like how the crows are all in different poses as though some have been there several minutes and others have just arrived. It is as though the artist was capturing that feeling of things not quite beibng settled in and static. Hard to explain but I hope that makes sense.
This is a great point you make: "People drop the most curious information about themselves when they are face to face with art. It's a brilliant way to learn about facets of a character that would never come up in the mundane setting of a dinner party." I suppose in a way, I've just done that by revealing my interest (fascination?) with all things crows. ;)
Yes! I agree, it feels very dynamic, like they're all caught mid-motion.
I might have gathered your enthusiasm for crows from your substack, but definitely I imagine that if we were looking at this painting together in a museum, we'd both be getting excited about the composition.
I just want to say that *we’ve* never gone to the MFA together. Isn’t that weird? I’ve never had a membership. I’ve never gone enough to justify one. I’ve just gotten one for the Gardner though, which is my favorite art museum. I think the MFA would give more for the money, but this was a sentimental purchase. The Isabella affected me the most as a child.
The crow picture is awesome. I should try to find it the next time I’m at the MFA.
Goodness we haven't ! That is a deplorable oversight that we should rectify immediately. I propose that we need to have two different expeditions, one to the MFA and one to the Gardner. We haven't been back to the Gardner since the kids were little. I love the space and their collections, but because what's on show is not constantly changing like the MFA , I get complacent, thinking we could go at any time. Whereas I feel like most of the time trips to the MFA are either to meet up with people, to catch a special exhibition, or to coincide with a particular area of study. But I really do want to get back to the Gardner so I can dream about moving in and making it my permanent home.
What I find amusing in the "hamburger not a sandwich" argument is that it started with the youngest child holding most firmly and quite alone to the absurd conclusion that it is not a sandwich and without her arguing anything at all, a large portion of the rest of us coming around to where could at least imagine the argument in favor of her position.
It's the combination of cuteness and fierce stubbornness that makes everyone want to capitulate to her determination. I will not that the child who was not present at the discussion at the MFA when he was caught up on what he had missed of the argument was not swayed by any of the arguments and most obstinate in the insistence that a hamburger is CLEARLY a sandwich.
I love you sharing poems in progress and the way this one moved from the concreteness of the painting to the mythic-historic of the aspiring king.
Can I ask, why did you hold "come" to the next line here?
harbingers of a death that had already
come
In general line breaks are first a gut thing, and then I look back at them after the fact while editing to make sure I can justify them.
I was initially trying for the constraint of a syllabic line of 10 syllables, which I more or less met. Line 1 is short, having only 9 syllables, but it was a perfect line as it was, so I left it and didn't try to rewrite or pad it. Line 5 is already long, 11 syllables, so to include "come" stretches it to 12. I could have rewritten the line, and in a more polished poem I might have. But at the same time I kind of liked the effect of the slight break between "already" and "come". I think maybe that little gap echoes the separation between the crows and the actual death, between the dead bodies and the harbingers. That's one of the things that fascinates me about this painting, is the suggestion that the crows are late to the party, they've missed the mark on being proper harbingers. Enjambing the line also puts a little more emphasis on both "already" and "come", where having "come" on the same line gives it less stress.
Now, that's just how it reads in my head. It might not actually work for any readers.
" I think maybe that little gap echoes the separation between the crows and the actual death, between the dead bodies and the harbingers. That's one of the things that fascinates me about this painting, is the suggestion that the crows are late to the party, they've missed the mark on being proper harbingers."
I'm so glad I asked!
I marvel at how you are able to draw out the details and unspool the threads of a painting and see an entire story behind it. The Prose was like a love letter to museums. I need to take my kids to our local fine art museum, which I fully intended to do this summer, but I keep putting it off for that magically perfect day when everyone is able to come. We bought a pass this year when "The Great Wave" came to town, and I should take advantage of the curated experience you describe so compellingly.
It's funny because if you asked me to tell you a story about the painting, I couldn't. I'd be stuck. But I always start with a physical description, trying to pin down for myself what it is about a particular painting that is singing to me. And then sometimes a detail will suddenly open a door and I find myself standing in the middle of a story. I often don't know the beginning or the end, but I can feel their shape and so I can create the illusion that they are there. I don't think I could do it in prose. It's only the act of poetry and the need to find the next line and the next that can unlock that particular door.
I've given up on waiting for a day when everyone can come. We've started just picking a day and whoever can come, comes. I'm sad not to have everyone there, but it does make the logistics easier. And the reality is that if we waited for that day, we probably wouldn't go. Somehow we didn't go at all in 2024 and I didn't realize it until now. We went in Nov 2023 and then in January 2025, but last year was a hard year.
This is fascinating, Melanie. Nonfiction prose (literary analysis, recounting the vacation, reading synopsis etc.) comes easy to you. Your doorway into the written word is the act of attunement instead of a narrative arc. Then through the things, you get to the ideas. Do you write fiction? I can imagine yours coming out rather Marilynne Robinson.
I have tried to write fiction and I just can't. When I was a child my only ambition was to be a novelist, but I've never even written so much as a short story. When I've tried my hand at it, all that comes out is moody descriptive passages. I can't fathom characters or plot. I don't actually believe in the reality of any character I try to make up. My children are fabulous storytellers and I envy them that. Who knows perhaps I'll turn out to be one of those people who write a first novel at age 70, but so far all my talent seems to be in the area of nonfiction prose and poetry.
Your effortless nonfiction prose and strong storytelling in ekphrastic writing have me personally convinced there's a novel in there somewhere. But since poetry is the pinnacle of writing forms, you have nothing to prove. ;) (I tried my hand at fiction the other day and was undeniably rusty. I would like to branch out and write short stories and novels as my kids get older. I probably have to write some very bad first drafts in order to make this dream come true.)
Striking painting, lovely poem.
Brilliant idea meeting distant friends/new friends at the museum! I can easily imagine the interesting conversations that could arise in the trio of two friends and a masterpiece!
In my teenage years I had a beloved painting at the Boston MFA, which I went to several times on visits to relatives. I even had a poster print of it on my wall, but I don’t know what happened to it when I moved out. I don’t remember the title or artist. I’ve searched their online archives but never quite found it (of course I’m sure I’d recognize it instantly! 🤷♀️😆) But I love when art just hits your soul like that!
Oh I know that feeling of loving and losing and not being able to find your beloved again. And now I'm so curious about the painting you loved and lost. What kind of picture was it? A landscape? a portrait? And interior space? A still life?
It reminds me of the story that Lucy reads in the magician's book in the Voyage of the Dawn Treader that she can never read again but has such a pull on her. There's something almost tragic about it but also rather magical. And yes it is wonderful that art can make those deep connections and sing in your soul.
Ooh, I love that about Lucy. We're always looking for that world beyond that we can't quite catch.
The painting was a view through a window, with landscape beyond, mostly muted tones, grey and white, but some yellow. My MIL has a different print of a seashore through a window that's meshed with my memory so I'm fuzzy on the details of my original print after all these years! But I still carry with me the longing that it stirred. That longing for the world beyond!
I love the MFA too. I wish I could have visited again on our recent trip to Boston, but there wasn't time, and I probably wouldn't have asked it of my husband. He endured both the Gardner and the Farnsworth during our sojourn in New England, and I am grateful for that!