A poem in progress, after reading some more letters from the Van Gogh collection. Reminds me yet again how much he was able to fill his days to the brim. With deep thought, emotion, deep reading and seeking. He packed a great deal of life into his 37 years.
The Ear
It was not what he wanted
To lose a friend
Gauguin his brother in Art
Gauguin his kindred spirit
In the maze of being
For colors
For shapes and shadows
In the maze of youth
Trying on yellow houses
And more visits to brothels
Than previously known
Poor Theo
Saving the family
Exhausting himself and his resources
And dying soon after
Vincent
Could not help his ecstasies
Vincent knew only how to seer
There is a cost to Art a cost
To the maker
Family and friends
And who can know as we stare
At the bloody metaphor
On canvas
Reflecting battles lost and won
If the truth is worth the price
— by Douglas Pinson