It wouldn’t be April if I didn’t return to the poems of Richard Wilbur (1921-2017), traditionally formal work marked by ” wit, charm, and gentlemanly elegance.” Today, I am thinking of a the aural portrait he created sparked by listening to his daughter, in another room, typing a story of her own creation. The clatter of old-fashioned typewriter keys is a pivotal device in this poem. “The Writer” is gorgeous on every level to me–it contains its own revision–and quietly speechs volumes of the love the parent has for the child trying hard to fledge. The link above as the full text as well as a voice clip of Wilbur reading the poem in his deep and sonorous voice. Here are a few favorite lines of mine, the poem’s second stanza:

I pause in the stairwell, hearing
From her shut door a commotion of typewriter-keys
Like a chain hauled over a gunwale.

Context for My Poem, “Self as Portraits”:

In the March issue of Vogue, I read a profile, by Dodie Kazanjian, titled “Vision Quest,” of a young graphic artist that held me mezmerized. The artist’s name is Sasha Gordon, and the article describes how this young person is painting self portraits to gain personal and cultural perspective. I am often moved by” the art spirit,” to use Robert Henri’s term, when I read Vogue. The clothes seem sculpture and theater, both, rather than garments, and the coverage of contemporary artists across all genres is something I am grateful for, since mostly popular culture presses forward far ahead of me. Not that I always am drawn to the van guard or even understand it, but still, it is useful to know a little of the explorations, dictions, and preoccupations of what is à la mode, as well as currently celebrated names. I had not heard of Sasha Gordon’s work before, but to my surprise it instantly spoke to me. Today’s poem, “Self as Portraits,” is dedicated to Gordon and derives from the descripton of the way Gordon applies paint to the canvas slowly and methodically and intutively, as well as to her subject matter. Not wanting to violate copyright, I have not included images of Gordon’s work here, but it can be seen online and is worth a look. Someday, I hope to view her canvases themselves.

As I recorded in a poem, “I Wanted to Be a Painter,” published in One Art two years ago, I have often wondered if I am a poet because I don’t have the skill to be a painter! Just this morning, I learned that the Academy of American Poets curates a section called Self-Portrait Poems–in case you’d like even more poetry on this Sunday in April!

P.S. Here are two scraps from my erstwhile dream of becoming a visual artist…

Until tomorrow, LESLIE