Friday's Whims of the Time Traveler 85.0: November 24th, 2008
The Painting
by Belinda Roddie
The gentleman is a man of music – teaching it, not playing it,
Talking of movements but never moving with them,
Turning each note to dry theory rather than their mellifluous resolve –
His wife is a painter, but only of what she sees outside her window,
Though it proves that she sees more than he’ll ever know,
And as he watches he says, “Perhaps you can paint music itself,
You have the talent,” and his wife dips her brush in black, then white –
Then in red and blue, purple, dark, light hues all mixed
To make fire, storm, passion brewed in alchemy, fantasy,
Gardens full of yellow roses – “But that is not music at all!”
Says the gentleman, his head all crammed with staffs and clefs,
But his wife says, “No, I have painted an entire symphony.”
The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since November 24th, 2008.
by Belinda Roddie
The gentleman is a man of music – teaching it, not playing it,
Talking of movements but never moving with them,
Turning each note to dry theory rather than their mellifluous resolve –
His wife is a painter, but only of what she sees outside her window,
Though it proves that she sees more than he’ll ever know,
And as he watches he says, “Perhaps you can paint music itself,
You have the talent,” and his wife dips her brush in black, then white –
Then in red and blue, purple, dark, light hues all mixed
To make fire, storm, passion brewed in alchemy, fantasy,
Gardens full of yellow roses – “But that is not music at all!”
Says the gentleman, his head all crammed with staffs and clefs,
But his wife says, “No, I have painted an entire symphony.”
The work you see here has not been edited nor altered since November 24th, 2008.
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