Laurie Blauner Poem
Matisse in the Company of Strangers
could only see their forms and sizes, an alphabet
of color, the clouds gone haywire
against the fact of sky. The conversation
meanders to how ready life is
to leave, the way abstrations of gray birds
always know how to fly without our help.
And Matisse says he believes in imagination
for even the slightest things,
white roses imitating angels, the half smiles
of fish or music leaking into a library.
The moon rises like a glimpse of light seen
from the distance of a keyhole in a dark room.
Al the strangers’ faces turn smooth
and featureless in their representation
of the turning of one century into another,
and Matisse can only think about capturing
a little brown, the mimicking red, radiant blue, and
sympathic green in shapes that defy this changeable worlds.
SOURCE: Poetry (March 1993)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: The author of six books of poetry, three novels and a novella, Laurie Blauner received an MFA from The University of Montana. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in various publications, including The New Republic, The Nation, The Georgia Review, The Seattle Review, The New Orleans Review, Poetry, and American Poetry Review. She has received an NEA grant, King County Arts Commission, Seattle Arts Commission, Artist Trust, and Centrum grants and awards. Laurie Blauner lives in Seattle, Washington. Her most recent novel is The Bohemians (Black Heron Press, 2013), available at Amazon.com. Visit the author at laurieblauner.com.
IMAGE: “Still Life with Sleeper” (1940) by Henry Matisse