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The Modern Life of a Soul: Edvard Munch
by Julie Adams
His strokes, whether
highly defined, or
dabbed against
canvas fibers
find conflict
internal,
exposed
to air
and
eyes
out there
in Oslo, where
time stopped
at the tip of his brush
enough for him
to paint many a slice
of life, he captured
tone, consciousness, humanity,
he colored souls, storms
with telling, compelling hues
of perspective views
in the saturated season
of modernism
birth love death birth death love birth
silent screams echo
runaway dreams,
scapes like photos
they penetrate
surfaces
caught in canvas
oils dripping
with implication
with backstory
with simple
open-ended
possibility
observing
the moment between
impact and action, between
said and done, between
one and one's self, or
one and one's world
birth love death birth death love birth
images swarm like locusts
of color, swirling
into the sky
into a frenzy
of perfect chaos
converging; merging into
the make up of flesh,
man or Madonna
reflecting living,
once
renewed
with rain pools
collected in buckets
we return
to the village
to the mind
like a tarot card
reading between
strokes
05/16/2006 Author's Note: Edvard Munch: Norwegian Painter, 1863-1944 (works on display at the Museum of Modern Art, NYC in April/May)
Posted on 05/16/2006
Copyright © 2024 Julie Adams
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Sandy M. Humphrey on 05/17/06 at 12:57 PM with each word you too painted a soulful artistic picture...very well done. SMH |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 05/17/06 at 02:46 PM I love poems that mix with another art form such as this one. A chef-d'oeuvre from your keyboard to be sure! |
| Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 05/18/06 at 07:11 AM Hi Julie. I like this. I like how it is quite contemporary, yet not faddish. Your title is certainly apt for Munch. I always lived close to his quote: "My will exceeds my talents." Great writing, Julie |
| Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 05/18/06 at 05:08 PM Oh this line is a genius clincher
like a tarot card
reading between
strokes
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| Posted by Heide McAlister-Bates on 05/19/06 at 08:03 PM A fabulous tribute to the genius of Munch. My favourite bit? The stanza just after the first single line divider - "a silent scream
a runaway, dream scapes like photos that penetrate
surfaces caught in canvas oils dripping with implication with backstory with simple open-ended
possibility". I appreciate the almost tutorial beginning of the poem, and the artistic interpretation that follows. Excellent read. |
| Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 05/21/06 at 11:00 AM as a painter, I felt you were describing me and the process whereby we who yield brushes to sate our souls can march forward of ourselves so as to give us reason to catch up to ourselves in order to break the news to ourselves that we are poets and artists indeed, and that no amount of seperation from ourselves could ever chill the spirit in us nor you to write a poem and splendid such as this one, which looks good to my sould whether it was moving forward or backwards. |
| Posted by Joan Serratelli on 05/23/06 at 05:05 PM Although I have heard of Munch, I know very little of his works- your poem makes me want to learn more about this man who you think so much of- a great tribute to this artist! Well done. |
| Posted by Bruce W Niedt on 05/24/06 at 04:12 PM A really good capture of the artist's style. Last fall when I was in London I quite serendipitously found an exhibit of his portraits, including nearly his entire collection of self-portraits. See my poem "Munch's 'Self-portrait Between Clock and Bed'" for my impression.... d:-) |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 09/01/07 at 10:14 PM I took an art class and my professor loved Munch, even had an imprint of "The Scream" on her checks. I don't think I've ever quite delved into his artistic personality quite this way. Excellent cameo Julie...
~Chelle~ |
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