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walking with Vincent: an imaginary dialogue with van Gogh

prelude

it is the time, the natural occasion
of an orchard with the flowers on apricot trees
uninhibited, and flowing and easy coming
smooth as water and quiet as deep sleep;
the dance of children in free, untutored movement
a blossoming of trees in disinterested fullness

the stranger speaks

like an aimless wanderer, an un-liked gypsy
like a vagrant, shunned, moving and unkempt
like the pale knight of Keats’s ballad -
O Vincent,
you walk alone in these orchards;
and with only canvas and brushes and paint
and what little food you can carry
you stop in the embracing shade
or below a peach tree
as if to answer to a blade of grass
and then you continue, your eyes in the distance:
O how did it come thus to be alone, Vincent;
how did things bring you to isolation
to lonely journeys?

the painter replies

I walk alone, dear friend,
sometimes by choice
perhaps mostly being avoided
but it is never lonely in the fields
or in the orchards
for there is such gaiety in the grass and the blossoms
for there is such power in the lone tree that bursts into life;
it is with many I walk here
but never crowded;
it is never lonely, dear friend,
for the trees and the grass
and the light and the clouds and the birds and shapes and forms
keep me company always;
and so I wander seemingly aimless
and the creative spirit lets me happily live on its palms

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