Cezanne’s “Rideau, Cruchon et Compotier”

 

One handled jug, grey, with pink and blue pigment,

in the upper left-hand corner of the light-brown

and yellow table, the bottom of the jug covered,

like a nude, by the white tablecloth, whose crumpled

folds are thick and almost waxy.  In these folds,

amongst and amidst them, are apples, oranges,

lemons, pears, a cornucopia of color – green,

green-yellow, red-yellow, orange, a mixture

as heady as the jug’s contents, (perhaps wine,

perhaps cold water).  The painting is refreshing

like cold water, like cold apple juice

on a warm summer day, poured from a blue vase.

Cezanne’ impeccable arrangement is a carnival

of still celebration.  Coming upon it,

we are as surprised as if we have been caught

stealing fruit.  “Ah!” we say, “we’ve been tricked,”

but the painting only vividly shimmers,

and our eye’s health is restored.  One might

whisk the tablecloth from under the fruit,

hear the dappled thunks of apples hitting floor,

oranges rolling before brown shoes, pears turning

their bulbous bottoms upwards – yet this

distracts from the already capricious composition,

its aleatory unity.  Twenty-some fruit

on a table, coasting along the tablecloth’s waves;

a plate, a jug, and a blue curtain to the left,

also rumbling, tottering out like lightning

shaking itself in the sky, as if to say,

“here, today, is our production, this restless

still-life, round and bright as a harvest moon.”

And now the fruits are moons, green and yellow

and orange suns, here, on Cezanne’s lavish table,

made by such an exquisite pallet, this ballet

of fruit and light, color and movement.     

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1 comment
  1. Art Sans said:

    The ornaments and observations of ekphrastic accuracy, infused with light.

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