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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384040" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poem</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">About the size of an old-style dollar bill,<br>American or Canadian,<br>mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays<br>-this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?)<br>has never earned any money in its life.<br>Useless and free., it has spent seventy years<br>as a minor family relic handed along collaterally to owners<br>who looked at it sometimes, or didn't bother to.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It must be Nova Scotia; only there<br>does one see abled wooden houses<br>painted that awful shade of brown.<br>The other houses, the bits that show, are white.<br>Elm trees., low hills, a thin church steeple<br>-that gray-blue wisp-or is it? In the foreground<br>a water meadow with some tiny cows,<br>two brushstrokes each, but confidently cows;<br>two minuscule white geese in the blue water,<br>back-to-back,, feeding, and a slanting stick.<br>Up closer, a wild iris, white and yellow,<br>fresh-squiggled from the tube.<br>The air is fresh and cold; cold early spring<br>clear as gray glass; a half inch of blue sky<br>below the steel-gray storm clouds.<br>(They were the artist's specialty.)<br>A specklike bird is flying to the left.<br>Or is it a flyspeck looking like a bird?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Heavens, I recognize the place, I know it!<br>It's behind-I can almost remember the farmer's name.<br>His barn backed on that meadow. There it is,<br>titanium white, one dab. The hint of steeple,<br>filaments of brush-hairs, barely there,<br>must be the Presbyterian church.<br>Would that be Miss Gillespie's house?<br>Those particular geese and cows<br>are naturally before my time.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sketch done in an hour, &quot;in one breath,&quot;<br>once taken from a trunk and handed over.<br>Would you like this? I'll Probably never<br>have room to hang these things again.<br>Your Uncle George, no, mine, my Uncle George,<br>he'd be your great-uncle, left them all with Mother<br>when he went back to England.<br>You know, he was quite famous, an R.A....</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I never knew him. We both knew this place,<br>apparently, this literal small backwater,<br>looked at it long enough to memorize it,<br>our years apart. How strange. And it's still loved,<br>or its memory is (it must have changed a lot).<br>Our visions coincided-&quot;visions&quot; is<br>too serious a word-our looks, two looks:<br>art &quot;copying from life&quot; and life itself,<br>life and the memory of it so compressed<br>they've turned into each other. Which is which?<br>Life and the memory of it cramped,<br>dim, on a piece of Bristol board,<br>dim, but how live, how touching in detail<br>-the little that we get for free,<br>the little of our earthly trust. Not much.<br>About the size of our abidance<br>along with theirs: the munching cows,<br>the iris, crisp and shivering, the water<br>still standing from spring freshets,<br>the yet-to-be-dismantled elms, the geese.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Elizabeth+Bishop">Elizabeth Bishop</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384040" data-title="Poem de Elizabeth Bishop" data-description="About the size of an old-style dollar bill,
American or Canadian,
mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays
-this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?)
has never earned any money in its life.
Useless and free., it has spent seven..."></div>
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