Francisco Goya as you reach
the end of your days
self exiled in Bordeaux
Filled with memories
of passionate dalliance
La Maja Desnuda
when the frisson of love was love
Recollecting your oeuvres
and the flash of death
the deeds of rapacious tyrants
The penumbra of reason
the multitudinously murdered
Now glad to be in this city of fine wines
how good it feels to be secure among friends
who praise your genius and sing songs about you
Beloved of a young daughter
who is who she is because you’re her father
And a wife who retrieves you from streets filled with goblins
and smoothes your wrinkles and tucks you in her bed
To find more poetry by Liliane Richman on this blog, click HERE.
Gorgeous poem, Liliane. Like a lullaby, the poem soothes the artist with the comforts of his life, while never forgetting the ravages of home. Lovely.
Merci pour avoir partage vos beaux mots, chere Liliane.