Next installment in my poems based on Van Gogh's paintings. This one, for the moment, is just a study of "The Garden of St. Paul's Hospital." When I was in the Van Gogh Museum, I wrote the following note: "Garden of St. Paul’s Hospital: ... Van Gogh admitted himself for psychiatric treatment. The dominant use of red and black was seen by Van Gogh as an indicator of his torment. The heavy paints, thicker and larger than his pointillist stylings, creates a heaviness to the painting. The trees seem twisted, evoking his soul. Heavy, wavy lines give a sense of wind blowing, but also the upturned strokes make them look as if on fire. Two people walk along a blue stone path, away from the artist and the viewer, leaving us isolated and alone."
Van Gogh's painting can be found here.
THE GARDEN OF ST. PAUL'S HOSPITAL
All I see is red,
the ground covered with embers,
the brick wall that embraces.
The trees are on fire,
they wave in the heat
that fans upward from the ground.
I am happy in the warmth.
Why can no one else see this?