the-kitchen-garden-gustave-caillebotte

I sowed tiny seeds of words
like aspen, maple, rowan
and got three magnificent trees.

I thought of lilies and bees
and wrote a few lines
about rosemary and thyme,

then I drew an alley and a Door
where ivy hadn’t crept the wall
and goldenrod was standing tall,

and this was neither art nor poetry
but rather a garden beyond memory,
such a pretty place to see you again.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration: the Kitchen Garden, Gustave Caillebotte (1877)

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oil on canvas 50 x 50.5 cm

I love an Island where fragile flowers defy
both basalt and Death. An Island called Exile.
It is black and red. It belongs to the Sea.
It appeals to the stars, its rocks teach Eternity.

The die is cast, broken Motherland,
and soon it will be time to leave you.
But your language flows through my soul
like a river of fire,

and as long as I can breathe,
I will write on every wall
whether made from silence
or from ignorance,

the word you never should have forgotten:
Fraternité. 
France, forever in my heart,
may you rest in peace.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

Illustration : Ria Munk am Totenbett, Gustave Klimt (1912)

Claude Monet, The House at Giverny Viewed from the Rose Garden (1922-1924)

My garden, my friend,
I won’t go away
without saying farewell
without thanking you.

The old cherry tree knows much
about hope and gratitude,
and I’ll certainly learn from its knotted branches
one last lesson of patience and fortitude.

I smile to the white butterfly
flying in the blue light of bliss:
wildflowers seeds will ever stay
under the magic spell of Summer winds,

but I know I’m going to leave you
without looking back,
for no flower has ever grown
from a gardener’s tear.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration : la maison vue du jardin aux roses,  Claude Monet (1922-1924)

Berthe Morisot, the Garden at Bougival (1884)

Le jour où nous partirons enfin
une dernière fois
j’irai faire le tour du jardin.

J’irai toucher l’écorce du vieux cerisier,
l’heure sera venue
de gentiment le remercier,

à l’oiseau chanteur je confierai une prière
qu’il portera dans le ciel bleu
et peut-être jusqu’à Dieu,

puisse notre nouvelle vie
être plus belle encore
qu’elle fut ici.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

illustration : le Jardin à Bougival, Berthe Morisot (1884)

Rising Moon
Can you see the Moon coming up?
It s a new Moon.
Can you see the Sky?
It looks like a painting!

Shades of green. Hues of blue.
Pink and purple waves.
Orange sea.  Invisible sailboats.
The Night is coming! The Sun is dreaming!

It s time for the Moon to shine!
It s time for the Wind to caress your cheek!
It’s time for your freed Soul to feel
how huge your Heart can be!

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration : Crescent Moon At Sunset, Arkhip Kuindzhi (1908)

Monet, Sea Study

Je suis venu te voir
sans bien savoir
ni ce que tu es
ni quoi te demander,

la lune
le rayon d’une étoile
les mots d’une chanson
l’inspiration,

la mer
les couleurs qu’elle invente,
nuages oranges
passage d’un ange,

et je suis reparti,
un peu fou, un peu ivre,
le cœur immense
et rempli de silences.

© Frédéric Georges Martin

~

illustration : Sea Study, Monet (1881)