To Vincent from Shamik Banerjee

How often do we try to live in someone else's world? It provides some kind of security, thrills, fascination and freedom. Almost all artists begin by imitation of works they wanted to be creators of. There are also the ones that intrigue us so immensely that we simply to try walk around in their shoes, be it following them through a scene they left years and years ago. Shamik here has written to Vincent Van Gogh, while travelling around a region where he produced his most prominent works. The place still runs on his name and his art. Read on to take a trip to Provence.

Artwork: Olive Trees with Yellow Sky and Sun by Vincent Van Gogh.

A Brief Account of Provence

(Written to Vincent Van Gogh)

Not it was for France's beauty alone,

but Provence where my spirit longed to go,

and before I stepped there, I did not know,

multifold excursionists would be there,

in the region of your art's cornerstone.

to learn the master's virtuosity.

Not far was the commune of Saint Rémy,

where the foot walks of narrow snickelways,

had emanated the scent of your days,

and the taprooms, pubs and parlours of beer,

had tourists in jam-packed capacity,

seated by walls that said, 'Van Gogh was here'.

This placement, I wish I had promenaded

but short was my time, so having undermeal,

to Saint-Paul de Mausole I fast headed.

There in the cloister, I walked for hours

by the colonnades, amidst the flowers

and your room's replication I did see

and the window which gave you, 'The Starry Night'.

There I gained speculation of the zeal,

which did enthuse in me,

a reproduction of your mind,

where artistry was divine,

that wondrously the place's beauty use,

from the vast blue field with lavenders lined.

And thus made an incomparable one —

the, 'Lavender Fields with a Rising Sun'.

My next stoppage was at Arles.

To the south, at Place Lamartine,

where The Yellow House

had nothing much yet everything to browse —

the hopelessness which had betined you

and in your eyes, unrecognition's view.

These, I pondered, when a visitor's mouth

started lauding, "Vincent this! Vincent that!",

which I heard, lowering my hat.

As I went to the bus stop, I thought,

if given to you was this accolade

when on Earth you soft made ambulation,

you would not have taken the early ascent

rather viewed nature's beautiful shade.

Yet, I believe the praise from now is sent

to where your resting soul is, dear Vincent.

***

For the love of art,

Shamik Banerjee

A poet and poetry reviewer from the North-Eastern belt of India. He loves taking long strolls and spending time with his family. His deep affection for solitude and poetry provides him happiness.