Cezanne

“Although one of his idiosyncrasies is to use

pure chrome yellow and burning lacquer red…

He knows how to contain

their loudness within a picture:

cast into a listening blue,

as if into an ear,

it receives a silent response from within,

so that none outside needs to think

himself addressed or accosted.”

From Rilke’s Letters on Cezanne

Whenever I am at the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I head for Cezanne’s paintings. A decade or so ago, Ned and I went to a show at the Philadelphia Museum and met up with Makoto Fujimura. As we wandered around the paintings and Mako focused on the paintings of Cezanne, I learned to see his work more deeply. Since then, I have been drawn to his all his outdoor scenes - especially those with water. I also love to look carefully at his still life paintings. Sometimes I can imagine myself catching an orange that looks like it wants to fall off the table.

Last summer I re-read The Gift of Ashur Lev. Ashur, a painter, carries around a copy of Rilke’s Letters on Cezanne. I was intrigued by this detail and also by Rilke’s quotes in the book. I ordered a copy of the letters. . . and read and reread the letters. Rainer Rilke helped me go even deeper into what Cezanne was doing as a painter - especially with color.

This led me to write a few poems. I was trying to combine Cezanne’s work, Rilke’s observations, and my own imagination. It was a very enjoyable exercise in playing around with words and images.

“I wanted to tell you about all this, because it connects in a 

hundred places . . . and with ourselves…”

                        Rainer Rilke on Paul Cezanne, 1907

And if Cézanne only painted what he 

knew (as Rilke observed), how did this French 

man paint the dreams I had yet to dream and

the wishes I had yet to wish out loud?

Staring straight through the parted trees, into 

the colors of l’Estaque, I want to 

grab your hand and step through the frame. We’ll walk 

down the path and dance over the red roofs, 

then dive deep into the blues and greens. And

how did Cezanne know—had Adam obeyed—

Eden would have stretched out to a village 

on the Mediterranean, honest 

in its satisfaction with itself, and 

welcoming hopeful hearts into its light? 

…beautiful in elevation, is the joy of all the earth, Mount Zion, 

in the far north, the city of the great King.

                                                Psalm 48:2

To have not been left clinging and waiting

at the foot of the mountain would have been 

enough, but he led us up to his holy 

house. And then he made his dwelling place with

us—his own light filling the day and night,

his own hands wiping our tears. He gathered 

in the multitudes, people from every 

time and tongue. We could not desire more. 

But he sat us at his banquet table   

of fine food and wine, beckoning us to  

be filled. He knew our hunger, and he knew  

our thirst. Glad for his invitation to

drink from the river of living water, 

we have found our place to rest and to sing.