I see one hand. Two. The rest of you, however, must have been too moved by Queen Elizabeth's talent to continue reading to the trivia question. In red.
Go ahead, scroll down and re-read the post, then scroll back up. I'll wait.
Okay, thanks for coming back. You can go ahead and answer now: just e-mail your message to me. There's a prize in it for you!
NOW, go ahead and read a poem (and artwork) submitted by Eric Tuten:
Pictures of Marriage
I
It is the way Arnolfini holds his wife’s hand
that helps me. His under hers.
It’s not the fancy bed nor them facing us.
I am in love with their simply being together,
even so formally. Human even so.
The dance-like way they hold still. As if she
Had just lifted the skirt so their feet might
Begin to step in the nice music of that time.
[detail from the above image]
II
The potato-eaters move according to an absence
of music. They sit so close around the table,
it’s as if the hands could be exchanged.
The man’s for the woman’s, the boy’s for the mother’s.
Any of them for the tree outside.
The gnarled one with limbs cut back so often
it seems to have wanted to hold more than it can.
The same way, somehow, that Van Gogh does not turn
from what is turned from. Not even
from those in the dim light who fold into each other,
into what they dig up to eat. Into that music
by Linda Gregg, from her book Alma (New York: Random House, 1985)
On your e-mail I have included Eric's presentation and comments on the poem. Enjoy!
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