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The Painter
The moment when a painting is complete,
He starts another piece without delay
Like respiration—take a breath; repeat.
Without this passion, he won’t last a day.
While Nature keeps on working tirelessly
To make the world replete with variations,
This painter’s life has no diversity
Except in all the themes of his creations.
I’ve seen him drown in gloom on days his mind
Stayed infertile. We walk the streets for bread,
While he does so for snapshots God designed
On earth to save his brush from lying dead.
Last evening, at the bar, he didn’t drink.
I fear he’s once again on sorrow’s brink.
.
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Endurance
Some days, it’s just a dead scholastic term
For me. Although I tell my blooming kin
To act upon it too, not simply learn
The one-line definition, I’m betrayed
By my own tutelage when grave distress
Surmounts good times—debacles, tragedies,
All obstinate enough to never bend.
Then things around me bear my rage’s curse;
The panes have often suffered from my fist.
And there’s my mother always staying firm
Towards this value. Armoured with a grin,
She fights pyrexia that tends to burn
Or sap her bones. Strength’s fabric might get frayed,
Yet none of her cuisines have one pinch less
Or more of salt. Rough feelings of unease
Don’t ever cause her daily chores to end.
To feed our house, she wakes at dawn; a nurse
Even on days her own sun’s veiled by mist.
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Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, Autumn Sky Daily, Ekstasis, among others. He received second place in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.
Whether art, poetry, or other creative literature, there comes that time when a picture or piece has been completed and we become blocked in our mind from being able to get started on the next one. You admirably describe what it is like for the artist and by extension to the poet. There are a number of ways to overcome this impasse, but the method depends on the artist/poet. When I can keep producing, I feel I am “in the zone.”
For some people, their art is all they have; so, when a blockade impedes their progress, survival becomes difficult. Indeed, there are many ways to overcome such a phase. Poets can take inspiration from other poets, observe things around them, embark on an adventure, etc. I agree with your “in the zone” feeling. It’s really ecstatic. Thank you for reading and writing this beautiful comment, Mr. Peterson.
These are both nicely done. The sonnet on the painter describes the artist who is driven, by a deep internal engine, to paint endlessly. The same thing is true for some writers, who suffer from what was called “scribendi cacoethes” in the ancient world (“the accursed habit of writing”). The writer can’t put down his pen; the painter can’t put down his brush.
“Endurance” is carefully constructed, but it may be that its rhyme scheme (nine pairs, separated by distance in two stanzas) has compelled the poet to use certain words that don’t quite fit the sense. I’m thinking of the words “leave” and “grieve” in line 7 of each stanza. I cannot make clear sense of
“ailments obstinate enough to leave,” or the corresponding “cause her daily chores to grieve.”
Thank you so much for your thoughts, Mr. Salemi. I wasn’t familiar with the term “scribendi cacoethes” but now I am. I googled it and read a few lines.
I deeply appreciate your feedback on my second poem. What I intend to convey from the seventh line of stanza 1 is that those ailments don’t leave easily her body, keeping her in a weak and exhausted state. By the corresponding line of the stanza 2, I’m trying to convey that she never keeps her chores abandoned/ undone despite feeling uneasy or weak.
However, if these two constructions are a bit hazy, how about the following variations:
“obstinate enough to die/sleep”
and,
“don’t ever cause her daily chores to sigh/weep”
I’d love to know your thoughts. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and comment, and as always, your valuable guidance and knowledge.
I think I would try this instead:
Line 7 – All obstinate enough to never bend.
Line 16 – Don’t ever cause her daily chores to end.
The problem is that chores cannot “grieve” — they are simply imagined tasks to be done. They have no feelings. And if you say that “debacles” and “tragedies” are obstinate, their obstinacy from our point of view is that they will never bend (that is, become less troublesome).
I agree with your clearly explained point, Mr. Salemi. Also, I like your suggested lines. Many thanks for these.
Should say these are good, healthy pictures of afflictions?
Quite engaging, Shamik. In “The Painter,” I like how the word “infertile” doesn’t flow with the meter (at least not in my pronunciation), thus creating a little stumbling block that suggests how the painter must feel. “Endurance” offers a good contrast of a speaker hoping for the virtue of patience and a mother exercising it. If this is you and your mother in reality, she’s admirable. That little “sun” suggesting “son” in the last line is a fine touch.
I am glad you find these poems engaging, Margaret. I’m really impressed by your interpretation of “infertile” not suiting the meter in line 9. Your observational skills deserve absolute praise! You are correct about “Endurance” being related to my mother and me. Thank you so much for reading and your precious comment!
The Painter reminds me of van Gough’s compulsion to paint and his continual battle with mental illness. It’s well done, especially since your audience is mostly writers who also have the same compulsion. I especially liked the simplicity of the piece, making it readable to anyone.
I felt that Endurance is a very personal poem. My favourite snippet is: ‘I’m betrayed / By my own tutelage when grave distress / Surmounts good times—debacles, tragedies, / Or ailments…’ (Fabulous!)
I especially like the theme, focusing of how unable our and the younger generations are to endure hardships (first stanza), and that they should take a page out of your mum’s book (second stanza).
Thanks for the reads.
To be honest, Mr. Freeman, Van Gogh’s compulsion to paint did play a vital role in the making of this sonnet, although the inspiration behind it stemmed mostly from the thought that for an artist (poet, painter, singer), his art is everything. Losing it or being in a state of complete dormancy rips his sanity apart. “Endurance” indeed is a personal poem. Although I always try to remain calm even in the hardest of moments, sometimes my wrath just spills uncontrollably. My mother, for me, is the epitome of composure and endurance. Thank you so much for reading and commenting.
You’ve painted an insightful word-portrait of an artist. And the squarish sonnet form makes a nice frame for it.
I am very happy to know you think so, Cynthia. Thank you so much for reading and leaving this lovely comment.
These are touching and insightful at once, they are great snapshots of everyday personalities. We have the painter’s devotion to his craft lest he fall apart otherwise, and the mother’s silent strength in the face of difficulty contrasted with the speaker’s own self-criticism. These are wonderful, intimate works.
Dear Shamik,
As a poet, you have great compassion for another creator – the painter. I love this line – “Like respiration—take a breath; repeat.”
As a writer, I have experienced the joy of having one thing to write after another, and the despair of the “infertile” days, when I say, “I probably won’t ever have anything to write again.” (My husband kindly laughs.)
Your mother sounds like mine. I didn’t understand why she never went to rest when she was sick (until I was a mother myself). She just always pressed on taking care of us kids. Thank you for the reminder to endure.
Gigi
Is it necessary for an artist to suffer, Shamik? I don’t know, but it’s amazing to think of how a mother suffers gladly.