I
Her dress
Plain black,
Pinned tight
At the collar
And hair
Tied up
Above her ears,
She sits, stiff,
Cold, quiet, patient
With the patience
Of those who wait out
Long winters
Pale, tight lipped,
Eyes like black buttons.
II
He is not here.
Rather, standing
On a shoreline,
His eyes the distant islands
Of Texel, Juist, Pellworm, Zeist,
His forehead stretched
Thin and bleached
Like the weathered
Canvass of ships
At sea, off
With cargos fast
And all sails set.
He is watching the sky.
Praying for wind.
III
Quicker
Than your hands,
These eyes are
Slip knots
Or polished
Scale pans,
Staring you down
Over the table,
Ready to clinch the bargain.
IV
Rembrandt himself.
Older, wiser,
A man of the world,
Not quick to words,
He stands in a corner
Watching the crowd
Come to see his work.
Everywhere you go,
You feel those eyes,
Looking right through you.
Arranging you on canvass.
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Author Notes
This poem was inspired by a show of Rembrandt's work at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York some time ago, which I attended with my father. I was very impressed with Rembrandt's ability to capture elements of a person's character and personality in his portraits of merchants, wives, sea captains. And himself. The most riveting picture was his self portrait, and those eyes, boring into your soul as you walked passed or looked at the picture, sizing you up, looking into your soul to prepare for another portrait. The poem is very reminiscent of Heaney's style, a great influence on me at that time. The actions depicted by the words create the rhythm and music of the free verse in this kind of poetry.
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