Visitation: Van Gogh in Arles

My wife and I recently spent a  month in France and one of the highlights was a visit to Arles. I had been there 50 years ago and this re-visit brought back many memories of my own youth and  how I have always related to Vincent V an Gogh.​

Visitation: Van Gogh, Descending Angels, the Church at Auvers
 
Perfumed, the dark fetid air before storm
Cauliflower-shaped clouds with pewter edges
And pepper-sized rain drops over the Camargue
A Mistral, then, twisting Van Gogh into the mad Dutchman
 
Hey Vincent, vous pauvre homme. Think about it.
You could buy this whole stone city with a cartload of your paintings
I like the one with a wooden wagon surrounded by a murder of crows
Toss in the bray, a bargain at any price
 
Your face Vincent
Dit Moi—You don’t look like a madman
Those eyes poke straight at the essential. You knew even then:
Paint is God’s gift. His hand emerging from the dark grottos of time
I imagined as much at Lascaux, hands guided by
Angels with paleolithic smiles
 
When I search for meaning, for solid statuesque memories
I look here, into the human crevasse, into gloomy caves
Sheltering smudges of charcoal and red ochre
Ok! Even angels have their doubts
Their wings landlocked,
Frozen in place
 
Your impact, Vincent. Your
best intentions re-rooted behind
thick brushstrokes, viscous yellow varnish
Unable to fly
 
Even the angels flounder in impasto  colors: pale lilac,
green-citron, gold, Venetian yellow, and cobalt blue
Bleu. Bleu! Always blue. Always wonderous!
Always, you. Lonely heart
How to understand
Your mistral
 
Is it your flaming red hair
Or too much cheap absinthe
A blood-red line circling
Your chiseled face?
 
Your penetrating green eyes
 
Walking up that path to the church at Auvers
I come back to God, yes, slowly
Extending my pale white hand
My brown eyes lingering
Angels descending
All for you
Vincent
 
Angels
Take him away please
To a happier place