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THE LILY POND, THE JAPANESE BRIDGE by Claude Monet and Sal Buttaci


THE LILY PAD, THE JAPANESE BRIDGE Painting by Claude Monet (1899); Poem by Sal Buttaci (1994)   Who could imagine what Monet was thinking when he took his brush to this! Ask him what inspired him  and he will no doubt lie, say "The Japanese Bridge" or "The lily pond: the way the lilies sit on the brown river" or "The mood I was in, the feeling  I have captured in this work."   It is true Monet one afternoon  came to the bridge, to this lily pond,  an easel under his arm, paints and brushes in a wooden box. For a moment he surveyed the scene, thought it peaceful, but would have moved on  had he not heard a frog croak in the intricacy of the lily pads, stretch its legs, leap into the air and dive into the brown river water.   The painter stood there, concentric water circles ...
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THE CART: THE ROAD UNDER SNOW IN HONFLEUR by Claude Monet and Sal Buttaci


THE CART: THE ROAD UNDER SNOW IN HONFLEUR Painting by Claude Monet, 1865; Poem by Salvatore Buttaci, 1994 The road under snow we ought best not to complain about! Yet we do so every winter, don't we? You say the jostling ride hurts your back or the old horse is too slow or that I see so poorly I cannot avoid the rocks jutting in our path.   As for me, I detest leaving our home where a burning fireplace kept us safe and warm. Begrudgingly, we voyage here these kilometers to spend the holidays with your parents and with mine.   Why not instead look at this adventure with a different eye! Directly ahead of us or sideways at the houses, the farms, the drifts of snow, and think good thoughts to while away the time. My dear, what can we expect? It is winter after all. In winter it...
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YOUNG WOMAN WITH A VEIL by Auguste Renoir and Salvatore Buttaci


    Painting by Auguste Renoir, 1876     Poem by Salvatore Buttaci, 1994 This is not the veil I had hoped to wear. You can take that for the God-honest truth! This one is black; the other was white. This is today: a time for mourning. That was long ago. How do you explain a life? Mine, that is. One summer the earth revolved  around the two of us. We were in love. Together for the first time we sat on St. Honore's Hill and timed the sun that rose at early dawn. At night we scanned the black sky and from a galaxy of star lights we chose a star for ourselves, wished upon it almost nightly.   That was then: a time for dreaming. Today on this cold November day I wear the black veil that tells the world for me this is a time of mourning: one last...
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