figure by window (1962)

Paul Wonner


  1. Let us read poetry by a window
    and have no lights on inside but angle the book,
    tilt the page to face the light, the light of our fading day, the day we can still feel working in our limbs, and smell on our skin and hair; the window is our memory of it.
    Let us have this day spread across some timeless words, words we read until the moment they merge with our darkened surroundings, strange shapes born of this confluence, and then carry all of it into our night.

  2. that is a lovely painting, thank you for posting it, Michael. what i find most intriguing is the obliteration of view, one cannot grasp anything from the outside world even if the sense of transparency is there, through the filtered light. what exactly is it that obscures those windows? it doesn't look like curtains...

  3. anonymous, thank you for the poem, it is not only beautiful but also very fitting.
    this will stay with me: the window is our memory of it... indeed...