Conversations with the Painters by Anne Born
Three poems by Anne Born
El caballero de la mano en el pecho
Portrait of a Man with His Hand on His Chest
By El Greco
Here? How about holding the sword?
Should I look right at you, or to the side?
To the side? How about I look at the sword?
Did you get my beard right?
You know I just had it trimmed,
Yes, you fool! I had it trimmed for you,
For this.
For my portrait.
I want everyone to know who I am
Who I was, am, what I mean is
I want to be someone.
A name, a history.
How about the lace, is it tucked in just right? I can’t see it without moving.
Can you give me a sketch?
Something I can study to make sure,
Yes, understood.
But I want this to mean something.
The Toledo steel of the blade, the exact way my laces are shown.
Generations ahead of us will know my name.
They will know who I was, what I did,
How important my family is in Toledo.
It must be just right.
Does my left arm droop?
I can’t have that simply because I am holding the sword.
Yes, we need the sword,
What gentleman would be seen without one?
Camilla Gonzaga and Her Three Sons
By Parmigianino
I feel so alone.
I have the velvets, the laces, the jewels,
Dear God, these earrings are heavy.
Surely you know our status,
My wealthy husband paid you to paint me.
My sons, all healthy boys who will inherit everything
And probably fight over every morsel.
And yet, as I stand here, trying not to move, trying to show you how important I am,
I feel so alone.
I probably should not have shared that with you but it’s days on end
Where the only people I see are beneath our station and vying to achieve it.
Maybe even take it from us.
Us.
I’m not sure why I said that.
I rarely feel us.
You’ll get this picture right, won’t you?
That I have everything other people want?
The Countess Chinchón
By Francisco de Goya
No, I was just thinking.
Yes, thank you, I am comfortable.
It’s helpful to sit.
The corn husk hat will make me sneeze – do I have to use it?
Yes, yes, of course, the fecundity of it all.
It’s remarkable they let anyone see me like this, let alone paint me like this.
Several more months, I’m told.
I don’t think the doctor knows very much or cares very much, but there you have it.
Fecundity. Silly word.
As if I were the only woman in the world to carry a child.
I think my left arm is asleep.
How much longer, please?
Yes, thank you. I am comfortable – enough.
Ah-choo!
Get the damn hat down quickly because I am taking it off.
And do not show my feet.
My ankles have been swelling and it’s not attractive.
No, I was just thinking.