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PostPosted: 13 Jul 2017, 21:07 
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Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Posts: 182
newer version:

Agostina Segatoria Sitting in the Cafe du Tambourin


Sitting with my demitasse
I fell for the perfumes
of Agostina, the cafe owner.
I traded flower sketches for meals,

and painted her seated at one
of her round tables
with its tambourine
shaped stools.

I painted her enjoying
a second glass of beer
with her cigarette,
her raven hair

and olive dark eyes
justification alone
for my coming
to Paris.

Did we have our differences?
You know me. I'm not
the easiest person
to tolerate

but I was surprised
to hear of her bankruptcy,

Agostina’s debtors allowed to seize
my work as waste canvas,
my frames and paintings
lost.

Hurt by her callousness,
and, worse, her bedding
with someone
else,

I grew crazy, like a goat
tangled in its own tethers.

I left Paris, finished
with romance. Love
was like an invitation
from the Salon—impossible.

I would simplify my life,
and work in the south,
with landscapes as bold
as ukiyo-e prints.

Theo saw me off at the station.
As the train pulled away,
zinc white clouds billowed
into the cold air.


previous version:

Agostina Segatoria Sitting in the Cafe du Tambourin


Sitting with my coffee
I fell in love with Agostina,
the owner. I traded sketches
of flowers for meals,

and painted her seated at one
of her round tables
with its tambourine
shaped stools.

I painted her enjoying
a second glass of beer
with her cigarette,
her raven hair

and olive dark eyes
justification alone
for my coming
to Paris.

Did we have our differences?
You know me. I'm not
the easiest person
to tolerate

but I was surprised
to hear of her bankruptcy,

her debtors seizing
my work--and selling it
for pittance. Lonely again,
I was like a goat

tangled in its own
tethers.

I left Paris, any hope
of love left behind
with my brother Theo
and his future fiancee, Jo.

Theo saw me off at the station.
As the train pulled away,
zinc white clouds billowed
into the cold air.


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PostPosted: 16 Jul 2017, 00:39 
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Joined: 30 Jul 2015, 11:14
Posts: 136
Bob--

as before, i am drawn to the original subject matter.

but I would reconsider "coffee." pretty bland for artists in a bar...How about absinthe? he pained that alcohol, and drank a bit himself. (and yes i know, a beer actually rests on the table he paints.


https://www.wayfair.com/Buyenlarge-The- ... Aona8P8HAQ


Sitting with my coffee
I fell in love with Agostina,
the owner. I traded sketches
of flowers for meals,

and painted her seated at one
of her round tables
with its tambourine
shaped stools.


suggestion, describe color and texture of the table, describe her mismatched jacket and skirt.

think i would want to characterize her look, seems dejected.


more importantly, what do you most want me to know?

that the woman models?

that she owns the bar?

that the bar is bankrupt?

the VG trades pictures for lunch?

that many of his paintings are lost as the bar is reclaimed by creditors?

the final scene, VG's departure by train?


I love and admire the closing lines:


Theo saw me off at the station.
As the train pulled away,
zinc white clouds billowed
into the cold air.




oh yes. color, action, original description details, and sensation. (the cold air.)
oh those zinc white clouds. inspired.


In the opening the artist is in love, what is he feeling in the last lines?

excellent pom.


bernie



just for standby

a painter, he sees like Thomas Hardy sees under the "roof-lamp's oily flame" a boy half asleep on a station bench.

or an old man with a heavy pack, (Anna Karenina) scuttling awkwardly.

he thought again, briefly, of his model at the bar---half drunk now with her green drink turning a milky white as water was added from a glass karaffe, and the several dozen of pictures on her walls into which he had poured his soul.


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PostPosted: 16 Jul 2017, 01:59 
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Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Posts: 182
Thanks, Bernie. You have given me some good things to think about. Best


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PostPosted: 16 Jul 2017, 02:58 
Offline

Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Posts: 182
newer version:

Agostina Segatoria Sitting in the Cafe du Tambourin


Sitting with my coffee
I fell in love with Agostina,
the owner. I traded sketches
of flowers for meals,

and painted her seated at one
of her round tables
with its tambourine
shaped stools.

I painted her enjoying
a second glass of beer
with her cigarette,
her raven hair

and olive dark eyes
justification alone
for my coming
to Paris.

Did we have our differences?
You know me. I'm not
the easiest person
to tolerate

but I was surprised
to hear of her bankruptcy,

Agostina allowing her debtors
to seize my work
as 'waste canvas',
my frames and paintings lost

to her callousness.
Worse, she was bedding
someone else.
I grew crazy, like a goat

tangled in its own
tethers.

I left Paris, finished
with romance. Love
was like an invitation
from The Salon—impossible.

I would simplify my life,
and work in the south,
with landscapes as bold
as ukiyo-e prints.

Theo saw me off at the station.
As the train pulled away,
zinc white clouds billowed
into the cold air.


previous version:

Agostina Segatoria Sitting in the Cafe du Tambourin


Sitting with my coffee
I fell in love with Agostina,
the owner. I traded sketches
of flowers for meals,

and painted her seated at one
of her round tables
with its tambourine
shaped stools.

I painted her enjoying
a second glass of beer
with her cigarette,
her raven hair

and olive dark eyes
justification alone
for my coming
to Paris.

Did we have our differences?
You know me. I'm not
the easiest person
to tolerate

but I was surprised
to hear of her bankruptcy,

her debtors seizing
my work--and selling it
for pittance. Lonely again,
I was like a goat

tangled in its own
tethers.

I left Paris, any hope
of love left behind
with my brother Theo
and his future fiancee, Jo.

Theo saw me off at the station.
As the train pulled away,
zinc white clouds billowed
into the cold air.


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PostPosted: 16 Jul 2017, 14:27 
Offline

Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
Posts: 455
Location: Between the mountains and the sea
I like the new version Bob,
Bernie has drawn more colour from the frame.
Maybe the title could shorten to: Cafe du Tambourin.

Sitting with my coffee
I fell in love with Agostina,
the owner. I traded sketches
of flowers for meals,

Maybe:
Sitting with my demitasse
I fell for Agostina's rich aroma
as she served me at her cafe.
I traded flower sketches for meals,

painted her on a tambourine stool.


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PostPosted: 16 Jul 2017, 21:08 
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Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Posts: 182
Thanks, Frank...I like your suggestion, and will use it...best


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PostPosted: 17 Jul 2017, 02:20 
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Joined: 18 Apr 2005, 04:57
Posts: 1118
 
Hi Bob,

in accord w/ Frank's shortened title -

then include the surname in the text

workshop illustrated below, for your perusal & consideration     8)   Michael (MV)


Sitting in her café I fell
for the perfumed aroma
of Agostina Segatoria
as she served me demitasse.

I traded sketches of flowers for meals,
and a portrait of her
raven hair and dark-plive eyes,
seated on a tambourine stool,
smoking Gauloise with a second glass of beer -

justification alone
for my coming to Paris.

Did we have our differences?
You know me. I'm not
the easiest person
to tolerate,

but I was shocked
to hear of her bankruptcy,
then allowing her debtors
to seize my work
as 'waste canvas,'
my frames and paintings lost

to Agostina's callousness.
Worse, the wretch was bedding
someone else. I grew crazy
like a goat tangled in its own tethers.

I left Paris, through
with romance. Love
was like an invitation
from The Salon—impossible.

I would simplify my life,
and work in the south,
with landscapes as bold
as ukiyo-e prints.

Theo saw me off at the station.
As the train pulled away,
zinc white clouds billowed
into cold air.
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 


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PostPosted: 17 Jul 2017, 20:11 
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Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Posts: 182
Thanks, Michael. I'll consider....best


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