Camile at Asile de Montdevergues

[FranktheFrank]

Camile at Asile de Montdevergues

I am the only genius in this family.
Paul Claudel.

Camille sits eating on a bench, still attractive
despite the bleakness of the asylum, with black
sleek hair. Her bone structure fine and noble.

She is kind to the lunatic who makes gurgling, sucking
sounds and leads her gently back inside. She takes
up pen and ink to draw, but it is too much for her.

She cries in disappointment then runs like a sparrow
to pray. The spirit of her aborted child hangs over her,
a spectre of decay. She harbours the hurt of Auguste's

betrayals, that he signed her work as his and copied it.
He cannot shake of his petite bourgeois puritanism,
he censors her work: The Mature Age, he declares

her dissolute. She cannot forget his rejection,
what had been pure he has discarded as a filthy rag.
He cannot concede that we too have sexual desires,

maybe the token phallus that swings between its legs
is just too much for him. Achille Debussy sought to woo her,
she told me: "Jessie, after Rodin I lost all interest."

She was faithful herself, gave unconditional love. Debussy
had hoped his: Clair de Lune would seal his attempt
to win her, alas it was not to be. They remain friends

and so do we, true friends, I visit when I can,
she is as sane as you and I. She has adjusted
to the cruelty of her family who have sectioned

her to this place, yet is not at peace. She longs
for the purity of her youth, the barren winter trees,
the cleansing wind of home at Villeneuve-sur-Fère.

*****

Mature Age.jpg

[BobBradshaw]

I really like stanzas 5 and 6. There are some misspellings, and places where the language can be tightened. Overall you have a good character piece. Take out the last line...it is flat. The wind image would do fine as a closing.

[FranktheFrank]

Final version

[FranktheFrank]

failed to insert a picture.

[BobBradshaw]

I love these lines, along with the lovely closing stanza:

Camille sits eating on a bench, still attractive
despite the bleakness of the asylum, with black
sleek hair. Her bone structure fine and noble.

She is kind to the lunatic who makes gurgling, sucking
sounds and leads her gently back inside. She takes
up pen and ink to draw, but it is too much for her.

She cries in disappointment then runs like a sparrow
to pray. The spirit of her aborted child hangs over her,
a spectre of decay. She harbours the hurt of Auguste's

betrayals, that he signed her work as his and copied it.

[FranktheFrank]

[BobBradshaw]

Again, just terrific work here… a moving portrait of a great and flawed artsy. I like the every bit of it.

[FranktheFrank]

Thanks Bob. I didn't mean to post this, Bob.
It's can old one. But when I saw it again and read it I said
What the heck. I do enjoy reading it myself.

Did you notice my post in Palava regarding wiseOwl.com.
They've accepted 'Christmas (1953)' for their December edition.
Perhaps Billy should post there? We'll all be together then.

[BobBradshaw]

Great news, Ieuan. We’ll both share poems in the December issue!

[FranktheFrank]

Well done, Bob.