Boulevard Montmartre, by Camille Pissarro (France) 1897
The Hôtel Russie offered lift,
a Grand framed window overview,
above the throng, along, nightlong,
here carriage queue for Moulin Rouge
around the bend, so out of site.
Observant programmed episodes,
like Haystacks, Rouen Cathedral,
a baker’s dozen plus, impressed,
for cash required as principal -
not portraits, Paris wealth elites.
En plein air pain had brought inside,
as pointillism set aside
for full life, movement, shimmer sense,
both aerial and linear,
those nightlights under canopies.
An architextured cityscape
in urban oeuvre, boulevard,
a bustle like blurred photographs
of crowds beneath trees, beyond shops,
where some suit selves for Mardi Gras.
In light of change for tutored young,
his Passage as Van Gogh, Cezanne,
transitions, modern, pathways new -
warm glow of gas, glass panes above
yet stream of street, electric lights.
Eccentric strikes, eclectic sprites
play in the damp road mirrorwork;
that downpour passed, as glower clouds,
so were his final points, the stars
of pure paint over layered oils?
You capture the atmosphere of the painting in your poem. Motivated me to google Pissarroand the Montmartre collection. Now know what pointillism is- every day’s a school day. Thanks
Although, the painting is the inspiration, and a painting is much easier to access than any poem, your writing allows me to just as easily be transported in time and space, as the painting does, and for whatever reason, it's the gilded cornice, the marble, the opulence or perceived opulence of that period that clicks with me. Thank you Stephen