Individuality and Naturalism in Painting (Conference)

Poem by Chris Johns:
"Honest Perceptions"

A dispute once arose
in the first century A.D..
It was not a particularly glorious day,
except looking back—some will say.

A man was weeping;

That’s not all he did,
but let’s skip ahead
just a bit.

No not at that part,
we know it too well—

Let’s stick to the deep cuts:
they cast their own spell.

Because people, you know, said that
that was God.

The weeping man!

And a wave of people gave a nod,
and a wave of people gave a shake,

and then the Jig was Up,
and he was up and Gone
for Goodness Sake.

But before all that
drama unfolded

someone said God—God Who?

Why would he send a white bird?

The Dove?
Why not a crow?
Why not a Cuckoo?

And then a truly widespread clamor clucked its tongue
and grew.

Some things, I suppose, are just a mystery.
Allthough at this point it’s all ancient history.

But let’s say you took an old sot,
from the days of Lancelot,

Well, might not learn a lot.

You honestly might not learn a thing.

But I’m not a History Teacher,
So I will have my swing:

Let’s place the setting precisely:
under the reign of one of the Old Ballsy Popes—

who had the boys with the bells,
and the boys with the ropes.

Then by the wide cindering hearth,

the castle bailiff, a Charming Sot
describes for you his past travels as a soldier

and he amuses you with his Crusades,
and meanders a lot.

Pausing for emphasis on every detail,
showing both humor and respect—

a decorous vision
of valor and virtue

richly laid with impromptu analect.

Ah thet battles he’d stabbed at—
and the places he’d rested—

Jerusalem’s coast: crisp and airy
And greece by the sea: the toppled statuary.

But I wouldn’t
put it past a man like that

to put down his cane
and his hat,

and go on to describe
some nonsense like

a troll guards the hills,
and attacks by the streams.

Such men are all liars,
but their lies are just their dreams

for horselss men to ride atop,
and scream.
____________________
Chris Johns