The Seasons

“It is something to be deep
in the snow in Winter,
to be deep in the yellow leaves
in Autumn, to be deep
in the ripe wheat in Summer,
to be deep in the grass in Spring.”
~ Vincent van Gogh

In the shallows just below
the translucent skin of Spring
an opal blue explosion awaiting
the grand thaw of awe to begin
The riverbank in springtime
Dancing along
the sparkling spectrum
a chestnut tree
in full blossom
Under a sky rent by light
on a starry starry night
Is seeing too much
beyond your place in time
ever and always
the visionary’s crime?

The windswept clouds
flowing by
The sky at night
swirling ivory
with the sparks
of a fire breathing dragon
tumbling up on high

Atop of Montmartre
in the town square
with easel and pallet in hand
Vincent standing there
Painting the very cafe terrace
where Lindy and I
sat for a chat
Talking Paris in Spanish
with Picasso
and Salvador the Dali
If only I had known!
I would’ve asked Vincent
to come join us for coffee
With Dali digging up
the remains of old flames
And without a blush
or a blemish of Flemish
Pablo Del Diablo
always so naughty
trying to steal
and with his paint brush
the lovely Miss Lindy

Watched carefully
by crows
the potato farmers toiling
planting potatoes
Backs bent
and faces blending
into the soul they’re tilling
The sowers
in the fields
The joyful reapers
And Vincent painting flowers
A bouquet
to the higher powers
Golden flowers of the Sun
With Paul Gauguin
the harvest has begun

Autumn’s purple harvest
from the vineyard
near Montmajour
As humble village people
the coming Winter
to endure
gather firewood
in fall’s early snow
The harrow lies idle
in the meadow
A lonely church steeple
casting a long
and lonely shadow
Down below
shuffling past the graveyard
the melancholy widow

A still life forming
in the style of grace
The still living
The fading Sun retreating
from Winter’s cold embrace
In the moonlight
of a solstice night
the snow-covered field
a silver glowing shield
The White Knight
of twilight
not yet ready to yield
The lake a frozen void
The wellspring of new life
about to unfold
Like God’s shining Son
raising the dead
in those Bible stories of old
whilst healing cripples
on the Jerusalem run

Fruit trees
in full blossom
Painting the garden
at Saint-Remy Asylum
I think
you’d have dug Pink Floyd
(If not the Village Peoples?)
For Vincent
I saw your self portrait
right next to the exit
Mister Electric!
Blue eyes vibrant
A shock of Red hair
with your finger
in the socket
Behind the black ball
Left ear
in the right pocket
of Prussian Blue
spilling all over
the Aqua-ecstatic
the rush with a brush
of a driven eccentric
The Purple patch
of a crimson exotic
Casting glorious light
upon a landscape vast

Leading me away
into the past
a country path
in the south of France
To view
Saintes-Maries-de La-Mer
The first past
the post-impressionist
and high-wired
tightrope walker
painting a picture
A love letter
for us children
of the future
In Arles
at the House of Yellow
a working girl
from the bordello
finds Vincent asleep
on a blood soaked pillow

Metro man losing touch
with the seasons
The cities stay warmer
That’s why
on Winter nights
the starlings
keep on returning
to the Big Smoke
that makes you choke
The seasons
they are changing

All shades of grey
from the cradle
to the grave
at the Reaper’s demand
Yet Vincent
with but a mortal hand
and a pallet exquisite
of pulsating pigment
sowing with all
the passion of creation
the flowering
At who’s command?
All in a dream
starlight for a blanket
from a far off land

Patterns weaving
in the olive grove
A treasure trove
of visions softly spoken
The undergrowth flowering
amongst the old tree trunks
all twisted and broken
Tracing the ether
etched with brilliance
Chasing that bliss
Lost in a patch of grass
Fleeing the abyss
Portraying an escape
Seizing the glowing radiance
of a wheatfield with cypresses

Light pulsating
The seasons living
Captured through the haze
of a consciousness ablaze
and a brain abuzz
did death’s cold gaze
or spark the craze?
Did the cookie cutter
at the Church
of Martin Luther
cause you to stammer
or stutter?
Fate and circumstance
The condition human
… ever out of balance
Yet those heartfelt
letters to your brother
flowing poetic
with spiritual wonder

Painting the peasants
as they toil
The passing seasons
Man at one
with the soil
Industrial disease?
Just a momentary phase
as the flock watch
and graze
counting the days
This mortal coil
an all consuming maze
in a sleepwalking daze
stumbling to a fall
Vincent’s art
a portal to the eternal
A key to the spiritual
for the open heart

Human history
a black-armband story
Yet interlaced and graced
with a blind faith
in the invisible God of love
And the humble hope
of seeing glory
The complexity
of pure brilliance
A simple vase of flowers
an exhibition glorious
The gain
a holy flame
in a picture frame
the souls of those
who flock to your fame
But in the gaining
what was lost?
Did your lust for life
only bring you strife?
Did you lose all reason
in that final season?
what was the cost?

To the Program
de Le Grand
and the getting
all on board with it
Once and for all
one and all
created all
by the One Great Spirit
Reflections captured
within the art of Vincent

Winds of imagination
rushing strong
Clouds of perception
sailing along
The shining sun
of golden beam
The silver moon
with softer gleam
The starry night
in praise rejoice
The lights of evening
given voice
… Alleluia

~ by David B. Redpath © 2017-2020




Photography: David B. Redpath

teach me
of your love
teach me
of your cobbled streets
and rivers
teach me of your painters
who sit by your bridges
teach me of the gardens
and the cafes and the treats
teach me of the sun
as it sets in the trees
teach me for i will listen
teach me and i will paint it
with all the words it gives me

In that Paris in the Spring
we found what we had lost
… the truth about magic


188 thoughts on “The Seasons”

  1. We were going to visit
    the Greek isles last year,
    but ended up in Spain instead
    ( An invitation from Pablo
    and Salvador, so we had
    no choice but to go ).
    With great regret, we hadn’t
    the time to get to both.
    Next time ‘El Greco’, in style.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. An excellent poem about one of my favourite artists Vincent Van Gogh.
    This poem really has quite a nice rhythmic flow.
    The world was never meant for one as beautiful as Vincent.
    That’s why sunflowers on starry starry night are coloured red like sunset.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Thank you very much
      for that Christopher.
      Unlike Don McLean,
      I do not believe Vincent
      Van Gogh killed himself.
      Even the authorities at the
      time suspected it was
      someone else, and that
      Vincent, with his last breath
      covered for the culprit.
      Just as he did when Gaughan,
      a renowned swordsman,
      drunkenly cut off Vincent’s ear.
      All of which tells me that
      Vincent Van Gogh was a
      true friend.

      Liked by 6 people

  3. David, what a beautiful and vivid tribute to dear Vincent. Your words pirouette gracefully from line to line, capturing of a kaleidoscope of colors. You have five lines tucked into your poem that made me pause and reflect deeply as to the plight of the artist, powerful words,

    “Is seeing too much
    beyond your place in time
    and always
    the crime?”

    Stunning poem and wonderful photos! Have a lovely Tuesday. ~ Mia

    Liked by 3 people

  4. This poem stole my heart. With every mention of Vincent, scenes from ‘Loving Vincent’ came back to my head repeatedly. You have captured that time wonderfully with such vivid descriptions. Great job 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  5. This poem feels like the ideal epitome of poetry, in which one explores just this one subject matter or even just a word. And within that journey of exploration there is so much captured and said without being said to be directly but said and seen in an artistic visual way. Your way of writing had made me follow your blog and actually aspire to write as you do. I loved this!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. That’s so awesome!! I would love to see one of his exhibitions. I’m dying to go to the art museum in New York where the original The Starry Night is displayed!! It’s on my bucketlist!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. The pics in this blog I took at the
        National Gallery in London.
        The temporary exhibition, at the
        art gallery in Australia, had Starry Night
        on loan … but no photography allowed
        unfortunately 😪

        Liked by 2 people

    1. Much appreciated, Chuck 🙏
      The letters Vincent wrote to his brother,
      the source of many a profound Van Gough
      quote, afford an inspiriting glimpse into
      the mind, and spirit, that shines through his paintings.


      1. Burroughs! You must be one
        of those Wild Boys he wrote about!?
        Coincidence, Charlie. I’m just about to
        post a story about a wild boy!
        But then, as Burroughs said, nothing
        ever happens by coincidence 😎

        Liked by 2 people

      2. hahahahaha!!! I love this. Awesome.

        Here’s one I got from the YouTube comments.

        CSI: Miami again.

        “Strange how the victim died in a Burger King.”

        “I guess this one’s gonna be…”

        ( •_•)>⌐■-■

        “A real whopper.”


        HAHAHAHAHA!!!! LOL!!!!!

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you exceedingly, Sarah.
      BTW … There is some speculation
      that it was Paul Gauguin, a renowned
      swordsman, who cut off Vincent’s ear
      in a drunken altercation. Being a good
      friend, Vincent covered it up by saying
      he did it himself. Otherwise Gauguin
      would’ve gone to jail instead of Tahiti.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. I read that…I also read in a recent bio ( naifeh and white) that VanGogh did not commit suicide…that a group of boys who liked to torment him were teasing that they were going to shoot him as he crossed a field and the gun accidentally went off..Supposedly, his dying words exonerated the boys. I want that version to be true.

        Liked by 2 people

      2. Yes. And the ear incident inclined
        authorities to accept that a crazy
        artist simply shot himself. To me,
        it never made sense. Vincent would
        not have left his dying brother’s
        family without an uncle to help out.
        Not to mention his glorious passion
        for painting.

        Liked by 2 people

  6. Flashed me back many years to his exhibit at the LA County Art Museum. Colors seem so much more enhanced than what my wife and I had seen in books. Though not most folks’ favorite, I particularly liked his “Fishing Boats on the Beach…”

    Liked by 1 person

    1. It is a wonderful painting, vibrating
      with nature’s colourful energy. You
      can see very similar craft, still being
      used, on the beaches of Indonesia.
      Thanks for viewing, Loujen 🙏


    1. Gasoline Alley, Basilike… 😎
      under house arrest. But they
      call it “quarantine”. And where
      it’s best to cease smoking 🔥
      In fact, the fire fighters insist.
      But the May Queen assures me
      this cabin fever will soon pass.
      I do hope you, and your’s, are all
      keeping safe over there in Greece ?

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I have been in the same place, where I played Scrabble for hours and days, and tried not to think of the worst case scenarios. The quarantine is over, for now. Me, family and friends are all healthy. I hope the same for you and your loved ones.
        Smoking is an issue. Something must be done.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Great news, Basilike.
        The cloud of covid-19 is lifting here
        in Australia, and so is the lock down.
        My No. 2 son was working in China,
        but managed to get back home just
        ahead of the borders being closed.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you very much, Kritika.
      The National Gallery is a must see
      if your ever in London, with several
      Van Gogh’s on display. Located next
      to Trafalgar Square … itself worth a
      visit with it’s statues and fountain ⛲

      Liked by 1 person

  7. WOW! David…what a wonderful tribute. “Mr. Electric” INDEED. He’s my absolute favourite. Nobody can walk into my heart and throw things about like Van Gogh. It’s crazy. The first time I saw one of his paintings in person I’d spent the entire day exploring the Metropolitan Museum of Art in NY. Mind blown….just walking and walking with my jaw often on the floor. Sublime. And then I passed one of his self portraits. He was staring head on. It literally stopped me in my tracks. I audibly gasped and started to cry. No idea how long I stood there crying. He literally dove into my deepest self in a flash. Amazing. Thank You for this beautiful post! Sending hugs Your way! I hope Y’all are well…💕🙏🏼😊

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I recall that entering the pulsating
      presence of Vincent’s self portrait
      had a similar effect (except without
      the tears, being an Aussie bloke).
      Vincent’s connection with creation
      still pulsayes through his paintings,
      with the added amplified current of
      being able to plug into his writings.
      Thanks for the positive feedback,
      so to speak. Katy 🙏 😎
      And yes, the Corona is on the run,
      down under here in Australia🦘🇦🇺 🐨
      Being an island, we simply told it to
      bugger off (and wearing a face mask
      doesn’t do any harm 😷).

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Right? There’s no one like Vincent. And OF COURSE You’re an Aussie bloke! 😄 I didn’t know where Y’all were from but that’s the coolest. “Bugger off!” That’s what we forgot to do to the virus…!!! Ah ha! Love it. Cheers and rock on! 🌀💕🤗

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I don’t adhere to abstract contructs,
        such as borders (patriotism being
        the last refuge of the scoundrel, and
        populist dog whistling politicians).
        But Australia is an island 🏝️ … so,
        we get away with a true blue bit of
        parochial nationalism 🦘🤠 🏴‍☠️ 🐊🐨

        Liked by 1 person

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