Five Painters
If you were ignorant, you
could think they were civil servants.
Colorless, at the corner
of the restaurant
they chit-chat
about current affairs. Nothing
of their movements
or words reveal anything
about art. Nothing,
other than the smile,
I think, and the glance
of the oldest one.
He just finished, tonight,
three hours ago,
his most important composition.
He senses that it could be
the crown achievement of his work
now that time is pressing on him.
He stays quiet, he only listens.
He contemplates the opening night
the comments of his peers
the people’s simpleminded words.
The thorny crown of the critics and
later the dissertations, monographs,
writings and further down the road
a very honorary spot on the museum wall.
He contemplates, happy with what
he has left behind, that some might imagine
his unlimited delight during that night,
when he placed his last brushstroke
on the canvas. He could explain,
with such euphoric euphoria, his intentions
and achievements to his friends
who would be listening with awe.
Intentions and success of the Art,
not colorless gossip and banal
words that the ignorant
always like to repeat.
Manolis Aligizakis 