Stewart Conn introduces and reads the title-poem of his collection The Breakfast Room (2010), his response to Pierre Bonnard's painting, and in particular to the figure of the artist's wife Marthe at the very edge of the picture. The poem is in three parts: the first in the voice of the poet, the second by Marthe and the third by Bonnard himself, and is included in The Touch of Time.
The Breakfast Room
Bonnard frequently placed the most important objects
on the periphery of a picture.
– Pierre Schneider
1
That poster has been on my wall for years.
The other night a woman appeared in it,
a nondescript figure, more a housekeeper
than the wife whom the bohemian in him
painted in her bathtub, over and over down
the decades. Holding a cup, the other arm
slack, she merges with the curtains’ muted
tones. A balustrade, shady garden beyond.
Waif-like, half her body outwith the frame,
she seems almost spectral, as if dissolving
or part of a transformation scene. I’d gladly
join her: brioches and baguettes to share,
tea in the pot, a chair easily drawn up. But
unlikely, given her forlorn stare. Not once
has there been a prelude to an invitation,
or the least indication she has noticed me.
2
Whether the artist’s wife or his châtelaine
why in heaven’s name would I invite you in?
You scarcely endear yourself by dismissing me
as some drab. That, or a moody phantom.
While I make no claim to beauty, a little
sensitivity wouldn’t come amiss. It can be
hard enough dispelling the notions of those
who ogle my husband’s nude studies of me.
As to not noticing you, quite the reverse.
I’m far too aware of your presence, my room
lit at all hours while you pursue your obsession;
loud music putting an end, albeit temporarily,
to my tranquility. But between marginality
and impermanence lies a fine distinction.
Whichever of us you believe to be the fiction,
I’ll look out long after you’ve stopped looking in.
3
You find my Marthe unobtrusive? For a spell
she was so self-effacing, whenever I wanted
to paint her she would hide behind the curtain.
In one portrait not dissimilar to this she virtually
disappears. Here, simultaneously concealed
and revealed, she blends in perfectly. Small
compensation for what she has undergone,
illness held in abeyance by immersion in water:
hence my depictions of her as Venus emerging,
the light casting a spell on her skin as it was
when I first met her. A vision of young love
preserved, my palette imbues her with the blue-
violet of memory. No need to choose between
smelling the scent and plucking the flower –
painting her has been like bottling a rare spirit.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have her bath to run.
*
Ferret
More vicious than stoat or weasel
Because caged, kept hungry, the ferrets
Were let out only for the kill:
An alternative to sulphur and nets.
Once one, badly mauled, hid
Behind a treacle-barrel in the shed.
Throwing me back, Matthew slid
The door shut. From outside
The window, I watched. He stood
Holding an axe, with no gloves.
Then it sprang; and his sleeves
Were drenched in blood
Where the teeth had sunk. I hear
Its high-pitched squeal,
The clamp of its neat steel
Jaws. And I still remember
How the axe flashed, severing
The ferret’s head,
And how its body kept battering
The barrels, long after it was dead.
*
Tremors
We took turns at laying
An ear on the rail –
So that we could tell
By the vibrations
When a train was coming.
Then we’d flatten ourselves
To the banks, scorched
Vetch and hedge-parsley,
While the iron flanks
Rushed past, sending sparks
Flying. It is more and more
A question of living
With an ear to the ground:
The tremors, when they come,
Are that much greater –
For ourselves, and others.
Nor is it any longer
A game, but a matter
Of survival: each explosion
Part of a procession
There can be no stopping.
Though the end is known,
There is nothing for it
But to keep listening.
*
Visiting Hour
In the pond of our new garden
were five orange stains, under
inches of ice. Weeks since anyone
had been there. Already by far
the most severe winter for years.
You broke the ice with a hammer.
I watched the goldfish appear,
blunt-nosed and delicately clear.
Since then so much has taken place
to distance us from what we were.
That it should come to this.
Unable to hide the horror
in my eyes, I stand helpless
by your bedside and can do no more
than wish it were simply a matter
of smashing the ice and giving you air.
*
Under the Ice
Like Coleridge, I waltz
on ice. And watch my shadow
on the water below. Knowing that
if the ice were not there
I’d drown. Half willing it.
In my cord jacket
and neat cravat, I keep
returning to the one spot.
How long, to cut
a perfect circle out?
Something in me
rejects the notion.
The arc is never complete.
My figures-of-eight
almost, not quite, meet.
Was Raeburn’s skating parson
a man of God, poised
impeccably on the brink;
or his bland stare
no more than a decorous front?
If I could keep my cool
like that. Gazing straight ahead,
not at my feet. Giving
no sign of knowing
how deep the water, how thin the ice.
Behind that, the other
question: whether the real you
pirouettes in space,
or beckons from under the ice
for me to come through.
Contents List
I
15 Todd
15 Ferret
16 Farm
17 Harelaw
18 Country Dance
18 Ayrshire Farm
20 Todd: a sequence
23 Reading Matter
23 Stoats in the Sunlight
24 The Shed
24 Forebears
25 On Craigie Hill
26 Craggy Country
27 Family Tree
28 Farm Funeral
II
31 Afternoon
31 Thunder in the Air
32 Under Creag Mhor
33 In a Simple Light
34 Setting
35 Margins
35 The Chinese Tower
39 Old Actor
40 North Uist
42 Driving Through Sutherland
43 Summer, Assynt
45 At Coruisk
46 Marriage a Mountain Ridge
48 Orkney Shore
49 The Predators
III
55 The Lilypond
56 Kilchrenan
56 A Sense of Order
56 Sunday walk
57 Period piece
57 Cranworth Street
58 Street scene
59 Portents
59 Southpark
59 The salon
59 Costume piece
60 Botanics
60 After the Party
61 Family Visit
62 To My Father
63 Reawakening
64 In the Kibble Palace
65 Tremors
66 Before Dark
67 Arrivals
69 Witnesses
69 Two Poems
69 Night incident
70 Ghosts
71 Seize the Day
72 Return Visit
IV
75 Under the Ice
76 In the Gallery
77 Kitchen Maid
78 Visiting Hour
78 Afternoon Visit
80 Snowman
81 Snowfall
82 At the Airport
82 Lothian Burn
83 Moving In
84 Offshore
85 End of Season, Drumelzier
86 Cherry Tree, at Dusk
86 Bedtime Story
87 The Eye-shade
88 Recovery
90 At Amersham
91 In Monte Mario
92 Springtime
V
95 The Luncheon of the Boating Party
95 /I Alphonse
96 /II The Baron
97 /III Unknown man
98 /IV Madame Renoir
99 /V Renoir
101 Renoir in Orkney
102 Burial Mound
103 Monflanquin
104 Fort Napoléon
104 Lot et Garonne
105 Picture Framer
106 The Boathouse
108 Skye Poems
108 On arrival
108 Dawn, Drinan
109 Reminder
109 Sabbath
110 The islanders to the newly-weds
110 Bog myrtle
111 October Week
VI
115 Sights and Sounds
116 On the Water
117 Interior
118 Pilanesberg
118 Leopard
119 Jedibe Camp
119 Trust
119 Water Two
120 Over the desert
VII
123 Ayrshire Coast
126 Map of Coningham
127 Spring
128 from Early Days
128 Connections
128 Mirror image
129 Wild Flowers
129 Terra Firma
131 Peace and Plenty
132 Stolen Light
133 First Light
133 Return to Provence
134 Jawbone Walk
135 Inheritance
136 Losing Touch
136 /I Losing touch
136 /II Vantage points
137 /III Oratorio
138 Funerals
138 White-out
139 Night Sky
139 Intricacies
140 Above the Storm
VIII from Ghosts at Cockcrow
145 Visitation
146 In the Garden
147 Ministrations
148 Heirloom
148 Growing Up
149 City Interlude
150 Autumn Walk
150 Edinburgh Thaw
151 Close Names
152 Cappella Nova at Greyfriars’
153 Footage of RLS
154 Writer’s Block
155 Ghosts at Cockcrow
155 Appearances
156 Notre-Dame, Dijon
157 Musée des Beaux-Arts
157 Vézelay
158 Hotels
158 In transit
159 Roull of Corstorphin
160 /1 Roull Posited
161 /2 At Court
162 /3 To his Cousin in Aberdene
163 /4 His Cousin’s Reply
164 /5 Roull on Musik Fyne
165 /6 Insomnia
165 /7 Plaint
166 /8 Time of Plague
166 /9 To his Wife
167 /10 In Seiknes
167 /11 Roull on Death
168 /12 Ghost of Roull
169 Post Scriptum: The Barber-Surgeons to James IV