Four Italian Paintings
Four Italian Paintings
Diane Tucker
I. St. Catherine Crowned, by Veneto, 1520
Oh your toothed wheel, Catherine!
Your jasmine aureole!
Veneto draws the mischief from your lips,
the sweet knowledge: martyrdom’s
molten pith radiant in your face.
The death wheel clutched almost against you,
almost a beloved. Your gaze sidelong, serene
from bedroom eyes, seducing torture
toward your consummation.
Eyes looking straight into the shine
stretched taut behind their death;
the cloud of joy covering you like jasmine.
II. Virgin and Child with Saints John the Baptist, Mary Magdalen and George, by Bordone, 1524
Sunlight on the armour glints and the bird
twists its blood-brown head. The armoured arms
must be cold against the baby’s skin.
In the knight’s graceful lean, his tender reach
for the child, his lowered gaze must take
in the bird, temper the speed of his approach.
Who brought the babe a bird? he must be thinking.
How is it that the bird stays in his arm?
So he slows, his arms outstretched, more awed
right then by bird than baby. So the peace
that passes understanding enters him
through silver shell, through infant flesh, through feather.
III. Salome by Dolci, 1681-85
I tried to keep it sweet, mother. I tried
to keep my dress unstained.
I willed it so as I waited for my burden.
How uniform in shape are all my pearls.
How perfectly my hair is coiffed today.
What deference, what obedience I’ve shown!
My dancing master would be proud of me –
the turns I couldn’t finish in my lesson
flowed easily today. I had such grace!
Then a servant handed me the plate.
From far away the festal music rang.
I felt your impatience beat inside my skull.
I saw the head. I saw the towel, too,
the huge medallions of his fresh-shed blood.
How round the reds, I told myself.
“Flowers,” I said to aloud to empty hallway.
“Look, Mother,” I called, “at the lovely flowers.”
IV. Agony in the Garden, by Trevisani, 1740
His pale, unpierced hands lay curled and slack
(no wave of blessing as his infant self
scribed in the air; so much for baby pictures!).
His neck, though, seemed newborn in that
it could no longer hold his head erect.
The angel, then, the encouraging angel, hiked
him up by the armpit, hauled him straight awake,
its smile the grim one all caregivers wear.
One can almost hear, “No worries, let’s up now,
shall we?” whispered into the holy ear.
To itself the angel thought, “The Lord is heavy.”
Once in angel’s arms, the Saviour rested.
Emptied, he let the young one strengthen him.
Later, when the hammer blocked the sun,
he forced himself to picture ivory wings.
Diane Tucker
Poet & Author
Diane’s most recent book of poems is Nostalgia for Moving Parts (Turnstone Press, 2021). Before that there were three poetry books – Bonsai Love (Harbour, 2014), Bright Scarves of Hours (Palimpsest Press, 2007); God on His Haunches (Nightwood Editions, 1996) – and a Young Adult novel, His Sweet Favour (Thistledown Press, 2009).
Photography by Piotr Kowalski