Tuesday, 5 October 2010


(Museé d'Orsay, Paris)

You’ll find me presently, in Room Number Fourteen.
If you want to love me, forget the other one 
who stares out of the canvas far too brazenly.
I, Olympia, would like to see you again
and wonder why you have ignored me for so long.
Don’t spend too much time with Caillebotte’s floor-planers
or Bouguereau’s nymphs and satyrs, or the sweet-toothed
dancers at Renoir’s Moulin. I too have a sweet tooth
for galettes. Beware the tricksters who approach you
in the street and pretend to pick a gold ring off the ground.
Gold rings, like me, are treasures not easily come by.
Look at the bunch of flowers my maid is giving me:
it’s from a statesman, he’s quite close to Bonaparte.
But, powerful men apart, I’m very partial 
to poets and artists. Manet was the making of me,
and Baudelaire was bawdy with me once or twice.
In the Orangerie, Paul Klee is thinking of death
and as for Monet’s wall-to-wall lily pads, they
are fine in their way, if it’s lily pads you want.
When a young woman hands you a five-Euro note,
don’t treat her the same as those peddlers of false gold:
you’ll have dropped it searching pockets for your métro ticket.
At Place de la Concorde, pause to remember me
in the sweep of the river passing under bridges,
bearing boat-trippers, its shimmer in the summer heat.

© Ciaran O'Driscoll, 2010

1 comment:

  1. The Moon
    on a cat


    As a native Swede, I am particularly proud of my love poetry suite Sonnets for Katie.

    My Poems

    My wallpaper art Babes!

    The Big Duality, the approximative euivalence of God and Sex. Consider islam. Its interdiction on images. The antiphenomenon of pornography!

    My philosophy


    Fremde Gedichte

    And: reciprocity: for mutual benefit, you will do me a favor promoting your own blog on mine!


    - Peter Ingestad, Sweden