Winifred Knights, Scenes from The Life of Saint Martin of Tours, c.1928-33, Oil (or possibly tempera) on canvas with glazing. © The Estate of Winifred Knights
Ater all the boxed saints, and the angels arriving
suspiciously like Mafia, to menace them out of bed.
And after the horse’s backsides (nicely drawn),
and the resigned ex virgins, proffering holy children-
while sundry people stand around deciding
whether or not awe is the right response,
I must confess, I do prefer your sketches - the
pure clarity of your draftsmanship,
the unassuming landscapes,where the beige
and Hooker’s. Green, pale rose and sad pale ochre
paint places where believable trees stand,
proud and round on their stems, like lolilpops,
and ancient hills roll into infinity.
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*This poem is copyrighted and may not be copied or duplicated in any manner including printed or electronic media, regardless of whether for a fee or gratis without the prior written permission of the author.
