Gwen John.

Gwen John.

Gwen John...
Were you walked upon
And overshadowed
By the mighty ego of Augustus John
Who’s blank misogyny reached ever pore
Of every woman that he came upon.

Were you a timid mouse of grey.... Gwen John ?
A dying fire stirred by old Rodin
To leap to life again ?

You did not stay in boney Wales with down-luck tales
But slept in Bordeaux fields
Before he came along I know
And shred your clothes for artists in Par-ee
A daring deed I did not do.

..How strange that then
You should retreat into yourself
Or were you always there
With a desire for internal life ?

When Rodin turned away from you
As he was bound to do...
Loquacious flirt of mass seduction ...
He...heaving boulders into art
Whilst you were knitting paint in solitude and silence.
Delicate. Restraint.

In malady you knew no path it seems
Than sinking deeper still
Into the shell of solitude... where in your torment
You became
‘God’s little Artist’ of the Saintly ways.
Painting with a quiet mind and steady hand
Mere Marie Poussepin..time after time.

Rodin turned to the church when in despair
Had he.. by his example...led you there..?

Meanwhile in London Drawing-Rooms
Your clowning brother pranced the floors
And danced the dance
With throngs of fawning socialites.
You said...

We do not go to heaven with our families

We go alone.
And then... Rilke was gone.
Before beloved Vera came along .
Who was your poetry and song...
I love you .. as I love you as a flower..I dare not look upon.

After Rodin Gwen John.. were you a celibate ?

Who were the women painted
Sitting... standing ... wistful
In shimmering rooms with golden light ?
John Quinn collected you
But when he died...things got very thin.
They say you did not eat.

What was it like to die alone
Quite far from home
In Normandy’s Dieppe..what happened to your cats?

But..you are gone ..we’ll never know
The mystics of your life
We only sense your core
Beneath the furtive veil
That kept you out of sight.
A painter of the truest kind
Without a dab of pomp
You lived to tell no modest tale
Of women in your life .

I’m here because your voice is strong
It calls me to your side
And whilst I breath... whilst I’m alive
I hail you
Gwendolen of Wales.

Kristine Byrne. 10th May 2013