Peter Paul Rubens at Het Steen, ca. 1636
In his time he has walked with kings
and painted the rascals, too,
lofted to God on eagle-wings,
(all seen di sotto in su').
But he doesn't find that ridiculous,
being croyant as they come;
expeditious yet meticulous,
this master of tit and bum.
Yes, reliable and circumspect,
he meets deadlines and makes money,
but there's something about him you'd never expect,
like the bitter taste in honey;
else why, when he's down on his country estate
with a young and peach-skinned wife,
doesn't he doze in the mornings late,
in the evening of his life?
No, he climbs his tower to read the sky,
to watch what moves on the plain
and to stare the rising sun in the eye
where he's Lord of the Manor at Steen.
In his room he bides, arms crossed, quite still
before flick of brush or scumble;
for the mind's commotions mustn't chill
while fingers fumble.
Like the harvesters who stack his straw,
like the peasants in the wain,
like his cowman - I'm more than a little in awe
of the Master of Het Steen.
and painted the rascals, too,
lofted to God on eagle-wings,
(all seen di sotto in su').
But he doesn't find that ridiculous,
being croyant as they come;
expeditious yet meticulous,
this master of tit and bum.
Yes, reliable and circumspect,
he meets deadlines and makes money,
but there's something about him you'd never expect,
like the bitter taste in honey;
else why, when he's down on his country estate
with a young and peach-skinned wife,
doesn't he doze in the mornings late,
in the evening of his life?
No, he climbs his tower to read the sky,
to watch what moves on the plain
and to stare the rising sun in the eye
where he's Lord of the Manor at Steen.
In his room he bides, arms crossed, quite still
before flick of brush or scumble;
for the mind's commotions mustn't chill
while fingers fumble.
Like the harvesters who stack his straw,
like the peasants in the wain,
like his cowman - I'm more than a little in awe
of the Master of Het Steen.
Page(s) 53
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