– be as tho painted –
This Face
– be as tho painted –
This face you see Be as tho painted, Told idiosyncrasy Disorderly related, Still has a grandee Fixed thus to elate, Not au contrair be Of a mindful trait, But of astute being In that erudite state Affects as depicted, Note ingress's place Tho ilk’s affixed bait, See face, as tho painted...
A face will so emerge In life unacquainted, Yet ‘tis discouraged At seen underrated, For fruit of one’s urge Begs shan’t be wasted, As but a dreamlike hold Life fancied be untainted, And that you not fail extol This face, be as tho painted!
© Jean-Jacques Fournier Imagery - Oskar Kokoschka Music – Maurice Ravel – Pavane Pour une infante Défunte (for a dead Princess) Audio Recital – Jean-Jacques Fournier
ov written in Montreal
January 2, 2002
rewrote in Sweetsburg
January 25, 2022
Poetry on a Canapé 
The words, the photo, reminds me of seeing faces on classes paintings and wondering about the expressions. What they said about the person. Another captivating poem.
Thank you, Paulette. Your supportive encouraging and receptive responses of to my persistent written and vocal recital experiments in the poetic language, is the feed that keeps we scribblers of the genre alive and continuing. There is always a word spinning around in one’s mind that initiates the development of a poem story, as this one just publish, being This Face. one of many I have written on this subject that of telling about life, written in all our faces!
When I was young, I tried to imagine what I would look like at 30, then 40, 50 and so on. Looking back, I realize it is how we embrace the present in each moment, that our faces are drawn. We are the artists of our faces. My favouite lines:
“A face will so emerge
In life unacquainted,”
Another wonderful poem and recitation!
Yes, you do kind of wonder about the changes we must eventually experience, especially when noticing the changes that are taking place in the older people around and or close to us. In my case, my own father most especially who fell deathly ill at 36 and was gone at 39, sadly looking like a very old 89. Next poem will attempt a more cheerful aspect of life and reality. Thank you, Rebecca, for your ongoing interest in my poetic scribbles.