"This season always makes me think of peace,
Or dream of it at least, as I ignore
The signs of it receding from the world:
The headlines' promise of another war,
Or dream of it at least, as I ignore
An unkempt man who begs for change, who keeps
The headlines' promise of another war,
The rich against the poor, it's me against
This unkempt man who begs for change, who keeps
Reminding me of my humanity,
the rich against the poor, it's me against
The forces of injustice, all alone
Reminding me of my humanity,
My coffee burns my tongue. It hurts to drink
The forces of injustice. All alone
In bed last night I dreamed this happy dream:
Because I'm nearly dead from thirst and then
In bed - O last of nights! - I dreamed. This dream
Was like my dream of peace, except peace wins
My coffee burns my tongue, it hurts to drink
Because there's one dead from thirst. And then
The world was pure again, receiving gifts
And giving them. I toss the man my change.
This season always makes me question peace."
- Begging for Change In Winter by Rafael Campo, from Diva, Raleigh, Duke University Press: 1999.
Rafael Campo (b. 1964 in Dover, New Jersey. He is a practicing physician at Harvard Medical School and the author of several books of poetry.
John Francis Spenlove (1864-1933) was well-known during his lifetime but is now relatively obscure, at least outside western Europe. During his lifetime his work was was much admired. His Funeral in The Low Country - A Day In Winter was shown at the International Exposition in Paris in 1900 and promptly purchased by the French state. The same thing happened with Too Late !, making it one of two paintings now owned by the Musee d'Orsay. As I wrote recently, in regard to the American painter Ben Foster, the French were eager to acquire works by non-French artists, annexing them to la patrimonie.
I should add that an alternative title The Return has been given by the museum. Everything about the picture, from the chill winter light faking on the shabby housing to the expressive curve of the man's body as he leans into the tree suggests to me another title – The Unconsoled. Spenlove-Spenlove's human figures, whether alone or together, call out for our compassion. There is a genre in contemporary art that calls for compassion, or at least claims that aim, by showing the inflicting of pain. But we may wonder. Since first seeing a reproduction of Too Late ! a half dozen years ago, I have returned to it again and again, each winter.
Image:
Frank Spenlove-Spenlove - Too Late !, 1905, Musee d'Orsay, Paris