Van Gogh Entering the Café
I walked along the dark cobbled streets with an easel in my hand,
Only the dim streetlights illuminating my way home
when a bright light caught the corner of my eye
It was a small café, sitting at the edge of the street
Awash in the fiery glow of a gas-lamp sitting on the terrace
And the laughter of the patrons inside
A group of local artists conversing together in the dusk
Standing contrary to the starry blue sky above them
Before they retired into it like the rest of us mere mortals
The orange glow of the large gas-lamps warmed my skin,
Even at a distance, the intoxicating flames drawing me in
It was an island of human longing among a sea of celestial stars
The laughter of the patrons inside warmed my heart,
Almost thawing the bitter ice that grew within me
I could almost taste the food and drink inside
From my secluded corner on the street
Oily onion soups, thick hearty loaves of bread and
Strong cups of the blackest coffee
Practically fell down my throat
My stomach rumbled, reminding me that
I had entirely forgotten to eat that day
Its simple beauty struck me for a moment
Holding me hostage in that flimsy limbo
Of seeing others and wishing to be with them
Without really knowing them at all
I desperately wished to go inside those oak doors
To join those laughing artists and to
Feel their warm glow more closely
I wanted to chase away the blue sunken fog
that surrounded me day by day
But, at the last moment
I lost my damned nerve
And crept around the bend
Hiding my self from view
Perhaps I was not yet meant for that world
Perhaps my blue nature was too contrary
To their bright orange hue
Maybe one day I’ll be one of those shining people
But today, their light only burned my skin
I know you may not understand me,
Dear brother, but I feel this is true
As I stood in the alleyway, shivering in the dark
(my rumbling stomach my only source of companionship)
I suddenly noticed how brightly the stars shown in the night sky above me
Swirling nebulas chasing the clouds
Around a bright crescent moon
I felt my heart stop pounding for a moment
As I struggled to comprehend the beauty
Of the scene laid out before me
Perhaps I could find my own spots of beauty
Without needing another soul with me
A maybe I could be content with feeling
The crisp night air against my cheeks
Before the peach sun rose yet again
Perhaps I will try to meet those artists tomorrow
Perhaps their company will do me some good
Do tell mother and father I said hello
I eagerly await your next letter
Ever Yours,
Vincent
For this first piece, I chose the writing genre of poetry to get the theme of shared introspection, or the contemplation of other people, across. I was inspired by the painting, Café Terrace at Night, by Vincent van Gogh, and by his personal life. He spent most of his life writing to his younger brother Theo, one of the people he was closest to, and someone who frequently supported him both emotionally and financially. I wanted to add elements of these letters into the poem, so it would have a more interpersonal edge, and contain a bit more optimism than it otherwise would. Some of the lines in the poem are similar to the sentiments Vincent Van Gogh expressed in his letters, but most of them were of my own device. Because the nature of the poem being a “letter” isn’t revealed until halfway through, it seems at first to be a sort of soliloquy, or a bit of introspection on the part of the narrator – which is, for all intents and purposes, Vincent. But, when he acknowledges that this “letter” is for his brother, Theo, the poem acts as more of a confession of loneliness than anything else. So, while it is still an act of introspection and contemplation, the poem conveys the impression that it is aware that you, the reader, are privy to the contents of his mind and soul.
Figure 1: Image of the painting, Café Terrace at Night by Vincent Van Gogh. It shows an outdoor section of a café that is awash in orange light as gas lights from under the awning illuminate the flimsy metal tables and chairs. The café is surrounded by cobbled streets and there’s a wooden doorframe sitting in the left-hand side of the painting. In the background of the image are two or three figures walking on the cobbled streets next to darkened buildings that are barely illuminated by the gas lamps on the café’s terrace. Above the streets, in the cobalt sky, is a series of bright splotches meant to represent stars in the night sky.