A Brief History of Landscape Painting in France

Take Antoine Guillemet instead.
  When he was following that dirty gang
    I thought we lost him. Blinding poppies,

Far too many of them — even
  Daubigny encourages this man
    Who says he learned the ruse from me.

Rebellion, mixing paint with knives.
  By ’95 those days were gone.
    New confidence, a new repose:

Soon I was born a little past
  The celebrations on the Champ de Mars.
    Now who can recognize himself?

Knowledge of depth, great atmospheres—
  They frighten me; at Argenteuil
    The chimneys glisten in the Seine

Like rows of poplars. Recently
  I understood your Delacroix
    And you insist this Monet looks

Toward me? —then step outside.
  It’s logical to start with the sky.
    Look up: how many different ways

Can two hands animate a cloud?
  At twenty-five I never craned
    My neck but understood them all.

In Italy, where every site
  Recalls and every monument
    Awakes a memory, the rumor is