Family Group

                                                                                          Jean Frederic Bazille

FAMILY GROUP

Jean Frederic Bazille

 Was an artist of renown.

He could capture something fleeting,

And, forever, set it down.

He could copy folds of fabric

As they flowed around a form;

He could intimate that distant clouds

Were heralding a storm.

He could make scenes last for ever

Lke this one beneath the tree;

This Family Reunion 

Will survive eternity.

He could copy the expressions 

On each stern Victorian face;

He could etch it in our memory,

This scene, this time, this place.

But I fear there's something missing

Of quite a different sort,

For Jean Frederic could never

Immortalize a thought.

What are these people thinking?

Can we make a guess?

For certain they are not like us

In manner, speech or dress;

But humanity's unchanging

Or so it seems to me,

So let us listen-in a while

To the thoughts beneath the tree!

Two gentlemen have just arrived

But they don't intend to stay.

Thinks Jack 'I hope they're not aware

That Fred and I are gay!'

Thinks Fred 'I fear Jack's not my class!'

He's worn a business suit!

This is the end! Next Saturday

I'm giving him the boot!'

Auntie Maude, all corsetted,

Wearing her Spanish shawl

Thinks 'Who has thrown their hat down there?
That won't do at all!'

While Uncle Dan, who's gazing

Rather blankly into space

Thinks ' I love my mistress, little Tess,

But can I stand the pace?'

Ermintrude and George are there

Standing stiffly at the back.

They'd like to let their hair down

But chairs are what they lack.

Thinks Ermintrude 'They ask us here

 Then don't supply the seating!

This is the last time I'll attend

A stupid family meeting!'

Thinks George 'She's hanging on my arm 

Like a positive dead-weight!

I'm off to France on Tuesday

And I can hardly wait!'

Poor old Constance, sitting there,

All droopy by herself,

Thinks 'What now will become of me? 

I'm really on the shelf!'

And see the Twins, both dressed in blue,

Alice and Beth by name,

Both of them thinking 'Wretched Mum!

Making us dress the same!'

Finally there's Algernon, 

Sidling up to Rose

Who's looking rather virginal

With a prim and proper pose.

Thinks Rose ' If he keeps on like this,

Pressing me with his knee,

I'll find myself responding

And everyone will see!'

Thinks Algernon 'I'll keep this up

Though it may be over-zealous.

I'm only teasing darling Beth,

Trying to make her jealous!'

The thoughts float in the ether;
Like clouds they'll soon disperse
Unless some Philistine lady
Turns them into verse!

Artist Jean Frederic Bazille

Painted what he could see!

But he simply couldn't paint a thought!

He left that up to me!