Three Painters and Their Portraits

italics translated from Jacques Prévert ("Pour Faire Le Portrait D'une Oiseau")

Prologue
To paint the portrait of a bird,
paint first a cage with an open door.
Then paint inside the cage
something beautiful,
something useful to the bird.
Place the canvas against a tree
in a garden or a forest
and hide behind the tree
without speaking or moving.
Maybe the bird will arrive quickly,
but it could take years.
Don't be discouraged. Wait.
Wait all the years if need be:
the bird's quickness or slowness
will not affect the success of the painting.
When the bird arrives
(if it does),
be completely silent and wait
until it enters the cage --
then softly close the door
with the paintbrush.

First Painter

For sixty years, he waited
for the bird. The cage
he had painted was simple,
fashioned of twigs bowed together
and fixed at their bottoms
to a slice of an oak tree.
Inside, he had painted
a simple knotted perch of wood.
Leaning the canvas against a wide
wide oak, he hid and waited,
wakeful, till he died.
The bird never came.

Second Painter

His cage was of solid metal,
more like a room or vault
than like a cage. It had
a magnificent bulbous shape
and a thick plating of gold.
The door was large and arched.
Inside, he had painted
a mirror framed in gemstones,
a silver dish for food,
and an ostentatious perch
encased in velvet.
He had made as if to hide
behind a thin dogwood,
when a bird swooped down
and throned itself inside.
The painter sealed the bird
inside with heavy brushstrokes.

Third Painter

He painted the traditional cage
of thin gold wires,
but he did so using a new
technique. There was newspaper
spread neatly in the bottom.
Inside, he painted
a smooth wooden dowel for a perch
and a modest plastic food dish.
He tilted his canvas against
a small pine and was able
to hide behind the tree
only by turning his body sideways.
He held this posture
for two years, until his bird,
first hopping several times
at the foot of the painting,
flew into the canvas daintily.
The painter softly closed
the thin door with his brush.

Entr'acte

Erase one by one the bars
and, being careful not to touch
the bird's feathers,
paint the tree, choosing
the best of its branches
for the bird to perch on.
Paint also the foliage
and the cool breeze
and the rays of the sun;
paint the sounds of the animals,
the plants, the summer warmth.
Then wait until the bird decides
to sing or not to sing:
if not, it is a bad sign
and to sign the portrait is bad,
but singing is a good sign --
very softly, pluck a feather
from the bird and write your name
in a corner of the canvas.

Second Painter

There were no bars.
His paint was thick
and the cage as if wrought of iron.
He had not thought to leave
airholes in the grandeur.
He painted the dogwood,
trying to brush a branch
through the side of the cage
for a perch, but the tree
could not support the weight
of the cage, which fell.
The bird rattled inside, its song
the echo of an echo of a bell.

Third Painter

He erased one by one the bars
and painted the pine, dabbing
in under the bird's feet
a limb plumed with greenness.
And he painted the animals
and their sounds, the breeze,
the season. Watching
the painter's care, the bird
began a song and turned
to offer its best tail-feather,
which the painter took
to sign his name modestly
in a corner of the portrait.



Daryl L. Houston