After La Siesta (On Van Gogh's Painting) - MR James

(Subject's perspective)    

    Morning's hard labour in field done,
    we lie down, he and I, sickles and shoes
    shed for a spell. High noon sun
    bears down from cloudless sky
    while cicadas shriek a lullaby.
    We shelter in haystack's shadow,
    deep in black sleep drawn
    no sooner than head hits straw,
    its sweet smell melding with earth,
    dung, fresh cut grain, and sweat. I dream
    not of the reaping behind us,
    or before us upon rising.

    
(Painter's perspective)    

They say I said, "No blue
    without yellow, without orange."
    Perhaps I did once, but here
    on this day, who can deny
    such shades of distinction?
    

As surely as the sky wears violet-blue,
    her sun irradiates the field beneath
    in gold - labourers need respite
    from its hot bright hue,
    their garb more gorgeous
    for its drab simplicity,
    toil-polished tools nearby
    mirroring the pair's unwitting harmony.

    

How I long to lie with them,
    share rough pleasure after pure toil,
    bones and muscles aching
    earn a measure of relief
    on wakening.
    

This painter, for all his wealth of oil,
    finds no rest on canvas,
    no stillness in his landscape,
    no reprieve but the fevered glow
    of brushstroke.