Roger gave me access to Fred Turner’s digital poetic generator. (I knew Fred quite well particularly for his extraordinary poetic capabilities in helping Zsuzi Ozvath translate the poems written in Hungarian, of Micklos Radnoti that I wrote much about in my doctoral thesis….
I just told ‘him’ what I wanted to write about Vincent – in a poetic way… This is the message I wanted the poem to convey:
Vincent was a uniquely special man who embodied the spirit and the world of Leonardo – in contemporary times.
Call him Vincent. Vincent had a beautiful soul and an uncanny visual and sensitive capability to capture beauty in art and design – where no detail was too small to worry over and to bend into and merge with the artistic design in his head that linked to the heart of the message, he wanted to convey… in so many visually artistic ways.
Vincent was at one with the beauty of the Provence in France, its warm air and golden summers and Winters that hibernated waiting to burst open in Spring once more. His last home – where he will be laid to rest – back in Yerres France – is a fitting last resting place because of its unique blend of natural beauty, historical significance, and cultural richness. I can easily imagine Vincent with his dear wife and soulmate wandering together along the winding pathways of the Yerres river… His beautiful soul will be sorely missed on this earth.
Vincent made a difference in this difficult world of ours – Everyone whose lives were crossed by him, is the ‘richer’ for having known him – I so feel that way. I will never forget him and will always treasure every memory I have of our beautiful times together.
Here’s what I sent to his widow today…
Vincent of Yerres
Under the Provence sky, Vincent worked,
Where olive groves and lavender danced,
Each detail he caught—each line, each curve—
A world within his practiced hands.
His eyes were the watchmen of beauty,
Not a pebble misplaced nor shadow untamed.
With strokes of thought, he spoke with quiet duty,
Crafting art where words had failed.
In Yerres, he and his love would tread,
Down the river paths, beneath ancient trees,
Past the whispers of the past unsaid,
Breathing life into its histories.
His soul mirrored Provence’s golden light,
Yet, in winter’s hush, he found its rest—
A quiet waiting, a subtle might,
Till spring would bloom its verdant crest.
Now Vincent sleeps beneath Yerres’ soil,
In earth as rich with culture as with clay,
A place where beauty never spoils,
Where memories hum and linger, stay.
We who walked with him are richer for the miles,
His art, his heart, a legacy to share.
Though gone, he leaves behind his soul,
A presence felt in every breath of air.
Written with the help of: Fred Turner’s Poetic Life of Poetic Works. Vincent made a difference in this difficult world of ours – Everyone whose lives were crossed by him, is the ‘richer’ for having known him – I so feel that way. I will never forget him and will always treasure every memory I have of our beautiful times together.