In the Studio
Is it March, spring, winter, autumn, twilight, noon
Told in this distant sound of cuckoo clocks?
Sunday it is—five lilies in swoon
Decay against your wall, aggressive flocks
Of alley-starlings aggravate a mood.
The rain drops pensively. ‘If one could paint,
Combine the abstract with a certain rude
Individual form, knot passion with restraint…
If one could use the murk that fills a brain,
Undo old symbols and beget again
Fresh meaning on dead emblem…’ so one lies
Here timeless, while the lilies’ withering skin
Attests the hours, and rain sweeps from the skies,
The bird sits on the chimney, looking in.
Nancy Cunard (British, 1896–1965), “In the Studio,” 1923, unpublished poem. Unpublished scrapbook 1921–1927, Nancy Cunard Collection, 26.3, Harry Ransom Center.
Fun fact: Cunard composed a poem while sitting for McCown's 1923 portrait. Her unpublished typescript can also be found in @ransomcenter.bsky.social's collections.
For further details, check out Tracy Bonfitto's blog post from last March: sites.utexas.edu/ransomcenter...
#speccolls #humanities 🗃️📜📚