“Oh, the Red Roofs” – 15th Day of National Poetry Month-Magpie Tales
"Red Roofs" Marc Chagal
Oh, the Red Roofs
When young, the roofs I longed for
weren’t crimson but
terracotta; they clustered beneath
Florentine skies whose Giotto blue was propped by crusty bread
and the dusky wine that poured from pitchers
sprigged with painted poppy.
So much better, I thought back then, than the darker shingles
of triangulated humdrum further North, those shelters of bricked-up
dreams that held at best (I thought)
the wafting steam of milky tea.
In my midlife, I sought a specific deep red roof most often seen
from snow, a house whose windows of yellow light
beckoned like lanterns across sky sea,
where too the wafting steam of tea warmed fingers
like nothing else except perhaps (hours later) red wine and your
ribbed side.
Now older–tea drunk, wine swallowed, kisses exchanged–I think
of the deep red roofs of mouths, and beneath them
so many once-housed words– the rounded vowels of terracotta, the
shingles of hinged consonants, letters traced on snow-fogged glass,
prayers emboldened by Giotto blue–
Now, older, I think of the deep red roofs of mouths.
Tags: Chagall "Red Roofs" poem, Giotto Blue poem, manicddaily, poem about words housed under red roofs, poetry, red roofs of mouths
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ManicDDaily 
April 16, 2012 at 2:12 am
Your fascination for red roofs made your poetry seemed very much alive, K! Great write, Ma’am!
Hank
April 16, 2012 at 2:21 am
Hauntingly evocative, a rich store of happy memories.
April 16, 2012 at 4:06 am
smiles…i like the repetition there at the end…giving emphasis to where you are now…i think i am still stuck int he terra cota phase tome which reflects the wanderlust of youth
April 16, 2012 at 4:58 am
An original take and an absorbing reminisce. Great response to the prompt. I was really taken by this.
April 16, 2012 at 7:53 am
I love how you lay out the transistions of life in terracotta and shingles. Drunk on coffee, the words come together and make me go ohhhhh
April 16, 2012 at 10:06 am
Very thought-provoking! I love the stanza that begins at “Now older tea-drunk”. One of my favourites on this Mag journey!
April 16, 2012 at 10:22 am
Thanks so much.
April 16, 2012 at 11:10 am
a gorgeous exploration of red roofs – I love everything about your poem: where it takes me, but also the poetic skill it shows me, which hopefully some day I’ll learn
April 16, 2012 at 4:06 pm
Ha! Thanks so much–you are really too kind. K.
April 16, 2012 at 11:27 am
Love the focus on red roofs … transport me to Tuscany please .. wine, sun, red powering everything.
April 16, 2012 at 2:35 pm
You’re definitely carrying me off with a sigh of delight to my imaginary domicile on the Med, complete with wine and nice strong ribs to get next to…lovely and glowing, yet somehow, those rooves of mouths are not as sensual as they are ominous–something devouring all those lovingly detailed pleasures?…but that just may be my dour old lady mood today…I agree on the nod to Whitman, with the staggering lines and enjambment giving a nice extemporaneous feel, but I think the mood of the Chagall is there, too.
April 16, 2012 at 2:40 pm
Ha! Hi Joy! Quite ominous as I was thinking of the part of Leaves of Grass – I think it’s 13 – what is grass? asked the chiid–when Whitman writes of grass as being very dark to grow from the faint red roofs of mouths (buried beneath the soil). My favorite section –that whole 13 with the child and handkerchief of the lord designedly dropped and the grass growing from the laps of old mothers etc., colorless beards of old men– Glad you seem to have made it through all those tornadoes. Crazy. k.
April 16, 2012 at 7:58 pm
AH! I remember that part now that you mention it–creepy in a purely Whitmannish exuberant way. Now I have to go reread it, and try to get that CSN song out of my head(Find the cost of freedom/buried in the ground…) AFA the twisters–don’t worry, they’ll make more. It’s normal here in spring. ;_)
April 16, 2012 at 3:43 pm
I am in awe.
Seriously.
April 16, 2012 at 4:06 pm
Well, thanks so much, Sue! That’s very kind of you. k.
April 17, 2012 at 1:39 am
An intriguing take on this Mag. I loved the colours and textures of your words…
April 17, 2012 at 3:05 am
Lovely words (still sighing at the beauty of them).
Anna :o]
April 17, 2012 at 5:05 am
Owes less to Walt Whitman than to your insight and inventiveness as a poet. The week’s best (for me) so far.
April 17, 2012 at 5:07 am
Really good. The contrasting shades of red stand well as metaphors for the various social mores
April 17, 2012 at 7:14 am
I loved those terra cotta days of youth too, much more than the red roofed passions that only led to homeless sorrow. 🙂
April 17, 2012 at 9:37 am
Memories…and dreams! Love the tale you spun!!
Well done
Hugs
SueAnn
April 17, 2012 at 10:47 am
Glorious! The deep red roofs of mouths? Oh!
April 17, 2012 at 10:49 am
Well–that’s a reference to Whitman. Can’t claim it as my own, unfortunately. From Leaves of Grass/Song of Myself (“What is the Grass – I think it’s Section 13)
April 17, 2012 at 11:31 am
On behalf = he uses his roofs somewhat differently! (Ha!)
April 17, 2012 at 1:11 pm
The fourth stanza is one I read three times… just beautiful!
April 17, 2012 at 1:17 pm
Thanks so much. k.
April 17, 2012 at 6:02 pm
Hey! Hey! I absolutely love this. Sent my mind on a image journey he was long after. My fave Mag so far!