The great Dutch artist Vincent Van Gogh is in the public eye again. The film Loving Vincent has been showing at the Glasgow Film Theatre. And he is also the subject of Resurrection of a Sunflower, published in the USA earlier this year with an international group of contributors (Catfish McDaris and Pski’s Porch, £17.78).

Rona Fitgerald is the only writer from Scotland included in the anthology. Here are some of her poems.

                        STILL LIFE

Walking under a granite sky near Montmartre,

longing for warmth and softness in Provence,

I saw them, alive among weeds, burnt gold.

~

Later, drinking and laughing with Gauguin,

he chided me.  Why weary greys and browns,

what about strong colours, and why sunflowers?

~

Afterwards, I saw things oddly changed

                         ragged edges, distorted shapes

my sunflowers ill at ease.                                  

~

They speak to me now of decay

                           like putrid wounds.

~

I need more daring shades

                                     red earth                                                 

                                             or blood from a severed ear.

What will they say about my paintings then? 

                BEDROOM

Street lights on dappled autumn leaves

bring me back to Paris on balmy evenings.

Monet’s soft avocado and burnt orange.

~

But Arles suits me, a place to shut

out the voices, to paint and paint,

tasting the salty texture of grey.

     STARRY NIGHTS

Pinprick stars, washed blue light

whirls of yellow gold dust.

How I love the night sky.

I can feel our planet turn

                                        sway.

The nausea returns, I must paint.

      YELLOW HOUSE

I look for the right shade

                   to craft

                         a portrait in light.

Working usually stills

                    my fears, my agitation.

 I want to make something

                 of beauty and belonging.