A GERTRUDE IS A GERTRUDE IS A GERTRUDE
Well, what do you know, today is Gertrude Stein’s birthday. Born 141 years ago, she was, at least in her opinion, one of America’s most influential writers. No matter what anyone thinks of her writings, her visionary recognition and early collection of the work of the Modernist artists, like Cézanne, Picasso, Matisse, Toulouse-Lautrec, Renoir and Delacroix, helped to open up a wider acceptance of their endeavours. And despite the difficulty most people had with her literary works, she was a major influence on many of the writers in the Modernist movement. In short, Gertrude Stein was a world of her own; she was in modern terms, a real trip.
I try to refrain from repeating posts of my poetry, but seeing as how it is her birthday I have, in her honour, resurrected an early post of a poem, this time with a different photo, done in the Gertrudian style. Like much of her work, it needs to be read fluidly and aloud. The accompanying photo was taken in the garden of her apartment at 29 Rue de Fleurus. The second photo is a signed copy of The Autobiography Of Alice B. Toklas and is from my personal library. Her signature is just recognizable at the top of the page, above an indecipherable dedication. Her hand writing is very much like her writing. Indiscernible…
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