TO GIOVANNI DA PISTOJA ON THE PAINTING OF THE SISTINE CHAPEL

Like cats from Lombardy and other places
Stagnant and stale, I've grown a goitre here;
Under my chin, my belly will appear,
Each the other's rightful stance displaes.

My beard turns heavenward, my mind seems shut
Into a casket. With my breast I make
A shield. My brush moves quickly, colours break
Everywhere, like a street mosaic-cut.

My loins are thrust into my belly and
I use my bottom now to bear the weight
Of back and side. My feet move dumb and blind.
In front my skin is loose and yet behind
It stretches taut and smooth, is tight and straight.

I am a Syrian bow strained for the pill -
A hard position whence my art may grow.
Little, it seems, that's strong and beautiful
Can come from all the pains I undergo.
Giovanni, let my dying art defend
Your honour, in this place where I am left
Helpless, unhappy, even of art bereft.

Michelangelo's poems are like the letters of other artists: they range from formal words of thanks to passionate arguments; they flatter patrons, address lovers - and God; they reflect on art and on Michelangelo's own physical and metaphysical studies. He wears no masks in these poems. Elizabeth Jennings keeps close to his forms, investing in him her own celebrated skills. As in his sculpture, Jennings remarks, so in the poems, 'the dominating feature is vehement energy, an energy which is mastered by a longing for order.' Painter and sculptor Michael Ayrton contributes an introduction to this edition of the intimate work of one of the greatest artists of all time.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Translator's Note

The Sonnets

Index of First Lines