Sonnet of the Week: Renoir at Moulin Huet

This is the poem that won a prize at the 2015 Guernsey Poems on the Move competition – the third time this has happened. I wrote it on my second visit to Guernsey, when I was collecting the second prize. For me, it is that kind of place – full of sights, ideas and little stories, as well as a pleasure to be in. It helps that the sun shines all the time.

Paul Francis.


Not Normandy this time. Guernsey is near but warmer, with a golden August glow; a mix of greens on granite greys that fall incisive, slanting in the turquoise sea.  He finds this bay and stalks it like a deer. Quick glimpses, as each twist along the track unearths his prey, allows his sights to wheel on to a different line, a fresh attack.  He loves the giggling girls, the way they squeal galloping into waves, no hint of shame, young creatures in the wild running free. One month, and fifteen canvases. Some haul. He drags his bulging bag of captured game back to the kitchen of his studio. 

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