Kandinsky

I was first introduced to Kandinsky

By a blonde female artist in London

(Whose name now escapes me)

Whose own art I frowned upon.

I would have been five months old

When Kandinsky died of a stroke

(At Neuilly-sur-Seine, I'm told)

And that is when I imagine folk

Spoke of him being the bloke

To paint abstractly on canvas

With a different kind of stroke

To that any single one of us

Had hitherto seen before.

He was the first and some say best;

So when in July I received a card

Bearing a Kandinsky it was hard

Not to like it more than the rest.

When that sender of the card came to see

Me another time, and we had a bite to eat,

I thought I would offer him a real treat

By taking him up to see my Kandinsky.

And so I did.

And that is when he raised the lid

With a comment I had not forseen:

"I don't like Kandinsky," he said.

"Can I show you my magic lantern instead?" I intervened.

Though I recall a time not that long ago

When viewing one of my artistic endeavours

He remarked: "Kandinsky at his maddest!"

I was duly flattered, so told him

His was the nicest review there had been,

But now I had to go

And paint another for the world to view

Before it ceased to flow.