Old Masters
The Old Masters
went without names
their signature
was the white fingers of the Madonna
or pink towers
di citta sul mare
also scenes from the life
della Beata Umilta
they dissolved
in sogno
miracolo
crocefissione
they found shelter
under the eyelids of angels
behind hills of clouds
in the thick grass of paradise
they fdrowned without a trace
in golden firmaments
with no cry of fright
or call to be remembered
the surfaces of their paintings
are smooth as a mirror
they aren’t mirrors for us
they are mirrors for the chosen
I call on you
Masters
in hard moments of doubt
make the serpent’s scales of pride
fall from me
let me be deaf
to the temptation of fame
I call upon you
Masters
the Painter of the Rain of manna
the Painter of Embroidered Trees
the Painter of the Visitation
the painter of the Sacred Blood
-Zbigniew Herbert
Poem of the Month 
Please post summary os this poem as soon as possible
I don’t have a summary of this poem. That is not what I do at this blog.