Baseado no poema "Porque eu não conseguia parar para a Morte", de Emily Dickinson, esta pintura pretende trazer Dickinson e sua poesia para o mundo de hoje da cultura pop, colocando-a, não em uma carruagem puxada por cavalos, mas em um táxi retrô. Na cabine, também estão William Shakespeare e Jack Kerouac, representando diferentes períodos da poesia, tanto clássicos, quanto no ápice da vanguarda. Dentro do automóvel é preto e branco, enquanto o exterior é colorido, um contraste entre o presente (exterior) e o passado (interior), embora os personagens ainda existam, em certa medida (mesmo tendo mudado o próprio tom). O carro sai da perspectiva enquanto o sol se põe, em representação às mortes físicas dos poetas, um pouco mais lentas e incompletas em seus vários gêneros do que a morte aparente da própria poesia na cultura popular atual.
April A. Fontaine é um artista autodidata que vive no interior da Nova Inglaterra, EUA. Sua obra de arte foi premiada pelos membros da exposição Dead Poets.
Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)
(712)
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –
