Tigers at the Tate

The Jungle in Paris exhibition at the Tate is a joy. Wandered round it with my sister and kids Sunday afternoon, all of us enraptured by Rousseau's lush landscapes and improbable creatures. All of his most famous outrageously exotic paintings were there (I'd seen some of them in the Musee d'Orsay in Paris) as well as plenty that were new to me. The mutimedia gadget we carried with us enhanced the experience with commentary and interviews which told of his life (amateur artist, fitting in painting round the day job of toll-collector, totally self-taught yet possessing unflinching belief in his ability) his influences, and the artists that he influenced in turn including Max Ernst and Picasso.

And novelist/poet Michael Ondaatje calls Rousseau a "companion", in the writing of his books, and wrote a poem called Henri Rousseau and Friends which appears in his collection The Cinnamon Peeler. I loved the poem so much that I set out to track the book down in Daunts yesterday. Here's a taste of it - I think Ondaatje distills the essence of Rousseau's paintings so well ...

In his clean vegetation
the parrot, judicious,
poses on a branch.
The narrator of the scene,
aware of the perfect fruits,
the white and blue flowers,
the snake with an ear for music,
he presides.

The apes
hold their oranges like skulls,
like chalices.
They are below the parrot
above the oranges -
a jungles serfdom which with this order
reposes.