Rembrandt’s Questions
by Scott Shaffer
after The Storm on the Sea of Galilee, 1633, by Rembrandt van Rijn

Rembrandt painted himself into his terrifying
but beautiful scene of sailors aboard their fishing boat
caught in a sudden windstorm. As I gaze upon it,

his wide-open eyes follow me in wonder,
sucking me into the lovely violence. I ponder
how the sailor Rembrandt would have felt.

Maybe it was something like:
“As we sail across the friendly lake, I’m jawing
with my mates, gazing at the golden orb

peacefully descending on a purple-crimson horizon.
With no warning, a glowering, furious squall surmounts
the sun and assaults us; frigid gusts lash our faces;

sails rebel; massive, icy whitecaps overwhelm us;
our bow shoots to sky, stern plunges into sea;
careening craft screeches complaints!

Desperate, I hang on for life to a taut rope,
scanning the black abyss, pleading with someone, anyone
to deliver us. But our Captain sleeps astern,

cheek to cushion–‘Don’t you care if we drown?!’
A shaft of light pierces the angry clouds, the napper
awakes, face shining like the dawn.”

There the painting ends. Yet in real life, he rebuked
the wind and calmed the waves. Could he rebuke
the winds in my head? Calm the waves in my heart?



 

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