What Michelangelo Thought
After Michelangelo had finished his work on the Sistine Chapel he wrote a poem of his agony during the painting of this Sistine Chapel.
I've got myself a goiter from this strain,
As water gives the cats in Lombardy
Or maybe it is in some other country;
My belly's pushed by force beneath my chin.
My beard toward Heaven, I feel the back of my brain
Upon my neck, I grow the breast of a Harpy;
My brush, above my face continually,
Makes a splendid floor by dripping down.
My Lins have penetrated to my paunch,
My rump's a crupper, as a counterweight,
And pointless the unseeing steps I go.
In front of me my skin is being stretched
While it folds up behind and forms a knot,
And I am bending like a Syrian bow.
And judgment, hence must grow,
Borne in mind, peculiar and untrue;
You cannot shoot well when the gun's askew.
John, come to the rescue
Of my dead painting now, and of my honor;
I'm not in a good place, and I'm no painter.