Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Louise Bogan... poems
Words for Departure
Nothing was remembered, nothing forgotten.
When we awoke, wagons were passing on the warm summer pavements,
The window-sills were wet from rain in the night,
Birds scattered and settled over chimneypots
As among grotesque trees.
Nothing was accepted, nothing looked beyond.
Slight-voiced bells separated hour from hour,
The afternoon sifted coolness
And people drew together in streets becoming deserted.
There was a moon, and light in a shop-front,
And dusk falling like precipitous water.
Hand clasped hand
Forehead still bowed to forehead--
Nothing was lost, nothing possessed
There was no gift nor denial.
2
I have remembered you.
You were not the town visited once,
Nor the road falling behind running feet.
You were as awkward as flesh
And lighter than frost or ashes.
You were the rind,
And the white-juiced apple,
The song, and the words waiting for music.
3
You have learned the beginning;
Go from mine to the other.
Be together; eat, dance, despair,
Sleep, be threatened, endure.
You will know the way of that.
But at the end, be insolent;
Be absurd--strike the thing short off;
Be mad--only do not let talk
Wear the bloom from silence.
And go away without fire or lantern
Let there be some uncertainty about your departure.
from Body of this Death: Poems (1923)
Betrothed
You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,
You have said my name as a prayer.
Here where trees are planted by the water
I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,
And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,
My mother remembers the agony of her womb
And long years that seemed to promise more than this.
She says, "You do not love me,
You do not want me,
You will go away."
In the country whereto I go
I shall not see the face of my friend
Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses;
Together we shall not find
The land on whose hills bends the new moon
In air traversed of birds.
What have I thought of love?
I have said, "It is beauty and sorrow."
I have thought that it would bring me lost delights, and splendor
As a wind out of old time . . .
But there is only the evening here,
And the sound of willows
Now and again dipping their long oval leaves in the water.
from Body of this Death: Poems (1923)
Knowledge
Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,--
I'll lie here and learn
How, over their ground
Trees make a long shadow
And a light sound.
from Body of this Death: Poems (1923)
Labels:
Lousie Bogan,
poems,
poetry
Come, O come!...
1st – 2nd century A.DRoman
Come, O come!...
I am numb
With the lonely lust of devildom.
Thrust the sword through the galling fetter,
All-devourer, all-begetter;
Give me the sign of the Open Eye,
And the token erect of thorny thigh,
And the word of madness and mystery,
O Pan! Io Pan!Io Pan! Io Pan Pan! Pan!
from Magick in Theory and Practice, Hymn to Pan, Aleister Crowley
Attributed to Desiderio da Firenze (Florentine, documented in Padua 1532-45), Satyr and Satyress, After 1524 (?), Bronze, H. 10-5/8", Musée National de la Renaissance, Château d’Écouen
Labels:
Crowley,
Desiderio da Firenze,
Hymn to Pan,
sculpture
Monday, August 10, 2009
Promethea...love and language...
from Le Livre de Promethea by Hélène Cixous
Labels:
books,
Helene Cixous,
Promethea
Sunday, August 9, 2009
The Strife of Love in a Dream...
Francesco Colonna 1499 from Hypnerotomachia Poliphili
Labels:
books,
Francesco Colonna,
Hypnerotomachia Poliphili,
love,
prints
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Friday, August 7, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Mademoiselles of Cranach... Pierre Tremois
Two favourite artists, a wonderful collection of prints by Pierre Tremois based on Lucas Cranachs paintings, not sure of dates.
Labels:
art,
Lucas Cranach,
Pierre Tremois,
prints
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Ghislaine de Menten de Horne...... La jeune Parque
Another favourite :)
A little known Belgian artist Ghislaine de Menten de Horne and heroine of the Belgian Resistance, illustrations for an edition of La jeune Parque (The young Fate) published in 1935.
Spoken by a young woman, La jeune Parque is concerned with the battle between body and spirit; and between being and knowing.
Labels:
art,
books,
Ghislaine de Menten de Horne,
La jeune Parque
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