Dear Zazie, Hey Z, how is your mornin’? This mornin’ at the ranch was beautiful; nice and cool. Will be spendin’ my time today either readin’ or writin’ or workin’ on repairs around the place. Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse. Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge. Hope you have a good day! Rhett
The Lovers’ Chronicle
Dear Muse,
these words i write to you,
these moments with you,
are more vital than anything
tonight we watch storm clouds
pass and i see, retrievable, found
with you, for this journey we will
wander together, love and sorrow,
each with arms around us, as we
move along, comfort from this
© copyright 2022 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
these words i write for you
still as near to truth
as i know
cloudy evenin’ on the plains
pale and irretrievable
as your face in my dreams
not all has been lost
since need is no longer
necessary for this journey
here i moor myself
in the pursuit
for it is all
© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
while the remnants
of the enchiladas, tamales
and empty margarita glasses
wait till later, we leave
and walk down to the river
river and moon
me and you
no room
for any other
existence
we are bein’ and breath
and always will be
on a rock by the bank, we sit
“Do you remember that first night?”
of course
“I was beginning to think
you were never going to kiss me?”
i am sometimes seized
by that memory
it is one of my favorites
i still cannot believe
you were there,
that we
were finally together
do you remember the second night
blushin’, “I think it was the margaritas!”
ha, you pinned me against the fridge
said you could not stop thinkin’ about me
god i love that moment
if i only had one to keep
i would send the rest to hell
in a second
and hold on to that one
that happened after that.”
i pull you close to me…
always then
always before we kiss
helpin’ me
or killin’ me
cuz i really cannot tell
© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved
Cry For Love
These words I write to you
Are nearer to vital truth
Than anything I know:
Clouds pass and I see
The face of love, your face,
Pale and irretrievable
And it agitates my heart
Which has been cleft asunder
Since the day you left me
On the Spanish Steps;
And I am grown old
My passion has been lost; without you,
I need not such ballast for this journey
Here I moor my lonely ship and wander
Ever across the land, murmurin’ softly
Love and sorrow, each with arms around me,
Whisperin’ as I move along as these tears,
Shaken from mysery bearin’ clouds,
Cry for love
© Cowboy Coleridge mac tag copyright 2012 all rights reserved
Today is the birthday of Samuel Rogers (Newington Green, then a village north of Islington, London 30 July 1763 – 18 December 1855 Newington Green); poet. During his lifetime one of the most celebrated poets, although his fame has been eclipsed by his Romantic colleagues and friends Wordsworth, Coleridge and Byron. His recollections of these friends are key sources for information about London artistic and literary life. He made his money as a banker and was also a discriminating art collector.
Jacqueline (1814)
- Oh ! She was good as she was fair,
None—none on earth above her!
As pure in thought as angels are:
To know her was to love her.- I, l. 67-70.
- The good are better made by ill,
As odours crushed are sweeter still.- III, l. 16-7.
Emily Jane Brontë | |
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A portrait of Brontë made by her brother, Branwell
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Today is the birthday of Emily Brontë (Emily Jane BrontëThornton, West Riding of Yorkshire; 30 July 1818 – 19 December 1848 Haworth, West Riding of Yorkshire); novelist and poet perhaps best known for her only novel, Wuthering Heights, now considered a classic of English literature. Emily was the third eldest of the four surviving Brontë siblings, between the youngest Anne and her brother Branwell. She wrote under the pen name Ellis Bell.
Quotes
I Am the Only Being (1836)
- First melted off the hope of youth
Then Fancy’s rainbow fast withdrew
And then experience told me truth
In mortal bosoms never grew
‘Twas grief enough to think mankind
All hollow servile insincere
But worse to trust to my own mind
And find the same corruption there
The Night is Darkening Round Me (November 1837)
- The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me
And I cannot, cannot go. - The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow,
And the storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go. - Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me—
I will not, cannot go.
Shall Earth No More Inspire Thee (May 1841)
- Shall Earth no more inspire thee,
Thou lonely dreamer now?
Since passion may not fire thee
Shall Nature cease to bow?
Thy mind is ever moving
In regions dark to thee;
Recall its useless roving —
Come back and dwell with me —
- I’ve watched thee every hour —
I know my mighty sway —
I know my magic power
To drive thy griefs away —
- Then let my winds caress thee —
Thy comrade let me be —
Since naught beside can bless thee
Return and dwell with me —
The Prisoner (October 1845)
- He comes with western winds, with evening’s wandering airs,
With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars;
Winds take a pensive tone and stars a tender fire
And visions rise and change which kill me with desire.
- But first a hush of peace, a soundless calm descends;
The struggle of distress and fierce impatience ends
Mute music sooths my breast — unuttered harmony
That I could never dream till earth was lost to me. - Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals;
My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels —
Its wings are almost free, its home, its harbour found;
Measuring the gulf, it stoops and dares the final bound — - O, dreadful is the check — intense the agony
When the ear begins to hear and the eye begins to see;
When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again,
The soul to feel the flesh and the flesh to feel the chain. - Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less;
The more that anguish racks the earlier it will bless;
And robed in fires of Hell, or bright with heavenly shine
If it but herald Death, the vision is divine —
What Use Is It To Slumber Here?
- What use is it to slumber here:
Though the heart be sad and weary?
What use is it to slumber here
Though the day rise dark and dreary?
- For that mist may break when the sun is high
And this soul forget its sorrow
And the rose ray of the closing day
May promise a brighter morrow.
Love and Friendship
- Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?
A Little While, a Little While (1846)
- Still, as I mused, the naked room,
The alien firelight died away;
And from the midst of cheerless gloom
I passed to bright, unclouded day.- Stanza vi.
- A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dreamlike charm,
Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.- Stanza vii.
To Imagination (1846)
- When weary with the long day’s care,
And earthly change from pain to pain,
And lost and ready to despair,
Thy kind voice calls me back again:
Oh, my true friend! I am not lone,
While thou canst speak with such a tone!
- So hopeless is the world without;
The world within I doubly prize;
Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,
And cold suspicion never rise;
Where thou, and I, and Liberty,
Have undisputed sovereignty.
- What matters it, that, all around,
Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,
If but within our bosom’s bound
We hold a bright, untroubled sky,
Warm with ten thousand mingled rays
Of suns that know no winter days?
- Reason, indeed, may oft complain
For Nature’s sad reality,
And tell the suffering heart, how vain
Its cherished dreams must always be;
And Truth may rudely trample down
The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:
- But, thou art ever there, to bring
The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o’er the blighted spring,
And call a lovelier Life from Death,
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.
- I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
Yet, still, in evening’s quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!
Remembrance (1846)
- Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,
Severed at last by Time’s all-severing wave?
- Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world’s tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!
- But when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy;
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.
Faith and Despondency (1846)
- The winter wind is loud and wild,
Come close to me, my darling child;
Forsake thy books, and mateless play;
And, while the night is gathering grey,
We’ll talk its pensive hours away;—
Today is the birthday of Edgar de Evia (Edgar Domingo Evia y Joutard; Mérida, Yucatán, Mexico; July 30, 1910 – February 10, 2003 New York City); interiors photographer.
In a career that spanned the 1940s through the 1990s, his photography appeared in magazines and newspapers such as ‘ House & Garden, Look and The New York Times Magazine and advertising campaigns. De Evia also produced commissioned photographic portraits of individuals
Gallery
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Dovima
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Sunny Harnett
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Wilhelmina
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Ralph Lauren in his office 1978
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Little Church Around the Corner NYC
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Little Church Around the Corner NYC
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de Evia Dining Room Rhinelander Mansion
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Robert Denning with one of the photographer’s Bugattis
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Robert Denning and Charles Gibson
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One of deEvia’s Bugattis with Robert Denning on the back bumper
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David McJonathan-Swarm 1 WTC uncer construction
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David McJonathan-Swarm
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Male nude
Mac Tag
The song of the day is Iggy Pop – “Cry for Love”
Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history. ~ Plato
Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrievables? Is it for such I agitate my heart. – Sylvia Plath
I forgot to tell you that while I was away my heart broke and I became not so much old, but older. – Jim Harrison
I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it Since what is kept must be adulterated. – T.S. Eliot
I have decided to be happy because it is good for my health. – Voltaire
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands…
– W.B. Yeats
Ordinary riches can be stolen; real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you. – Oscar Wilde
Self-love is the instrument of our preservation. – Voltaire
It seems, as one becomes older, that the past has another pattern, and ceases to be a mere sequence. – T.S. Eliot
Poor love and sorrow, with their arms thrown round
Each other’s necks, and whispering as they go,
Still wander through the world.
– W.B. Yeats
These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree. – T.S. Eliot
I must from this enchanting queen break off. – Shakespeare
Did you know that forty percent of the words used by Shakespeare were used by him only once? – William F. Buckley Jr.
Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee – Emily Bronte
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