The Lovers’ Chronicle 17 January – without – art by Eugène Carrière & T. Alexander Harrison

17 January 2024 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge. Are you sleepin’ in a bed of stones? Do you dream of someone in a bed of roses? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

travelled, over the plains,

to find release from travail,

to find my way here

the look in your eyes,

stirs so that i want you,

as much as ever yet,

closin’ around desire

before this dream,

so close so far,

takes us to lay us down

as another night descends,

hold on baby, hold on

Pale Love, Pale Rider

herein
circle of shadows,
the darkenin’ hills,
where the sage
no longer blooms,
nor anything else
speaks as an omen

heavy borne
unmoved
by touch
but,

appears,
now and then,
drawin’ thoughts
from any other
and lingers
in this vision
more certainly
than time

ok, enough already
i git it, you want
a beach scene
dang you are persistent
where, Belize, St. Kitts
how about Nevis…

from the cottage
on the beach
each evenin’ we went
down to the water
to watch the sun
set on the ocean
to watch the light
dance on the water
we would drink
some Havana Club
and make love
‘neath the stars
of the Caribbean…

that which was once ago
that which lies ahead
and what of sorrow
so much left behind
“Yes, but don’t you
spend too much
time without?”
sure, but it is known
and provides
damn good verse

dream a little dream…

“You must have

bumped your head.”

nope

“Well then, you’re crazy.”

no, it is called

bein’ with you

“But I did an assessment.”

ha, on yourself, that is funny

“Yes, and I think you don’t know

what you’re getting yourself into.”

oh i do, and i have never been more certain

This one was inspired by Dante’s “Sestina” and the Song of the Day. Middle Age poetry meets rock and roll. ‘Nuff said. Hope you like,

Roses and Stones

Come, to the circle of shadow,
To the night, to the darkenin’ hills,
Where the sage no longer blooms,
And desire no longer comes,
Rooted in hardest heart,
That speaks as an omen

Heavy-born heart stays frozen,
Like the snow in shadow,
Unmoved, mired in stone,
By sweet touch that warms hearts,
That alters from darkness to light,
To clothe with fervent heat

When she appears with crown of light,
Draws the mind from any other
She blends her charm with grace
So well that Amore lingers in her shadow
She who fastens me in this low place,
More certainly than lime fastens stone

Her beauty, rare stone, soft rose
Untouched, out of reach
The wound cannot be healed

Travelled, through the plains and hills,
To find release from such a woman,
Yet from her light, never a shadow thrown

Saw her walkin’ undressed,
So formed, would spark love in a stone,
That love born for her very shadow,
So that I want her, and no other,
As much in love as ever yet,
Closed around by deepest desire

Roses will bloom in stones
Before this dream, so close so far,
Takes fire, as might ever lovely woman,
For me, would sleep on a bed of stones,
To gaze at where she cast shadow,
To lay her down on a bed of roses

As another night of shadows descends,
Preparin’ the same bed of stones
Dreamin’ of her on a bed of roses

© Cowboy Coleridge

Today is the birthday of Eugène Anatole Carrière (16 January 1849 – 27 March 1906 Paris); French Symbolist artist of the fin-de-siècle period. Carrière’s paintings are best known for their near-monochrome brown palette and their ethereal, dreamlike quality. He was a close friend of Auguste Rodin and his work likely influenced Pablo Picasso’s Blue Period. He was also associated with such writers as Paul Verlaine, Stéphane Mallarmé and Charles Morice.

Gallery

Femme appuyée sur une table

Se déshabiller de la femme par derrière

Méditation

Alexander Harrison, 1914.

And today is the birthday of Thomas Alexander Harrison (January 17, 1853 in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania – October 13, 1930 in Paris, France); marine painter who spent most of his career in France.

Cecilia Beaux spent the summer of 1888 in Concarneau, working in a nearby studio. She painted a portrait of Harrison, and wrote of him:

Harrison, now at the apex of his strength, had already met the “Daemon” and thrown him, in his two big pictures En Arcadie and The Wave. Tall, lanky, and superbly handsome, he easily won all he appeared to care for, and much that he didn’t want; but he had a religion—it was his art; an industry—it was his painting; and he had an untiring faith toward these. He could not be called a Nature-lover, for he loved Nature perhaps only when married to Art. He saw large and wished to paint large. He was enamoured of the successive opaline surfaces of the low incoming waves and strove for the Sea’s gift as it comes to one facing it on long beaches. His method was searching, and had the quality of science, perhaps because he had been trained as an engineer, which profession he abandoned for painting.

Harrison rented a ramshackle cottage near the Brittany town of Beg-Meil, and each evening raced to the dunes to watch the sun set over the ocean. In late-summer 1896, he was joined there by struggling writer Marcel Proust and composer Reynaldo Hahn. He opened their eyes to how light plays on water.