The Lovers’ Chronicle 12 February – without you (reprise No. 2) – Love Letters of Scott & Zelda – verse by George Meredith – photography by Eugène Atget

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  As Valentine’s day approaches, who are you without?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

“A recurring theme over the years”
yes, went there several times
“Could be the reason you write,
this tug of war”
absolutely, the wonder,
the source of la joie,
the fount of agony
“Limitless inspiration”
ah, there is the word
the lifeblood
to keep the verse
flowin’ with you

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

lonesome nights in the rear view
such sadness so easily written
now turnin’ the page
and it writes itself
the thrill of it all
that i can tell you
purpose,
just bein’
for you
to help
to be there
to know
you look forward
to my return
can you see me
hurryin’ to be
with you

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

more and more
so were it with me

after the coals fade
in the grate
pale lies the shadow

lastin’ is this song
stand wakened
shiver from the dream
therein the answers
the clarity sought

limitations known
so this we get
an utterance
thunderin’ without

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

forever nights
hardest to write
cannot force the words
through the ache of it all

without
purpose
want
need

to know
without

everywhere

without
time
beauty

without you

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

 

A love letter from the literary world, another inspiration for a poem on one of our favorite topics.

Zelda_Fitzgerald_portrait-216x300Zelda Fitzgerald, née Sayre, was F. Scott Fitzgerald’s great muse and more.  He modeled many of his characters after her, and he even included lines in his books that were from letters that Zelda had written him.

The two went on their first date on her 18th birthday.  Her family was wary of him, and she would not marry him until his first novel was actually published.  Zelda was still 18 when she wrote this letter to Scott in the spring of 1919:

Sweetheart,

Please, please don’t be so depressed — We’ll be married soon, and then these lonesome nights will be over forever — Maybe you won’t understand this, but sometimes when I miss you most, it’s hardest to write — and you always know when I make myself — Just the ache of it all — and I can’t tell you.

How can you think deliberately of life without me — If you should die — O Darling — darling Scott — It’d be like going blind. I know I would, too, — I’d have no purpose in life — just a pretty — decoration. Don’t you think I was made for you? I feel like you had me ordered — and I was delivered to you — to be worn — I want you to wear me, like a watch-charm or a buttonhole bouquet — to the world. And then, when we’re alone, I want to help — to know that you can’t do anything without me.

One week after This Side of Paradise appeared in print, Zelda and Scott got married at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City.  They became known as the quintessential Jazz Age couple; beautiful, flashy, with money, and often drunk in public.  The year they married, Zelda wrote to Scott:

I look down the tracks and see you coming — and out of every haze & mist your darling rumpled trouser are hurrying to me — Without you, dearest dearest, I couldn’t see or hear or feel or think — or live — I love you so and I’m never in all our lives going to let us be apart another night. It’s like begging for mercy of a storm or killing Beauty or growing old, without you.

Lover, Lover, Darling — Your Wife

So this inspired the followin’.  It goes somethin’ kinda like this:

Without You (Reprise No.2)

These lonesome nights last forever
When I miss you most, it is hardest to write
And you can tell when I force the words
The ache of it all and I cannot tell you

Cannot think of life
Without you
Like goin’ blind
No purpose, just bein’

Made for you
Ordered, delivered
To help you
To be there for you

All I want
All I need
To know
You cannot be
Without me

See you comin’
Out of every shadow
Everywhere
You hurryin’ to me

Without you; cannot
Live or laugh or love
To be apart,
It is like
Beggin’ for mercy
From a storm or Time
Or killin’ Beauty
Or growin’ old

Without you

The Song of the Day is “Without You” by David Bowie.  We do not own the rights to this song.  All rights reserved by the rightful owner.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

George Meredith
George Meredith by George Frederic Watts.jpg

George Meredith in 1893 by George Frederic Watts

Today is the birthday of George Meredith (Portsouth, Hampshire 12 February 1828 – 18 May 1909 Box Hill, Surrey); novelist and poet of the Victorian era.

On 9 August 1849, Meredith married Mary Ellen Nicolls (née Peacock), a beautiful widow with a daughter.  In 1858 she ran off with the painter Henry Wallis, shortly before giving birth to a child assumed to be Wallis’.  Mary Ellen died in 1861.

On 20 September 1864, Meredith married Marie Vulliamy.  She died of cancer in 1886.

Verse

  • Darker grows the valley, more and more forgetting:
    So were it with me if forgetting could be willed.
    Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bubbling well-spring,
    Tell it to forget the source that keeps it filled.

    • Love in the Valley, st. 5.
  • Civil limitation daunts
    His utterance never; the nymphs blush, not he.

    • An Orson of the Muse (1883).
  • With patient inattention hear him prate.
    • Bellerophon, st. 4 (1887).
  • Full lasting is the song, though he,
    The singer, passes

    • The Thrush in February, st. 17 (1888).
  • Behold the life at ease; it drifts,
    The sharpened life commands its course.

    • Hard Weather, l. 71 (1888).
  • All wisdom’s armoury this man could wield
    • The Sage Enamoured (1892).

Modern Love (1862)

  • Not till the fire is dying in the grate,
    Look we for any kinship with the stars.
    Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold,
    And the great price we pay for it full worth:
    We have it only when we are half earth.

    • St. 4.
  • And if I drink oblivion of a day,
    So shorten I the stature of my soul.

    • St. 12.
  • The actors are, it seems, the usual three:
    Husband and wife and lover.

    • St. 25.
  • What are we first? First, animals; and next
    Intelligences at a leap; on whom
    Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb,
    And all that draweth on the tomb for text.
    Into which state comes Love, the crowning sun:
    Beneath whose light the shadow loses form.
    We are the lords of life, and life is warm.
    Intelligence and instinct now are one.
    But nature says: ‘My children most they seem
    When they least know me: therefore I decree
    That they shall suffer.’ Swift doth young Love flee,
    And we stand wakened, shivering from our dream.
    Then if we study Nature we are wise.

    • St. 30.
  • How many a thing which we cast to the ground,
    When others pick it up, becomes a gem!

    • St. 41..
  • In tragic life, God wot,
    No villain need be! Passions spin the plot:
    We are betrayed by what is false within.

    • St. 43.
  • More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar
    Utterly this fair garden we might win.

    • St. 48.
  • Ah, what a dusty answer gets the soul
    When hot for certainties in this our life! –
    In tragic hints here see what evermore
    Moves dark as yonder midnight ocean’s force,
    Thundering like ramping hosts of warrior horse,
    To throw that faint thin fine upon the shore!

    • St. 50.

Today is the birthday of Eugène Atget (Libourne, Gironde, Aquitaine; 12 February 1857 – 4 August 1927 Paris); flâneur and a pioneer of documentary photography, noted for his determination to document all of the architecture and street scenes of Paris before their disappearance to modernization.  Most of his photographs were first published by Berenice Abbott after his death.  An inspiration for the surrealists and other artists, his genius was only recognized by a handful of young artists in the last two years of his life, and he did not live to see the wide acclaim his work would eventually receive.

Gallery

BNF - Portrait d'Eugène Atget - 1890 - 001.jpg

Organ Grinder (1898)

Maison Close, Versailles

Maison Close, Versailles

Fille publique de la Rue Asselin, 1921

Fille publique de la Rue Asselin, 1921

Avenue des Gobelins (1927)

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 11 February – mirrors – ode for Sheli – Napoleon’s Love Letter to Josephine – art by Ellen Day Hale & Carlo Carrà

 Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  With Valentine’s Day around the corner, who will your thoughts turn to?  Are you caught between two visions?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

“On the wall”
no, not goin’ that way
“Where it came from”
yes, the search
“For miseries”
reflections, reminders
“For confirmation”
that probin’ those feelin’s
were the only way
not to succumb
“Glad you did not”
moi aussi
but it had to come out
“Agree”
now come here you
the fairest of them all

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

found a poem by Wordsworth
that describes you near perfect
have you been holdin’ out on me
are you a time traveler
if so, then shorten
our time apart
until then,
mio dolce amor,
think about this,
i ask of you, only
your belief in us
and your trust
in this vision
we are creatin’

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

for Sheli

a long time ago
in a place far far away…

in the space of time
it was only an instant
when you lived
across the street
yet the memories are vivid

a kiss one night on my back porch
you said i tasted like chili

the night you chased a skunk
in my front yard

the night in my room
you asked me
if i wanted to screw
then you tossed me a screw

the last time i saw you
in the parking lot
of the Travelodge
in Amarillo
we kissed and i said
i would call you…

i never did

it is one of the favorite chapters
of my life that you reached out
those many years later

thank you

© copyright 2020  mac tag/cowboy colerdige all rights reserved

movin’ on
seekin’ reflections
buildin’ this place

all i ask
may it hasten the arrival
provide enough comfort

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

the same thoughts
pictures, memories
of yesterdays
of evenin’s past

what effect you have
have not spent a day
without these thoughts
have not spent a night
without embracin’
what is left

have not so much as had one doubt
about the fates which have intervened
and the reflections that can be seen

in the midst of the day,
whether workin’ or writin’
listenin’ to music
or immersed in art
one stands alone
in all that is done

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

“What are you looking for?”
nothin’, hope maybe
hell if I know
“I think I know.”
oh yeah, what
“Mirrors. Mirrors
of your pain.”

a feelin’, a process
of bein’ slowly purged
of need, that had lain
dormant within for years

just tryin’ to say
a little
of what is inside
but cannot
find the words
nor the voice
to utter them

© copyright 2017 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

Valentine’s Day is this week, and we are celebratin’ with love letters from the literary world and beyond.

Josephine_by_AppianiThere are many prevailing popular perceptions of Emperor Napoleon of France.  While his name does not often conjure images of a sweet hopeless romantic who pined for an older woman, the letters he wrote to his beloved Josephine reveal as much.  In December 1795, he wrote to her:

I wake filled with thoughts of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart! … You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in three hours. Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire.

Napoleon and Josephine were married in 1796; he was 26 and she was 32, a widow. He wrote to her from all across Europe, when he was out waging military campaigns. The year they married he wrote to her:

I have not spent a day without loving you; I have not spent a night without embracing you; I have not so much as drunk one cup of tea without cursing the pride and ambition which force me to remain apart from the moving spirit of my life. In the midst of my duties, whether I am at the head of my army or inspecting the camps, my beloved Josephine stands alone in my heart, occupies my mind, fills my thoughts. If I am moving away from you with the speed of the Rhone torrent, it is only that I may see you  again more quickly. If I rise to work in the middle of the night, it is because this may hasten by a matter of days the arrival of my sweet love. … I ask of you neither eternal love, nor fidelity, but simply … truth, unlimited honesty. The day you say ‘I love you less,’ will mark the end of my love and the last day of my life. If my heart were base enough to love without being loved in  return I would tear it to pieces. Josephine! Josephine! Remember what I have sometimes said to you: Nature has endowed me with a virile and decisive character. It has built ours out of lace and gossamer. Have you ceased to love me? Forgive me, love of my life, my soul is racked by conflicting forces.

My heart, obsessed by you, is full of fears which prostrate me with misery … I am distressed not to be calling you by name. I shall wait for you to write it. Farewell! Ah! If you love me less you can never have loved me. In that case I shall truly be pitiable.

Bonaparte

P.S. — The war this year has changed beyond recognition. I have had meat, bread, and fodder distributed; my armed cavalry will soon be on the march. My soldiers are showing inexpressible confidence in me; you alone are a source of chagrin to me; you alone are the joy and torment of my life.

So naturally, I could not resist turnin’ these letters into poems.  The Song of the Day goes on the list of all-time great songs.  Hope you like……

Thoughts of You

Wake, filled with thoughts of you
Your picture and the memories
Of evenin’s which we spent
In our yesterdays
Have left me in turmoil
Sweet, incomparable Muse,
What an effect you have
Have not spent a day
Without lovin’ you;
Have not spent a night
Without embracin’ you
Have not so much as had one thought,
Without cursin’ the fates which forced me
Apart from the movin’ spirit of my life
In the midst of my day, whether
I am workin’ cattle or ridin’ fences,
Whether I am readin’ or writin’
My Muse stands alone in my dreams,
Occupies my mind, fills my thoughts
If only you filled my arms instead

Between Two Visions

Remember when;
Found a poem by Wordsworth
That described you near perfect

Accused you of holdin’ out on me
By not tellin’ you were a time traveler
Now is the time to turn the clock back

11 February 1890 Denver CO

Dear Muse,

Leavin’ at noon; shall see you in three days
Until then, mio dolce amor, thousand of kisses;
But give none in return,
For they set my blood on fire

If by movin’ out here
Seemed that I was movin’ away
From you with the speed of a good horse,
It is only that I may build this dream
Only that we may have this place
To grow with us and sustain us
When I rise before daylight,
It is because this may hasten
By one day, your arrival

I ask of you, only love
The day you say ‘I love you less, ‘
Will mark the end,
The last day
If my heart were base enough
To love without bein’ loved
In return, I would cast it aside

Remember what I have said:
Nature has endowed me with a vision
Hopefully, yours is built of patience
For not happenstance but only death
Can halt what has already begun
I cannot be handled, but
I can be held for a little while
I pray these little whiles are enough
I pray you continue
To hold on to the reins

Were you to cease to love
My soul would be conflicted
My heart, obsessed by you and this vision,
Fills with fear; prostrates with misery
Distresses so, to even think so

Then this: If you love less
You can never have loved
In that case I shall truly be pitiable
I remain, your devoted,

Mac Tag

P. S. The ranch this year
Has changed beyond recogntion
My confidence in success is inexpressible;
You alone; a source of chagrin to me
You alone; the joy and torment of my life

Ciao Bella
The Song of the Day are “Thoughts of You” by Dennis Wilson.  We do not own the rights to this song.  All rights reserved by the rightful owner.  No copyright infringement intended.

 

Ellen Day Hale
Self-Portrait, by Ellen Day Hale.jpg

Self-Portrait, oil on canvas, 1885, (28 1/2″ x 39″) Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

Today is the birthday of Ellen Day Hale (Worcester, Massachusetts; February 11, 1855 – February 11, 1940 Brooklin, Massachusetts); Impressionist painter and printmaker from Boston.  She studied art in Paris and during her adult life lived in Paris, London and Boston.  She exhibited at the Paris Salon and the Royal Academy of Arts.  Hale wrote the book History of Art: A Study of the Lives of Leonardo, Michelangelo, Raphael, Titian, and Albrecht Dürer and mentored the next generation of New England female artists, paving the way for widespread acceptance of female artists.

Although Hale never married, she found a lifelong partner in fellow artist Gabrielle de Veaux Clements, whom she met in 1883.  Hale and Clements became close friends in 1885 while they were enrolled at the Académie Julian in Paris.  While traveling and studying in Europe together, Clements taught Hale how to etch.  In 1893, the two artists returned to the United States.  They moved into a house near Gloucester, Massachusetts together and named it “The Thickets”.

Gallery

Portrait

Portrait

20230212_142030

Woman reclining with guitar

Woman reclining with guitar

Lilies, circa 1890s, oil on canvas (26″ x 15″)

Morning News, 1905, oil on canvas (50″ x 36″)

Summer Place, 1925, watercolor

June, 1893, oil on canvas (24″ x 18 1/8″)

Carlo Carrà
Carrà in front of Le Figaro, Paris, 9 February 1912 (cropped).jpg

Carrà in front of Le Figaro, Paris, February 9, 1912

Today is the birthday of Carlo Carrà (Quargnento, Italy February 11, 1881 – April 13, 1966 Milan); painter and a leading figure of the Futurist movement that flourished in Italy during the beginning of the 20th century.  In addition to his many paintings, he wrote a number of books concerning art.  He taught for many years in the city of Milan.

Gallery

cavalieri dell'apocalisse

cavalieri dell’apocalisse

Donna Che si Asciuga

Donna Che si Asciuga

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 10 February – choices – verse by John Suckling – art by Roberto Bompiani

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

a fine line
“Between meant to be”
and accidents happen
“Nice how our thoughts merge”
among other things
“Wait not yet, let’s keep going”
ok, both are influenced
by actions taken or not
“And reactions”
right, the road less traveled
“So all the decisions”
led us here
“What was it you said
about merging”

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

filled with thoughts
and the memories
of our time together
that will hold
till you fill
my arms again
incomparable Muse,
what an effect you have
have not spent a day
without wantin’ you
have not spent a night
without embracin’ you
now, blessin’ the fates
which brought us here

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

kept choosin’
to go back

to find and have
what was wanted
only to discover
the havin’
or the wantin’
was wrong

took a long damn time
to figure out, of course,
that it was a search in vain

now the choice is clear
to be here with you

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

choices and chances
taken and avoided
some hard
some easy
and some fancy

helluva thing
what little separates
the good ones
from the bad
and how hard it is
to tell the difference
between the ones
you should take
and the ones
you should leave alone

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

“Are all things meant to be
or do things just happen
by accident?”
there are accidents
and there are choices
that must be made
and sometimes
the choices
are not ours to make

i do what i do
because someone
made a choice
“What choice? Who?”

(an answer, maybe because
this would be the last time)

you, the choice you made
(silence, sadness)
“I had no idea.”
you must have
(eyes shut tight,
silent sobs,
and a hug)

how long they stayed
like that…
their only thought,
that this moment
was all that would ever be

© copyright 2017  mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Sir John Suckling
Suckling.jpg

Sir John Suckling as painted by Van Dyck.

Today is the birthday of Sir John Suckling (Whitton, London 10 February 1609 – after May 1641); poet and prominent figure among those renowned for careless gaiety and wit, the accomplishments of a Cavalier poet. He was also the inventor of the card game cribbage. He is best known for his poem “Ballad Upon a Wedding”.

In 1634, scandal was caused in his circle by a beating he received at the hands of Sir John Digby, a rival suitor for the daughter of Sir John Willoughby.

 The accounts of how he died vary. Alexander Pope, writing in anecdote the next century, stated he had died after arriving in Calaisof fever from a wound in his foot caused by a nail having been driven into his boot by a servant who absconded with his money and papers. He was certainly in Paris in the summer of 1641, when on 3 July Sir Francis Windebanke wrote to his son that Parliament had stopped pensions it had been paying himself, Suckling and Jermyn. One pamphlet related a story of his elopement with a lady to Spain, where he fell into the hands of the Inquisition. A theory that he committed suicide by poison in Paris, in fear of poverty is generally accepted. He was buried at a Protestant cemetery in the city.

Verse

I Prithee Send Me Back My Heart

I prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why then shouldst thou have mine?

Yet now I think on’t, let it lie,
To find it were in vain;
For th’hast a thief in either eye
Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
And yet not lodge together?
O love, where is thy sympathy,
If thus our breasts thou sever?

But love is such a mystery,
I cannot find it out;
For when I think I’m best resolv’d,
I then am most in doubt.

Then farewell care, and farewell woe,
I will no longer pine;
For I’ll believe I have her heart
As much as she hath mine.

Song

Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can’t move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee, why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can’t win her,
Saying nothing do’t?
Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move:
This cannot take her.
If of herself she cannot love,
Nothing can make her:
The devil take her!

  • Oh for some honest lover’s ghost,
    Some kind unbodied post
    Sent from the shades below!
    I strangely long to know
    Whether the nobler chaplets wear
    Those that their mistress’ scorn did bear,
    Or those that were used kindly.

    • Oh! For some honest lover’s ghost.
  • Her feet beneath her petticoat
    Like little mice stole in and out,
    As if they feared the light;
    But oh, she dances such a way!
    No sun upon an Easter-day
    Is half so fine a sight.

    • Ballad upon a Wedding.

Today is the birthday of Roberto Bompiani (Rome; February 10, 1821 – January 19, 1908 Rome); painter and sculptor.

Gallery

Self portrait

"Due donne di Pompei".

“Due donne di Pompei”.

L'Angelo (1902)

L’Angelo (1902)

Diana and her maidens

Diana and her maidens

Pompeian Figure

Parassita

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 9 February – sketchin’ – art by Alberto Vargas

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

that was long ago
“You should go there”
oh if there were time enough
“You know we can”
well i get there with words
“Any outlet”
the act is what matters
“Whichever way”
i can get to
the curve of your hip
the look in your eyes
with lines or words
“I prefer when you
use your hands”

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

shall we try somethin’ new
in the amazin’ story of us
yes, just like that, hold it
to imagine
and work from there
the lines intensify
shade here
and there
express
impressions
only of one
what else matters,
this indispensable view
a dedication
forms a vision
of us

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

reminded today
how it feels to live
for expression,
then have it taken away
to be without
a basic necessity
for bein’
for me it was nine years
for my friend, seven
a vow to you mon amie,
to always support
our creative needs
and to keep on writin’
sketchin’ and paintin’
this amazin’ story

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

tendency
always to imagine
and work from there

the lines
intensify
to bearable
sorrow

shade here
and there
express
impressions
only of one

and all that is left,
but better than nothin’
indispensable view

a dedication
forms a vision
of was

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

oh, it is all about
the eyes, the smile
and the hands

come be my canvas
and i will sketch for you
a love unlike anything
you have ever known

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a shaky start
to be sure,
but gradually
the rhythm came back
and the strokes became strong
and bold again, the touch, still there

very pleased, that you made me
yearn to once again sketch

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Alberto Vargas
Alberto vargas young.gif

Vargas in New York, ca. 1919

Today is the birthday of Joaquin Alberto Vargas y Chávez ( Arequipa, Peru 9 February 1896 – 30 December 1982 Los Angeles); painter of pin-up girls.  He is often considered one of the most famous of the pin-up artists.

The death of his wife Anna Mae in 1974 left him devastated, and he stopped painting. Anna Mae had been his model and business manager, his muse in every way. The publication of his autobiography in 1978 renewed interest in his work and brought him partially out of his self-imposed retirement to do a few works, such as album covers for The Cars (Candy-O, 1979) and Bernadette Peters (Bernardette Peters, 1980; Now Playing, 1981). He died of a stroke on 30 December 1982, at the age of 86.

Notable women painted by Vargas include Olive Thomas, Billie Burke, Nita Naldi, Marily Miller, Paulette Goddard, Bernadette Peters, Irish McCalla and Ruth Etting.

Gallery

Cars Candy-O album cover

Cars Candy-O album cover

20230209_192528

"Feline Entre-Act"

“Feline Entre-Act”

Theatrical release poster

“Memories of Olive” (1920).
Fleurs du Mal 1920

Fleurs du Mal 1920

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 8 February – always – art by Franz Marc – birth of Kate Chopin – verse by Elizabeth Bishop

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

“Where are we going today”
in perpetuity
“Do we have time”
we have what we have
“And will as long as we can”
did you see the sunset today
“Yes, it was wonderful”
a glowin’ orange orb
“Sinking slowly”
to be consumed
“Only to repeat”
as we do
“In each others arms”
ad infinitum

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

lookin’ at you,
an indescribable feelin’
hearin’ your voice,
seductive, never ceasin’,
whisperin’, clamorin’,
murmurin’, invitin’
i realize, my present self,
different, better, seein’ at last
we will not be denied
that which our impassioned,
newly awakened bein’ demands

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

for which, always yearn

expression of dreams
the more we surrender
the closer we get

feed on imagination
leave aside all else

intensity of feelin’s
rhythm and tremor
the movement
the color
tryin’ to get it all
on the canvas
of together

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

inspiration
to not hold feelin’s too close
then everything else fades
for awhile
and all that went before
is as if it had never been

the dances in my dreams
the stars in the sky
the radiance in the sunrise
and the written words
that is where i find you

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

indeed, shut out
and found
on the threshold

if you forget
know this

when i look at the moon,
at the slow winter
out my window

when i hear the wind,
or a fine
piece of music

whenever i come
across anything
engagin’ or inspirin’

it will always be you

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

 

Franz Marc
FranzMarccropped.jpg

Franz Marc in 1910

Today is the birthday of Franz Marc (Munich; February 8, 1880 – March 4, 1916 Braquis, France); painter and printmaker, one of the key figures of the German Expressionist movement.  He was a founding member of Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider), a journal whose name later became synonymous with the circle of artists collaborating in it.

During his twenties, Marc was involved in a number of stormy relationships, including an affair lasting for many years with Annette Von Eckardt, a married antique dealer nine years his senior.  He married twice, first to Marie Schnür, then to Maria Franck; both were artists.

Gallery

Girl with a cat ii

Girl with a cat ii

Rote Frau, (1912)

Rote Frau, (1912)

Blaues Pferd I, Blue Horse I (1911)

Die großen blauen Pferde, The Large Blue Horses (1911)

For more on Franz Marc visit artsy.net 

Kate_ChopinToday is the birthday of Kate Chopin (born Katherine O’Flaherty; St. Louis, Missouri; February 8, 1850 – August 22, 1904 St. Louis, Missouri); author of short stories and novels based in Louisiana. In my opinion, she is a forerunner of American 20th-century feminist authors of Southern or Catholic background.

Chopin was of maternal French and paternal Irish descent. She married and moved with her husband to New Orleans. They later lived in the country in Cloutierville, Louisiana. From 1892 to 1895, Chopin wrote short stories for both children and adults that were published in such national magazines as Atlantic MonthlyVogueThe Century Magazine, and The Youth’s Companion. Her stories aroused controversy because of her subjects and her approach; they were condemned as immoral by some critics.

Her major works were two short story collections: Bayou Folk (1894) and A Night in Acadie (1897). Her important short stories included “Désirée’s Baby” (1893), a tale of miscegenation in antebellum Louisiana, “The Story of an Hour” (1894), and “The Storm” (1898). “The Storm” is a sequel to “At the Cadian Ball,” which appeared in her first collection of short stories, Bayou Folk.

Chopin also wrote two novels: At Fault (1890) and The Awakening (1899), which are set in New Orleans and Grand Isle, respectively. The characters in her stories are usually residents of Louisiana. Many of her works are set in Natchitoches in north central Louisiana, a region where she lived.

Within a decade of her death, Chopin was widely recognized as one of the leading writers of her time. In 1915, Fred Lewis Pattee wrote, “some of [Chopin’s] work is equal to the best that has been produced in France or even in America. [She displayed] what may be described as a native aptitude for narration amounting almost to genius.”

Quotes

The Awakening (1899)

  • Looking at his wife as one looks at a valuable piece of property which has suffered some damage.
  • An indescribable oppression, which seemed to generate in some unfamiliar part of her consciousness, filled her with a vague anguish…like a shadow… a mist passing across her soul’s summer day.
  • The voice of the sea is seductive; never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander for a spell in abysses of solitude; to lose itself in mazes of inward contemplation.
  • Sometimes I feel this summer as if I were walking through the green meadow again; idly, aimlessly, unthinking, and unguided.
  • As she swam she seemed to be reaching out for the unlimited in which to lose herself.
  • She could only realize that she herself — her present self — was in some way different from the other self. That she was seeing with different eyes.
  • Edna wondered if they had all gone mad, to be talking and clamoring at that rate. She herself could think of nothing to say about Mexico or the Mexicans.
  • The present alone was significant; was hers, to torture her as it was doing then with the biting conviction that she had lost that which she had held, that she had been denied that which her impassioned, newly awakened being demanded.
  • She was moved by a kind of commiseration for Madame Ratignolle — a pity for that colorless existence which never uplifted its possessor beyond the region of blind contentment, in which no moment of anguish ever visited her soul, in which she would never have the taste of life’s delirium.
  • “She says a wedding is one of the most lamentable spectacles on earth.”
  • “Do you suppose a woman knows why she loves? Does she select? Does she say to herself, ‘Go to! here is a distinguished statesman with presidential possibilities; I shall proceed to fall in love with him.’ or, ‘I shall set my heart upon this musician, whose fame is on every tongue?’ or ‘this financier, who controls the world’s money markets?'”
  • “The bird that would soar above the plane of tradition and prejudice must have strong wings. It is a sad spectacle to see the weaklings bruised, exhausted, fluttering back to earth.”
  • She had resolved never again to belong to another than herself.
  • There was something in her attitude, in her whole appearance when she leaned her head against the high-backed chair and spread her arms, which suggested the regal woman, the one who rules, who looks on, who stands alone.
  • “I’ve been seeing the waves and the white beach of Grand Isle; the quiet, grassy street of the Chênière Caminada; the old sunny fort at Grand Terre. I’ve been working with a little more comprehension than a machine, and still feeling like a lost soul.”
  • All sense of reality had gone out of her life; she had abandoned herself to fate, and awaited the consequences with indifference.
  • There was no despondency when she fell asleep that night; nor was there hope when she awoke in the morning.
  • “You have been a very foolish boy, wasting your time dreaming of impossible things when you speak of Mr. Pontellier setting me free! I am no longer one of Mr. Pontelliere’s possessions to dispose of or not. I give myself where I choose. If he were to say, ‘here Robert, take her and be happy; she is yours,’ I should laugh at you both”
  • “And Nature takes no account of moral consequences, of arbitrary conditions which we create, and which we feel obliged to maintain at any cost.”
  • “The years that are gone seem like dreams -if one might go on sleeping and dreaming- but to wake up and find -oh! well! perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all ones life.”
  • She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father’s voice and her sister Margaret’s. She heard the barking of an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.
  • She was becoming herself and daily casting aside that fictitious self which we assume like a garment with which to appear before the world.

 

Elizabeth Bishop
Elizabeth Bishop, 1934 yearbook portrait.jpg

Elizabeth Bishop in 1934 as a senior at Vassar

Today is the birthday of Elizabeth Bishop (Worcester, Massachusetts; February 8, 1911 – October 6, 1979 Boston); poet and short-story writer.  She was Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1949 to 1950, the Pulitzer Prize winner for Poetry in 1956, the National Book Award winner in 1970, and the recipient of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature in 1976.

Verse 

  • Why should I be my aunt,
    or me, or anyone?
    What similarities
    boots, hands, the family voice
    I felt in my throat, or even
    the National Geographic
    and those awful hanging breasts
    held us all together
    or made us all just one?

    • Poem: In the Waiting Room
  • From a magician’s midnight sleeve
    the radio-singers
    distribute all their love-songs
    over the dew-wet lawns.

    • Poem: Late Air

Poems, North and South (1946)

  • The armored cars of dreams contrived to let us do
    so many a dangerous thing.

    • Poem: Sleeping standing up
  • Topography displays no favorites; North’s as near as West.
    More delicate than the historians’ are the map-makers’ colors.

    • Poem: The Map
  • The future
    sinks through water
    fast as a stone,
    alone alone.
  • “Yes …” that peculiar
    affirmative. “Yes …”
    A sharp, indrawn breath,
    half groan, half acceptance,
    that means “Life’s like that.
    We know it (also death).”

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 7 February – thanks – art by Henry Fuseli – birth of Charles Dickens

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  What would you say if someone asked you to?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

the quality of bein’
“Not following”
the days it is held higher
than your expectations
“Right”
what Ray said
“I remember”
when we woke to the sound
of the ocean waves crashin’
“Or the night we watched
the sunset then the moonrise”
words, colors that flow,
the touch of each other

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboycoleridge all rights reserved

my life can be divided
into three phases…
runnin’ from
standin’ still
and runnin’ towards
of course the first,
was from myself
the second,
was all about
solitude
and findin’ myself
the third,
is about
gettin’ to you
as soon and often
as possible
for that is where
i belong

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

have i lately,
thanked you

or thanked god or jesus
or buddah or magic
or fate or luck,
the trimurti
or whomever,
on my knees now,
for bringin’ you to me

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

thank you god or jesus
or fate or luck or magic
or buddha or whomever
sent you to me
in my dreams last night
i only hope you return

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

A blast from the past dated 7 February 2011:

Again, this is what you do for me.  So needed this, this week.  This was my refuge.  First, I know we have covered this but I want to reiterate; I am perfectly fine and confident and secure with your read-between-the-line-responses.  This is not about tryin’ to coerce you out of that. What we have is what it is and it will be what it will be.  This is about me thinkin’ about you and holdin’ on to my pen as the words flow out.  My words are what they are and I am fine and confident and secure with them.  Thanks again for givin’ ’em back to me.  Or said in verse…

again, what you do for me
so need this refuge…
i know we have covered this
but i want to reiterate
i am confident and secure with your
read-between-the-lines responses
this is not about tryin’
to coerce you out of that
what we have is what it is
and it will be what it will be
this is about me
thinkin’ about you
and holdin’ on to my pen
as the words flow out
my words are what they are
and i am confident
and secure with them
thanks again
for givin’ ’em back to me……

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

If I Asked

If I asked you to be all mine
What would you say
Would you say that would be right fine
Would you say nay

If I asked you to sleep with me
Would you say yes
Would you laugh so hysterically
Or cry no less

If I asked to be your lover
Would you say oui
Would you run so fast for cover
Or git weepy

If I asked you for forever
Would you believe
Would you think I was so clever
Or would you leave

If I asked for your heart and soul
Would you give it
Would you be the rock to my roll
Without a fit

If I asked you to hold me tight
Would you say no
Would it give you such a big fright
And would you go

If I asked to be your only
Would you comply
Would you leave me sad and lonely
Or would you cry

If I asked to be your cowboy
Would you say please

Would you leap and dance with great joy
Or would you tease

If I asked you to be my girl
Would you refuse
Would you just let me twist and twirl
And cut me loose

If I asked to be in your dreams
Would you agree
Would you include me in your schemes
And never flee

If I asked you to complete me
If it happened
Would you be there so completely
Beyond the end

If I asked all of this and more
What would you say
What would you do
Would you be all mine to adore
Would you say yay
Would you be true
Would you say yes for evermore

© copyright 2013 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is Patti LaBelle‘s version of “If I Asked You To” by Diane Warren.  © 2000 Geffen Records

 

1778. Portrait by James Northcote.

1778. Portrait by James Northcote.

Today is the birthday of Henry Fuseli (German: Johann Heinrich Füssli; Zürich 7 February 1741 – 17 April 1825 Putney Hill, London); painter, draughtsman and writer on art. Many of his works, such as The Nightmare, deal with supernatural subject-matter. He painted works for John Boydell’s Shakespeare Gallery, and created his own “Milton Gallery”. He held the posts of Professor of Painting and Keeper at the Royal Academy. His style had a considerable influence on many younger British artists, including William Blake. He produced no landscapes—”Damn Nature! she always puts me out,” was his characteristic exclamation—and painted only two portraits.

henryfuseliSophia_Rawlins_by_Henry_FuseliIn 1788 Fuseli married Sophia Rawlins (originally one of his models), and he soon after became an associate of the Royal Academy. The early feminist Mary Wollstonecraft, whose portrait he had painted, planned a trip with him to Paris, and pursued him determinedly, but after Sophia’s intervention the Fuselis’ door was closed to her forever. Fuseli later said “I hate clever women. They are only troublesome”. 

After a life of uninterrupted good health he died at the house of the Countess of Guildford on Putney Hill, at the age of 84, and was buried in the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral.

Gallery

Prince Arthur and the Fairy Queen (c. 1788)

Prince Arthur and the Fairy Queen (c. 1788)

Silence

Silence

 Thor Battering the Midgard Serpentwas Fuseli’s diploma work for the Royal Academy, accepted 1790.

 The Nightmare, (1781), Detroit Institute of Arts

 Fuseli (aged 63) by Edward Hodges Baily, 1824, National Gallery, London
Charles Dickens
Charles Dickens

Dickens in New York, 1867

Today is the birthday of Charles John Huffam Dickens (Landport, Hampshire; 7 February 1812 – 9 June 1870 Higham, Kent); writer and social critic.  He created some of the world’s best-known fictional characters and in my opinion, is the greatest novelist of the Victorian era.  His works enjoyed unprecedented popularity during his lifetime, and by the twentieth century critics and scholars had recognised him as a literary genius.  His novels and short stories enjoy lasting popularity.

Dickens’s literary success began with the 1836 serial publication of The Pickwick Papers.  Within a few years he had become an international literary celebrity, famous for his humour, satire, and keen observation of character and society.  His novels, most published in monthly or weekly instalments, pioneered the serial publication of narrative fiction, which became the dominant Victorian mode for novel publication.  The instalment format allowed Dickens to evaluate his audience’s reaction, and he often modified his plot and character development based on such feedback.  His plots were carefully constructed, and he often wove elements from topical events into his narratives.  Masses of the illiterate poor chipped in ha’pennies to have each new monthly episode read to them, opening up and inspiring a new class of readers.

His 1843 novella, A Christmas Carol, remains popular and continues to inspire adaptations in every artistic genre.  Oliver Twist and Great Expectations are also frequently adapted, and, like many of his novels, evoke images of early Victorian London.  His 1859 novel, A Tale of Two Cities, set in London and Paris, is perhaps his best-known work of historical fiction.  Dickens’s creative genius has been praised for its realism, comedy, prose style, unique characterisations, and social criticism.  The term Dickensian is used to describe something that is reminiscent of Dickens and his writings, such as poor social conditions or comically repulsive characters.

Verse

Love is not a feeling to pass away,
Like the balmy breath of a summer day;
It is not — it cannot be — laid aside;
It is not a thing to forget or hide.
It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me!
As the ivy clings to the old oak tree.
Love is not a passion of earthly mould,
As a thirst for honour, or fame, or gold:
For when all these wishes have died away,
The deep strong love of a brighter day,
Though nourished in secret, consumes the more,
As the slow rust eats to the iron’s core.

  • Lucy’s Song in The Village Coquettes (1836); later published in The Poems and Verses of Charles Dickens (1903)

A Tale of Two Cities

Book I – Recalled to Life

Chapter I – The Period

  • It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 6 February – silent – verse by Ugo Foscolo – art by Othon Friesz

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Who can still to rest, your pain, your silent dream?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

“Why so quiet”
it is my first best destiny
“But not your most entertaining”
true, but you get enough of that
“When the full moon lights the way”
yes, and when the words flow
as if there is no turnin’ back
“And there can’t be”
right, the beauty, palpable
waitin’ for discovery

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

and hope,
pulses strong
time enough
to paint over,
create what will come
unanswered prayers
only you could still to rest
finally shed
that closed in feelin’,
the fear of bein’ known
i was just never sure
if there was anyone inside
worth havin’
and there was not
until us

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

silence gleams cold
night wind moans
what life beyond
so the dream below

thoughts of unquestionin’ eyes
and hope, pulses yet
much to surprise

possibly time enough
to paint over,
create what will come

breath of unanswered prayers
beyond all, only you
can still to rest

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Pale Love, Pale Rider

never could shed
that closed in feelin’
a fear of bein’ known
i expect
i was just never sure
if there was anyone inside

certainly no one worthy
sure that was it
or maybe it was
that the right one
never came along
to help still to rest
the constant need

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Silent Dream

Silent stars gleam so cold,
Night wind moans, leafless trees rattle
What life beyond this stream,
So sleeps the ice-clad dream below

So silent beats the pulse,
So shines thoughts of unquestioned eyes
Life, why yet so helpless
Loveliness, why seem so surprised

To laugh to leap again
A love to which life’s pulses fly
And hopes now all of light,
Like lustres in the veil of eyes

Bold action has vision,
Courage sounds from the cold-bound depths
Grant the age old wisdom,
Beauty could paint over the frost

Passion’s heat, promise lies
In the final act, hidden pride
Thus might shape forever,
A lost soul, innocence abides

Breath of unanswered prayers
Silent dream, grief, in vain or not
Beyond woe, beyond all,
Pain, only you can still to rest

© copyright 2013 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is “Silent Dream” by Tron Syversen. We do not own the rights to his song.  No copyright infringement intended.  All rights reseved by the rightful owner.

 

Niccolò Ugo Foscolo
Ugo Foscolo.jpg

Today is the birthday of Ugo Foscolo (6 February 1778 in Zakynthos, Republic of Venice, now Greece – 10 September 1827 in Turnham Green); writer, revolutionary and poet.

He is remembered especially for his 1807 poetry book, Dei Sepolcri.

Verse  

From Dei Sepolcri, 1807

All’ombra de’ cipressi e dentro l’urne
confortate di pianto è forse il sonno
della morte men duro? Ove piú il Sole
per me alla terra non fecondi questa
bella d’erbe famiglia e d’animali,
e quando vaghe di lusinghe innanzi
a me non danzeran l’ore future,
né da te, dolce amico, udrò piú il verso
e la mesta armonia che lo governa,
né piú nel cor mi parlerà lo spirto
delle vergini Muse e dell’amore,
unico spirto a mia vita raminga,
qual fia ristoro a’ dí perduti un sasso
che distingua le mie dalle infinite
ossa che in terra e in mar semina morte?

Lines 1–15 English translation by Ugo Foscolo himself:
Beneath the cypress shade, or sculptured urn
By fond tears watered, is the sleep of death
Less heavy? — When for me the sun no more
Shall shine on earth, to bless with genial beams
This beauteous race of beings animate —
When bright with flattering hues the coming hours
No longer dance before me — and I hear
No more, regarded friend, thy dulcet verse,
Nor the sad gentle harmony it breathes —
When mute within my breast the inspiring voice
Of youthful poesy, and love, sole light
To this my wandering life — what guerdon then
For vanished years will be the marble reared
To mark my dust amid the countless throng
Wherewith the Spoiler strews the land and sea

In addition, he wrote a poem, “Alla Sera” (In the Evening or Nightfall) that served as inspiration for the Poem of the Day:

Nights Without You

Perhaps because you understood
The silence that I felt
I cherished when you came to me
And calmed me
Whether under summer clouds
And warm winds
Or when winter sent restless
And long shadows
You always came, desired by me
And the secret pathways of my heart
You gently held
You made me wander with my thoughts
On paths that kept me
From the eternal void

And at long last, the pain and anger
That roared within me slept
Now the nights are without you
And the torment does not sleep

© copyright 2012 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is “Nights are Forever Without You” England Dan and John Ford Coley.

Othon Friesz
Othon Friesz, c.1930.jpg

Photograph from c.1930

Today is the birthday of Achille-Émile Othon Friesz (Le Havre 6 February 1879 – 10 January 1949 Paris), who later called himself Othon Friesz; artist of the Fauvist movement.

Othon Friesz is buried in the Cimetière du Montparnasse in Paris.

Gallery

Tentation

Tentation

Femme à la Chaise Longue

Femme à la Chaise Longue

Nu se trouvant dans un paysage

Nu se trouvant dans un paysage

Nu ALLONGÉE

Nu ALLONGÉE

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 5 February – gift – art by Sarah Goodridge & Carl Spitzweg

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  Who are you thinkin’ about?  I know I have been thinkin’ about Zazie Lee!  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

c’est ridicule
“Which part”
the bloody lot of it
“Careful, your Scots is showing”
whatever
“Is it ridiculous or absurd”
the hell is the difference
“Absurdity would demand
a response”
i prefer the wait and see
approach, makes for better verse
“Well, you’re driving”
and you are givin’

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

indeed
what we have chosen
to give each other

something
deeper, better,
stronger
than anything
either of us
has known

hear the words,
feel them –
want, need,
and the one
given up for gone
that can now be said

© 2022 cowboy coleridge/mac tag all rights reserved

always a good time
for reflectin’
what has been
what could be
so much to give
enough to overcome
the heart of darkness
would you
if there were
wonder enough
and time
hear the words said
come back at last
facin’ what is left
wind at my back
boots in the stirrups
all is you

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

oh here comes
one of my
favorite things,
reflectin’ on all
you have given me
this friendship
is deeper, better,
stronger
than anything
either of us has known
and it is all you
i understand
that you are not
there in the verse
in believin’
that is ok
because i will not tire
in tellin’ you so

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

face to the sun
breeze in my hair
always a good time
for reflectin’
on all that you have given

what has been
what could be
so much to give

let go or driven away
were you the one

if only you
as i you
still do

would you
if there were
enough wonder
and time

is it punishment
you bein’ sent

hear the words said
come back to haunt
want, need,
and the one
that cannot be said

facin’ what is left
wind at my back
boots in the stirrups
snow flyin’

all is you

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

that day
rode horseback
through the woods
to the pool of water
fed by a waterfall
no one around
for miles

the afternoon, spent
swimmin’ nekid
and makin’ dreams
come true
in this secluded place
this gift for two who know
what it is to be halves of a whole

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

This one was inspired by an old vignette I wrote for you once ago on a beach in Belize.  Yes, it is true, this cowboy has a little Caribbean in his soul.  Belize holds a special place in our hearts here at TLC.  Regardin’ today’s Song of the Day; her time here at TLC is long overdue.  Hope you like….

Thinkin’ About

Face to the sun
Breeze in my hair
Toes in the sand
Waves rollin’ in

All I can think about
Is you

Thinkin’ about what has been
And what could have been
Thinkin’ about what could be
Thinkin’, so much life to live
Thinkin’ about the loves let go
Or driven away
None of them the one though
Thinkin’ about you

The one that got away
If only you had loved me
As I loved you
Still love you

Could you have loved me
Had we but world enough and time
Sometimes wonder if God
Punished me by sendin’ me you

How ironic to hear the words
I said come back to haunt me
I want you, I need you
But I cannot love you

Facin’ what is left
Wind at my back
Boots in the stirrups
Snow flyin’

All I can think
About is you

© copyright 2013 mac tag/Cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

The Song of the Day is “Thinking About You” by Nora Jones.  We do not own the rights to this song.  No copyright infringement intended.  All rights reserved by the rightful owner.

sarahgoodridgeMiniature_Painting,_Sarah_Goodridge_Self_PortraitToday is the birthday of Sarah Goodridge (Templeton, Massachusetss; February 5, 1788 – December 28, 1853 Boston; also referred to as Sarah Goodrich). an American painter who specialized in portrait miniatures. She was the older sister of Elizabeth Goodridge, also an American miniaturist.

Goodridge became well known for her portraits of politician Daniel Webster and fellow-artist Gilbert Stuart.  Among Goodridge’s works is a miniature portrait of her own bared breasts, entitled Beauty Revealed, now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. See below

The painting is a watercolor portrait miniature on a piece of ivory. Depicting only the artist’s bared breasts surrounded by white cloth, the 6.7-by-8-centimeter (2.6 by 3.1 in) painting, originally backed with paper, is now in a modern frame. Goodridge, aged forty when she completed the miniature, depicts breasts that appear imbued with a “balance, paleness, and buoyancy” by the harmony of light, color, and balance. The surrounding cloth draws the viewer to focus on them, leading to the body being “erased”.

Gallery

Beauty revealed

Beauty revealed

Self portrait

Self portrait

Carl Spitzweg
Carl Spitzweg.jpg

Today is the birthday of Carl Spitzweg (Unterpfaffenhofen, Kingdom of Bavaria; February 5, 1808 – September 23, 1885 Munich); romanticist painter, especially of genre subjects.  He is considered to be one of the most important artists of the Biedermeier era.

Gallery

The intercepted love letter

The intercepted love letter

Dirndln auf der Alm, c. 1870s

In the Alpine High Valley in Mt. Wendelstein, c. 1871

Jugendfreunde, c.1855

Begegnung im Walde, A Woodland Meeting, c. 1860

English Tourists in Campagna, 1845
  •  
  • The Bookworm, original 1850, Museum Georg Schäfer. Two other exemplars exist.

  • Music-making Hermit before his Rocky Abode, c. 1856–1858

  • The Poor Poet, 1839, Neue Pinakothek

  • Newspaper reader in his backyard, c. 1845–1858

  • The butterfly hunter, 1840, a depiction from the era of butterfly collection

  • The Letter Carrier in the Rose Valley, c. 1858–18

  • Gnome Watching Railway Train, c. 1848

  • The Attic, c. 1840s

  • The Hermit Asleep

  • The Painter in a Forest Clearing, Lying under an Umbrella, c. 1850

  • Arrival of the Stagecoach, c. 1859

  • The Serenade, 1854

Otello
Opera by Giuseppe Verdi
Otello-Alexandre-Marie Colin 1829.jpg

Otello and Desdemona
by Alexandre-Marie Colin, 1829

On this day – Verdi’s penultimate opera was first performed at the Teatro alla Scala, Milan, on 5 February 1887.  Otello is an opera in four acts to an Italian libretto by Arrigo Boito, based on Shakespeare’s play Othello.

With the composer’s reluctance to write anything new after the success of Aida in 1871 and his retreat into retirement, it took his Milan publisher Giulio Ricordi the next ten years, first to persuade him to write anything, then to encourage the revision of Verdi’s 1857 Simon Boccanegra by introducing Boito as librettist, and finally to begin the arduous process of persuading and cajoling Verdi to see Boito’s completed libretto for Otello in July/August 1881.  However, the process of writing the first drafts of the libretto and the years of their revision, with Verdi all along not promising anything, dragged on, and it wasn’t until 1884, five years after the first drafts of the libretto, that composition began, with most of the work finishing in late 1885.  When it finally premiered it proved to be a resounding success, and further stagings of Otello soon followed at leading theatres throughout Europe and America.

Giuseppe Verdi c. 1870

Boito and Verdi at Sant’Agata

Francesco Tamagno as Otello in a costume designed by Alfred Edel for the original production

Baritone Victor Maurel, the first Iago

Set design model by Marcel Jambon from the Paris production (1894).

Romilda Pantaleoni, the first Desdemona

(1985), Kiri Te Kanawa (1991), Cheryl Studer (1993), Renée Fleming (1996) and Sonya Yoncheva (2015).

Synopsis

Time: The late 15th century.
Place: A coastal city on the island of Cyprus.

Act 1

A town in Cyprus, outside the castle. An inn with a pergola, in the background the quayside and sea. It is evening. Lightning, thunder, gale force winds.

Otello, act 1. Teatro Costanzi Rome-1887; set design by Giovanni Zuccarelli

On a stormy evening, the people of Cyprus anxiously await the arrival of the new governor, Otello, from a naval battle with the Turks (Chorus, Montano, Cassio, Iago, Roderigo: Una vela! / “A sail!”). For a moment it seems as if Otello’s ship will founder, to the delight of Otello’s treacherous ensign, Iago, but Otello arrives safely and announces that the Turkish fleet has been destroyed, and the Cypriots cheer (Otello, chorus: Esultate! L’orgoglio musulmano sepolto è in mar / “Rejoice! The Mussulman’s pride is buried in the sea”).

Iago offers to help the young Venetian gentleman Roderigo in his seduction of Otello’s wife, Desdemona – Iago envies Otello his success and longs to destroy the Moor (Iago, Roderigo: Roderigo, ebben che pensi? / “Well, Roderigo, what are you thinking?”). Among his grievances, Iago is outraged that Otello has appointed Cassio to be the captain of the navy, a position that Iago hoped to have. The people of Cyprus celebrate the safe return of Otello and his men by lighting a bonfire and drinking (Chorus: Fuoco di gioia!/ “Fire of joy”).

Iago proposes a toast to Otello and his wife, while Cassio praises Desdemona (Iago, Cassio, Chorus, Roderigo: Roderigo, beviam! / “Roderigo, let’s drink!”). Iago offers Cassio more wine, but Cassio says he has had enough. Iago pressures him and offers a toast to Otello and Desdemona. Cassio gives in. Iago sings a drinking song and continues to pour Cassio wine (Iago, Cassio, Roderigo, chorus: Inaffia l’ugola! / “Wet your throat”).

Montano enters and calls for Cassio to begin his watch; he is surprised to find Cassio drunk and barely able to stand upright. Iago lies to Montano, telling him that this is how Cassio spends every evening. Roderigo laughs at Cassio’s drunkenness and Cassio attacks him. Montano tells Cassio to calm down, but Cassio draws his sword and threatens to crack open Montano’s head. (Montano, Cassio, Iago, Roderigo, chorus: Capitano, v’attende la fazione ai baluardi / “Captain, the guard awaits you on the ramparts”.) Cassio and Montano begin to duel, and Iago sends Roderigo to call the alarm. Montano is wounded and the fight is stopped only by the appearance of Otello.

Otello orders Montano and Cassio to lower their swords. He then asks “honest Iago” to explain how the duel began, but Iago says he doesn’t know. Otello then turns to Cassio, who is embarrassed and cannot excuse his actions. When Otello discovers that Montano is wounded, he becomes enraged. Desdemona enters, and, upon seeing that his bride’s rest has been disturbed, Otello declares that Cassio is no longer Captain. (Otello, Iago, Cassio, Montano: Abbasso le spade / “Down with your swords”.) He tells Iago to patrol the town to restore quiet, calls for help for Montano and orders everyone to return to their houses.

The Cypriots leave Otello alone with Desdemona. Together Otello and Desdemona recall why they fell in love. Otello, in an ecstasy of joy, invites death, fearing that he will never know such happiness again. Desdemona prays that their love will remain unchanged. They kiss, overcome with love for each other. (Otello, Desdemona: Già nella notte densa s’estingue ogni clamor /”Now in the dark night all noise is silenced”.)

Act 2

A hall on the ground floor of the castle, divided by a glass partition from the garden at the back, with a balcony.

Arnold Azrikan as Otello

Iago suggests to Cassio that he should ask Desdemona to talk to Otello about his demotion; Desdemona can influence her husband to reinstate him (Iago, Cassio: Non ti crucciar / “Do not fret”). Desdemona and Emilia can be seen walking the garden. Cassio approaches Desdemona. Watching from the room, Iago voices his nihilistic beliefs and hatred of humankind (Credo in un Dio crudel / “I believe in a cruel God”).

Otello enters the room; Iago, pretending not to notice him, says that he is deeply troubled. Cassio sees Otello from afar and goes discreetly away. Otello asks what’s wrong, but Iago gives only vague answers. Finally, he hints that Cassio and Desdemona are having an affair. Otello begins to get suspicious, but declares that he needs proof before believing that Desdemona has been unfaithful. (Iago, Otello: Ciò m’accora… Che parli? / “That worries me…” “What did you say?”) Iago warns Otello against jealousy, but also advises him to be vigilant.

A crowd of children, sailors, and Cypriots sing to Desdemona, praising her beauty and purity (Chorus, Iago, children, Desdemona, Otello: Dove guardi splendono raggi / “Wherever you look, brightness shines…”). They present her with gifts and wish her happiness before leaving.

Desdemona carries Cassio’s request for reinstatement to Otello. Otello sourly tells her to ask him another time; as she persists, he grows impatient and says he has a headache. Desdemona offers to wrap his head in a handkerchief Otello once gave her, linen embroidered with strawberries. Otello throws it to the ground and says he doesn’t need it (Desdemona, Otello: D’un uom che geme sotto il tuo disdegno la preghiera ti porto / “I bring a petition from one who suffers under your displeasure”). Emilia picks up the handkerchief. Desdemona asks for Otello’s forgiveness. Aside, Iago demands that Emilia give him the handkerchief. When she refuses, Iago forcibly takes it from her.

Otello dismisses the others, and declares that he now believes that Desdemona may be deceiving him (Otello: Ora e per sempre addio sante memorie / “Now and forever farewell, holy memories”). Iago returns, and the jealous Otello demands proof of Desdemona’s infidelity. Iago says that once, when he and Cassio were sleeping in the same room, he heard Cassio talking to Desdemona in a dream. In the dream, says Iago, Cassio told Desdemona that they must be careful to conceal their love. (Iago: Era la notte, Cassio dormia / “It was night, Cassio was sleeping”.) Iago says that dreams don’t prove anything, but remarks that he saw Cassio carrying Desdemona’s strawberry-embroidered handkerchief just the day before. Otello swears vengeance on Desdemona and Cassio, and Iago joins him in his vow (Otello, Iago: Sì, pel ciel marmoreo giuro / “Yes, by the marble heavens I swear”).

Act 3

The great hall of the castle. To the right, a large colonnade leading to a smaller hall, in the back of which is a balcony. Othello and Iago talking in the hall as a herald enters.

The Act 3 set at the 1887 premiere in Milan. Illustration by Ed. Ximenes after the original stage design by Carlo Ferrario.

A herald brings news of the approach of ambassadors from Venice. Iago explains to Otello that he will lure Cassio here and talk with him while Otello watches, hidden. He leaves to go get Cassio. (Iago: Qui trarrò Cassio / “Here I will bring Cassio”.)

Desdemona enters and reminds Otello of Cassio’s request. Otello says that his headache has returned, and asks Desdemona to wrap her handkerchief around his head. When Desdemona produces a different handkerchief, Otello demands the one with strawberries. When she says she does not have it, Otello says that it was a talisman, and troubles will befall her if she loses it. Desdemona says that he is trying to ignore Cassio’s plea, and as she asks him about Cassio, he demands the handkerchief ever more insistently. (Desdemona, Otello: Dio ti giocondi, o sposo / “God keep you merry, husband”.) Desdemona protests that she is faithful; Otello sends her away (Desdemona, Otello: Esterrefatta fisso lo sguardo tuo tremendo / “Terrified, I face your dreadful look”).

Otello laments his fate (Dio! mi potevi scagliar tutti i mali / “God, you could have thrown every evil at me” ). When Iago calls out “Cassio is here!” Otello hides as Iago and Cassio enter. Cassio says he had hoped to see Desdemona here, for he wanted to know whether she had been successful with Otello (Iago, Cassio, Otello: Vieni; l’aula è deserta / “Come, the hall is deserted”). Iago asks him to tell of his adventures with that woman. Cassio asks which woman, and, softly, so that Otello cannot hear, Iago says “Bianca” (the name of Cassio’s actual lover). As Cassio laughs about his romantic adventures, Otello assumes he is speaking of Desdemona. In a conversation only partially heard, Cassio seems to be telling Iago that another woman, a secret admirer, left him a handkerchief as a token. At Iago’s urging, Cassio produces it, whereupon Iago seizes it—for it is Desdemona’s—and holds it out where he knows Otello can see it. He then returns it to Cassio and teases him, while in his hiding place Otello fumes (Iago, Cassio, Otello: Questa è una ragna dove il tuo cuor casca / “This is a spiderweb in which your heart is caught”).

Bugles sound, announcing the arrival of the Venetian ambassador, Lodovico. Iago warns Cassio that he should leave unless he wants to see Otello. Cassio exits, and Otello asks Iago how he should kill his wife. Iago advises Otello to kill Desdemona by suffocating her in her bed, while he will take care of Cassio. Otello promotes Iago to Captain.

Lodovico, Desdemona, Emilia, Roderigo, and other dignitaries enter. When Lodovico notes Cassio’s absence, Iago tells him that Cassio is out of favor. Desdemona interrupts, telling Lodovico that she hopes he will soon be restored. Otello calls her a demon and almost strikes her violently but is held back by Lodovico. Otello then calls for Cassio. (Lodovico, Otello, Desdemona, Emilia, Iago, chorus: Il Doge ed il Senato salutano l’eroe trionfatore / “The Doge and the Senate greet the triumphant hero”.) Cassio enters and Otello reads (mixing in insults to Desdemona) a letter from the Doge, announcing that he (Otello) has been called back to Venice and Cassio is to succeed him as governor of Cyprus. Enraged, Otello throws Desdemona to the ground. (Otello, Roderigo, Iago, Cassio, Lodovico: Messeri! il Doge mi richiama a Venezia / “Gentlemen! The Doge recalls me to Venice”.)

Desdemona, on the ground, laments (A terra! … sì … nel livido fango / “Fallen! yes, in the foul mud…”). The various characters express their feelings: Emilia and Lodovico express their sympathy for Desdemona, Cassio marvels at his sudden change of fortune, and Roderigo laments that Desdemona will soon depart. In separate asides, Iago urges Otello to take his revenge as soon as possible, while he will take care of Cassio. He advises Roderigo that the only way to prevent Desdemona from leaving is for Cassio, the new Duke, to die, and suggests that Roderigo murder Cassio that night. (Emilia, Cassio, Desdemona, Roderigo, Lodovico, Iago, Otello, chorus: Quell’innocente un fremito d’odio non ha nè un gesto / “That innocent one is without feeling or gesture of hatred”). In a fury, Otello orders everyone to leave. Desdemona goes to comfort him, but Lodovico pulls her away as Otello curses her. As the others leave, Otello raves about the handkerchief, then collapses. Iago presses Otello’s forehead with his heel, then walks away. Outside the crowd of Cypriots calls out victory and glory for Otello. (Otello, Desdemona, Emilia, Cassio, Roderigo, Lodovico, Iago, chorus: Fuggite! / “Begone”.)

Act 4

Desdemona’s bedchamber. A bed, a prie-dieu, a table, a mirror, some chairs. A light burns in front of an image of the Madonna which hangs above the prie-dieu. To the right is a door. On the table a light. It is night.

Otello: set design by Giovanni Zuccarelli for Act IV as staged at the Teatro Costanzi in Rome, 1887.

Desdemona is preparing for bed with the assistance of Emilia. She asks Emilia to put out the bridal gown she used on her wedding day, and says that if she dies, she wants to be buried in it. Emilia tells her not to talk about such things. Desdemona recalls how her mother’s servant Barbara was abandoned by her lover, and how she used to sing the Willow Song (Desdemona: Piangea cantando nell’erma landa / “Singing, she wept on the lonely hearth”). After Emilia leaves, Desdemona prays (Ave Maria) and then falls asleep.

Silently, Otello enters, with a sword. He kisses his wife three times; she awakens. Otello asks her if she has prayed tonight; she must die, and he does not wish to condemn her soul. She asks God for mercy, both for her and for Otello. Otello accuses her of sin, saying that he must kill her because she loves Cassio. Desdemona denies it and asks that he summon Cassio to testify to her innocence. Otello says that Cassio is already dead. Desdemona, horrified, pleads for mercy, but Otello tells her it’s too late and strangles her (Otello, Desdemona: Diceste questa sera le vostre preci / “Have you said your prayers tonight?”).

Emilia knocks at the door, (Emilia: Aprite! Aprite! / “Open up!”) announcing that Cassio has killed Roderigo. Desdemona softly calls out that she has been unjustly accused, but refuses to blame Otello. She dies. Emilia calls Otello a murderer; he retorts that Iago gave him proof of Desdemona’s infidelity. Otello begins to threaten Emilia, who calls for help. Iago, Cassio, and Lodovico enter. Emilia demands that Iago deny Otello’s accusation; he refuses. Otello says that the handkerchief Desdemona gave to Cassio is proof enough. Emilia, horrified, explains that Iago stole the handkerchief from her—Cassio confirms that the handkerchief appeared mysteriously in his lodgings. Montano enters and says that Roderigo, with his dying breath, has revealed Iago’s plot. Iago, brandishing his sword, runs away.

After he realizes what has happened, Otello grieves over Desdemona’s death. Initially he draws his scimitar (Otello: Niun mi tema / “That none fear me”) but then relinquishes it. He then stealthily draws a dagger from his robe (Otello: Ho un’arma ancor! / I still have another weapon!) and stabs himself. Others try to stop him, but it is too late. Before he dies, he drags himself next to his wife and kisses her (Otello: Un bacio…un bacio ancora…ah!…un altro bacio… / A kiss.. another kiss…ah…and yet another kiss). He lies dead next to Desdemona.

Mac Tag

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 4 February – try – art by Władysław Podkowiński & Fernand Léger – verse by Jacques Prévert

Dear Zazie,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse.  Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge.  What do you like about the one who stirs you?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

here is here
and stayin’
two lovers
two survivors
entwined and spared
we are not over
and we can never
disappoint
what happens
is as clear as can be
and it is yours and mine
it is such a wonder
the stuff of dreams
here tryin’ is all
holdin’ on to you
against the stillness

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

dream a little dream

so yes,
the word was said
“Every time you come,
I fall more and more.”
two lovers
two survivors tryin’
entwined
stronger
more so,
wiser
as clear as day,
simple as hey there
hand in hand,
it is yours and mine
the sweetest sleep
the fairest dreams
and yes, i do

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

we can try
standin’ in the sun
in the wind
in sleep and dream

two lovers
two survivors
entwined and spared

you are not over
and you can never
disappoint

what happens
is as clear as can be
and it is yours and mine

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

there was there
but stayin’ was not
sometimes,

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The Lovers’ Chronicle 3 February – hours – birth of Gertrude Stein & Simone Weil – art by Norman Rockwell

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

one of the pleasant things
the daily miracle, you do come
goin’ on and on
essentially and absolutely
wantin’, adorin’,
doin’, pleasin’,
caressin’
wave on wave
ever in this new
discovery
together
the further we go
into these new hours,
the more certain i become

© copyright 2021 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

wait, what
“I said, it can get better.”
i cannot fathom that
and doubt
i could handle it
for sure, it would
take gettin’ used to
never had anything
as good as the vision
so if it gets better,
just ease me into it
© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

they go on and on
essentially and absolutely
usin’, losin’, wantin’, denyin’,
avoidin’, adorin’, and replacin’

doin’, always doin’
refusin’, pleasin’,
betrayin’, and caressin’

tryin’ to hold
the ones that should be
and let go the rest

ridin’ on through
ever into

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

hour by hour keepin’ up a steady trot
sun sinks and the long shadows
lengthen down the prairie
movin’ veils of purple twilight
creep out of the hills,
soon merge and shade into night
guidin’ the pale horse nearer to the trail
to see better, ridin’ on through the hours

feel only vaguely, as outside things,
the ache and burn and throb of muscles
but the dammed-up torrent of emotion holds
and the hour for release, continues to elude
sufferin’, catchin’ glimpses into self,
into unlit darkness of soul
a torturin’ possession of mind
ranges, runs riotin’, tramplin’
resurgin’ hope, draggin’
ever into the hours

© copyright 2017 Mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reservedly won

 

Gertrude Stein
Gertrude Stein 1935-01-04.jpg

Stein in 1935 photographed by Carl Van Vechten

Today is the birthday of Gertrude Stein (Allegheny, Pennsylvania; February 3, 1874 – July 27, 1946 Neuilly-sur-Seine, France); novelist, poet, playwright, and art collector.  Born in the Allegheny West neighborhood of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and raised in Oakland, California, Stein moved to Paris in 1903, and made France her home for the remainder of her life.  She hosted a Paris salon, where the leading figures of modernism in literature and art, such as Pablo Picasso, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sinclair Lewis, Ezra Pound, and Henri Matisse would meet.

In 1933, Stein published a kind-of memoir of her Paris years, The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, written in the voice of her life partner, Alice B. Toklas, an American-born member of the Parisian avant-garde.  The book became a literary bestseller and vaulted Stein from the relative obscurity of the cult-literature scene into the limelight of mainstream attention.  Two quotes from her works have become widely known: “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose” and “there is no there there“.

Her books include Q.E.D. (Quod Erat Demonstrandum) (1903), about a lesbian romantic affair involving several of Stein’s female friends; Fernhurst, a fictional story about a romantic affair; Three Lives (1905–06) and The Making of Americans (1902-1911).  In Tender Buttons (1914), Stein commented on lesbian sexuality.

Stein met Toklas on September 8, 1907, on Toklas’s first day in Paris, at Sarah and Michael Stein’s apartment.  On meeting Stein, Toklas wrote:

She was a golden brown presence, burned by the Tuscan sun and with a golden glint in her warm brown hair. She was dressed in a warm brown corduroy suit. She wore a large round coral brooch and when she talked, very little, or laughed, a good deal, I thought her voice came from this brooch. It was unlike anyone else’s voice—deep, full, velvety, like a great contralto’s, like two voices.

Quotes

 “What is the answer?” [ I was silent ] “In that case, what is the question?”

  • Last words (27 July 1946) as told by Alice B. Toklas in What Is Remembered (1963)
  • Poetry is I say essentially a vocabulary just as prose is essentially not. And what is the vocabulary of which poetry absolutely is. It is a vocabulary based on the noun as prose is essentially and determinately and vigorously not based on the noun. Poetry is concerned with using with abusing, with losing with wanting with denying with avoiding with adoring with replacing the noun. It is doing that always doing that, doing that doing nothing but that. Poetry is doing nothing but using losing refusing and pleasing and betraying and caressing nouns. That is what poetry does, that is what poetry has to do no matter what kind of poetry it is. And there are a great many kinds of poetry. So that is poetry really loving the name of anything and that is not prose.
    • “Poetry and Grammar”
  • When I said. “A rose is a rose is a rose.” And then later made that into a ring I made poetry and what did I do? I caressed completely caressed and addressed a noun.
    • “Poetry and Grammar”

One of the pleasant things those of us who write or paint do is to have the daily miracle. It does come.

Today is the birthday of Norman Percevel Rockwell (February 3, 1894 – November 8, 1978); painter and illustrator. His works have a broad popular appeal in the United States for their reflection of the country’s culture. Rockwell is most famous for the cover illustrations of everyday life he created for The Saturday Evening Post magazine over nearly five decades.  Among the best-known of Rockwell’s works are the Willie Gillis series, Rosie the RiveterThe Problem We All Live WithSaying Grace, and the Four Freedoms series. He is also noted for his 64-year relationship with the Boy Scouts of America (BSA), during which he produced covers for their publication Boys’ Life, calendars, and other illustrations. These works include popular images that reflect the Scout Oath and Scout Law such as The ScoutmasterA Scout Is Reverent and A Guiding Hand, among many others.

Gallery

Rosie the Riveter

Rosie the Riveter

Picasso Vs. Sargent

Picasso Vs. Sargent

Jo (March) and the Editor, 1938

Jo (March) and the Editor, 1938

And today is the birthday of Simone Weil (Paris; 3 February 1909 – 24 August 1943 Ashford, Kent, England); philosopher, mystic, and political activist.

Simone Weil
Simone Weil 1921.jpg

Weil in 1921

After her graduation from formal education, Weil became a teacher.  She taught intermittently throughout the 1930s, taking several breaks due to poor health and to devote herself to political activism, work that would see her assisting in the trade union movement, taking the side of the Anarchists known as the Durruti Column in the Spanish Civil War, and spending more than a year working as a labourer, mostly in auto factories, so she could better understand the working class.

Taking a path that was unusual among twentieth-century left-leaning intellectuals, she became more religious and inclined towards mysticism as her life progressed.  Weil wrote throughout her life, though most of her writings did not attract much attention until after her death.  In the 1950s and 1960s, her work became famous on continental Europe and throughout the English-speaking world.  Her thought has continued to be the subject of extensive scholarship across a wide range of fields.  A meta study from the University of Calgary found that between 1995 and 2012 over 2,500 new scholarly works had been published about her.  Albert Camus described her as “the only great spirit of our times“.

On Beauty

For Weil, beauty which is inherent in the form of the world. She saw it proven in geometry, and expressed in all good art. It is the proof that the world points to something beyond itself. It establishes the essentially telic character of all that exists. Beauty also served a soteriological function for Weil. It constitutes a way in which the divine reality behind the world infuses our lives. Where affliction conquers us with force, beauty steals in and topples the self from within.  She wrote…

« l’art de tout premier ordre qui a nécessairement rapport à la sainteté. »

« Le beau est la preuve expérimentale que l’Incarnation est possible »

« Nous devons avoir la foi que l’univers est beau à tous les niveaux … et qu’il a une plénitude de la beauté par rapport au corps et à l’esprit des êtres pensants qui existent et de tous ceux qui pourraient exister. C’est un accord de l’infini d’une beauté parfaite qui donne un caractère transcendant à la beauté du monde … Il (le Christ) est réellement présent dans la beauté universelle. L’amour de cette beauté vient de Dieu, demeure dans nos âmes et retourne vers Dieu présent dans l’univers ».

« c’est le sourire de tendresse du Christ pour nous à travers la matière ».

« La beauté séduit la chair pour obtenir la permission de passer jusqu’à l’âme. »

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