The Lovers’ Chronicle 24 December – not the same – art by Wilhelm Marstrand – verse by Matthew Arnold & Émile Nelligan- Premiere of Verdi’s Aida

24 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Quotes, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chroncile from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Have you tried to replace someone only to find it is not the same? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

no, it is not
there has not
been anything
like this

the story
and the verse
continue

after all that has happened
we can look upon what
we are creatin’, becomin’
halves of a whole, findin’
there is no higher purpose

bein’ us
bein’ here

so the story

does continue…

still comin’ on me

wave on wave

ridin’ waves

of emotions

some i remember,

some long thought

given up for gone

some threatenin’

to pull me under

and it feels so good

i hope they do

as long as you

will have me

come on baby

wave on

the song of the day Pat Green Wave on Wave © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, CALHOUN ENTERPRISES

nothin’ remains
but a story and perhaps,
sumpthin’ of a poem

which is fine
after all that happened
to have a tale to tell is all
that ever shoulda been
hoped for

give until
you can look upon
what you have created
(or until you become
half of a whole)
and know there is no
higher purpose

it was
bein’ with you
and now,
it is bein’ here

no, not the same
but it will have to do
so the story continues

incredible,
the uniform
blanket of white,
the steady fallin’
flakes addin’ more
and the silence
all sound seems
to disappear

no need to dream
of a white christmas
instead, i will dream
of a you christmas

for Marci…

serendipity
helluva thing
never saw it comin’
but there you were
as pretty as ever
now i believe
in Christmas miracles

how the… what the…
shock and awe
at a loss for words
still processin’
still grapplin’…
it was you
you were here

yes Virginia,
Christmas miracles
do exist

i turned around
and there you were
you looked
so damn good
and then we hugged
you felt so good

bittersweet
resigned to bein’
without you
not knowin’
when or if
i would see you
and then…
there you were

so
you were there
we hugged
we talked
you left
again
goddamnit

such, blithesome ache,
to see you
to watch you
walk away again

Not The Same

Took someone else
To one of the places we’ve been
But it was not even the same
Not even close
Though there are pesky, unspoken
Limitations that surround us,
Precede us, accompany us
Follow us and envelop us
Nothin’ will ever be the same
Once we have experienced it

Together

The Song of the Day is “Not the Same” by Roxanne.

Wilhelm Marstrand
Christen Købke, Portrait of Wilhelm Marstrand, oil on canvas, 1836

Today is the birthday of Nicolai Wilhelm Marstrand (Copenhagen 24 December 1810 – 25 March 1873 Copenhagen); painter and illustrator. Marstrand is one of the most renowned artists belonging to the Golden Age of Danish Painting.

Gallery

Amusement outside the walls of Rome on an October evening (1839)

Niels Laurits Høyen

Italian Osteria Scene,

Den vantro Thomas, Christ and the Doubting Thomas

Matthew Arnold
Matthew Arnold, by Elliott & Fry, circa 1883.

Today is the birthday of Matthew Arnold (Laleham, Middlesex 24 December 1822 – 15 April 1888 Liverpool); poet and cultural critic who worked as an inspector of schools. Arnold has been characterised as a sage writer, a type of writer who chastises and instructs the reader on contemporary social issues.

Verse

Alas! is even love too weak
To unlock the heart, and let it speak?
Are even lovers powerless to reveal
To one another what indeed they feel?
I knew the mass of men conceal’d
Their thoughts, for fear that if reveal’d
They would by other men be met
With blank indifference, or with blame reproved;
I knew they lived and moved
Trick’d in disguises, alien to the rest
Of men, and alien to themselves — and yet
The same heart beats in every human breast!

“The Buried Life” (1852), st. 2

But often, in the world’s most crowded streets,
But often, in the din of strife,
There rises an unspeakable desire
After the knowledge of our buried life;
A thirst to spend our fire and restless force
In tracking out our true, original course;
A longing to inquire
Into the mystery of this heart which beats
So wild, so deep in us, to know
Whence our lives come and where they go.
- “The Buried Life” (1852), st. 6

And long we try in vain to speak and act
Our hidden self, and what we say and do
Is eloquent, is well — but ’tis not true!
- “The Buried Life” (1852), st. 6

Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he
Who finds himself, loses his misery.
- “Self-Dependence” (1852), lines 31-32

Strew on her roses, roses,
And never a spray of yew.
In quiet she reposes:
Ah! would that I did too.
- “Requiescat” (1853), st. 1
Her cabin’d, ample Spirit,
It flutter’d and fail’d for breath.
To-night it doth inherit
The vasty Hall of Death.
- “Requiescat” (1853), st. 4

How thick the bursts come crowding through the leaves!
Again — thou hearest?
Eternal passion!
Eternal pain!
- “Philomela” (1853), st. 3

Aida
Opera by Giuseppe Verdi
Cover of an early vocal score, c. 1872.

And on this day in 1871 – Aida opens in Cairo, Egypt.

Aida is an opera in four acts by Giuseppe Verdi to an Italian libretto by Antonio Ghislanzoni. Set in Egypt, it was commissioned by and first performed at Cairo’s Khedivial Opera House on 24 December 1871. Giovanni Bottesini conducted after Verdi himself withdrew. Today the work holds a central place in the operatic canon, receiving performances every year around the world. At New York’s Metropolitan Opera alone, Aida has been sung over 1,100 times since 1886.

Radamès (Giuseppe Fancelli) and Aida (Teresa Stolz) in Act IV, Scene 2 of the 1872 La Scala European première (drawing by Leopoldo Metlicovitz)

Verdi conducting the 1880 Paris Opera premiere

A scene from the Israeli Opera production performed at Masada in 2011

Poster for a 1908 production in Cleveland, showing the triumphal scene in Act II, Scene 2.

Synopsis

Antecedent: The Egyptians have captured and enslaved Aida, a Nubian princess. An Egyptian military commander, Radamès, struggles to choose between his love for her and his loyalty to the Pharaoh. To complicate the story further, the Pharaoh’s daughter Amneris is in love with Radamès, although he does not return her feelings.

Act 1

Scene 1: A hall in the King’s palace; through the rear gate the pyramids and temples of Memphis are visible

Ramfis, the high priest of Egypt, tells Radamès, the young warrior, that war with the Nubians seems inevitable, and Radamès hopes that he will be chosen as the Egyptian commander (Ramfis, Radamès : Sì, corre voce l’Etiope ardisca / “Yes, it is rumored that Ethiopia dares once again to threaten our power”).

Radamès dreams both of gaining victory on the battlefield and of Aida, the Nubian slave, with whom he is secretly in love (Radamès: Se quel guerrier io fossi! … Celeste Aida / “Heavenly Aida”). Aida, who is also secretly in love with Radamès, is the captured daughter of the Nubian King Amonasro, but her Egyptian captors are unaware of her true identity. Her father has invaded Egypt to deliver her from servitude.

Amneris, the daughter of the Egyptian King, enters the hall. She too loves Radamès, but fears that his heart belongs to someone else (Radamès, Amneris: Quale insolita gioia nel tuo sguardo / “In your looks I trace a joy unwonted”).

Aida appears and, when Radamès sees her, Amneris notices that he looks disturbed. She suspects that Aida could be her rival, but is able to hide her jealousy and approach Aida (Amneris, Aida, Radamès: Vieni, o diletta, appressati / “Come, O delight, come closer”).

Set design by Philippe Chaperon for Act 1, Scene 2 at the Cairo première.

The King enters, along with the High Priest, Ramfis, and the whole palace court. A messenger announces that the Nubians, led by King Amonasro, are marching towards Thebes. The King declares war and proclaims that Radamès is the man chosen by the goddess Isis to be the leader of the army (The King, Messenger, Radamès, Aida, Amneris, chorus: Alta cagion v’aduna / “Oh fate o’er Egypt looming”). Upon receiving this mandate from the King, Radamès proceeds to the temple of Vulcan to take up the sacred arms (The King, Radamès, Aida, Amneris, chorus: Su! del Nilo al sacro lido / “On! Of Nilus’ sacred river, guard the shores”).

Alone in the hall, Aida feels torn between her love for her father, her country, and Radamès (Aida: Ritorna vincitor / “Return a conqueror”).

Scene 2: Inside the Temple of Vulcan

Solemn ceremonies and dances by the priestesses take place (High Priestess, chorus, Radamès: Possente Ftha … Tu che dal nulla / “O mighty Ptah”). This is followed by the installation of Radamès to the office of commander-in-chief (High Priestess, chorus, Radamès: Immenso Ftha .. Mortal, diletto ai Numi / “O mighty one, guard and protect!”). All present in the temple pray for the victory of Egypt and protection for their warriors (Nume, custode e vindice/ “Hear us, O guardian deity”).

Act 2

Scene 1: The chamber of Amneris

Dances and music to celebrate Radamès’ victory take place (Chorus, Amneris: Chi mai fra gli inni e i plausi / “Our songs his glory praising”‘). However, Amneris is still in doubt about Radamès’ love and wonders whether Aida is in love with him. She tries to forget her doubt, entertaining her worried heart with the dance of Moorish slaves (Chorus, Amneris: Vieni: sul crin ti piovano / “Come bind your flowing tresses”).

When Aida enters the chamber, Amneris asks everyone to leave. By falsely telling Aida that Radamès has died in the battle, she tricks her into professing her love for him. In grief, and shocked by the news, Aida confesses that her heart belongs to Radamès eternally (Amneris, Aida: Fu la sorte dell’armi a’ tuoi funesta / “The battle’s outcome was cruel for your people …”).

Act 2, scene 2, set design for the Cairo premiere by Édouard Desplechin

This confession angers Amneris and she plans on taking revenge on Aida. Ignoring Aida’s pleadings (Amneris, Aida, chorus: Su! del Nilo al sacro lido / “Up! at the sacred shores of the Nile”), Amneris leaves her alone in the chamber.

Scene 2: The grand gate of the city of Thebes

Radamès returns victorious and the troops march into the city (Chorus, Ramfis: Gloria all’Egitto, ad Iside / “Glory to Egypt, to Isis!”). The Egyptian king decrees that on this day the triumphant Radamès may have anything he wishes. The Nubian captives are rounded up, and Amonasro appears among them. Aida immediately rushes to her father, but their true identities are still unknown to the Egyptians, save for the fact that they are father and daughter. Amonasro declares that the Nubian king (he himself) has been slain in battle. Aida, Amonasro, and the captured Ethiopians plead with the Egyptian King for mercy, but the Egyptians call for their death (Aida, Amneris, Radamès, The King, Amonasro, chorus: Che veggo! .. Egli? .. Mio padre! .. Anch’io pugnai / “What do I see?.. Is it he? My father?”).

Claiming the reward promised by the King, Radamès pleads with him to spare the lives of the prisoners and to set them free. Gratefully, the King of Egypt declares Radamès to be his successor and to be his daughter’s betrothed (Aida, Amneris, Radamès, The King, Amonasro, chorus: O Re: pei sacri Numi! .. Gloria all’Egitto / “O King, by the sacred gods …”). Aida and Amonasro remain as hostages to ensure that the Ethiopians do not avenge their defeat.

Act 3

On the banks of the Nile, near the Temple of Isis

Prayers are said (Chorus, Ramfis, Amneris: O tu che sei d’Osiride / “O thou who to Osiris art …”) on the eve of Amneris and Radamès’ wedding in the Temple of Isis. Outside, Aida waits to meet with Radamès as they had planned (Aida: Qui Radamès verra .. O patria mia / “Oh, my dear country!”).

Amonasro appears and makes Aida agree to find out the location of the Egyptian army from Radamès (Aida, Amonasro: Ciel, mio padre! .. Rivedrai le foreste imbalsamate / “Once again shalt thou gaze.”). When he arrives, Amonasro hides behind a rock and listens to their conversation.

Radamès affirms that he will marry Aida (Pur ti riveggo, mia dolce Aida .. Nel fiero anelito; Fuggiam gli ardori inospiti… Là, tra foreste vergini / “I see you again, my sweet Aida!”), and Aida convinces him to flee to the desert with her.

In order to make their escape easier, Radamès proposes that they use a safe route without any fear of discovery and reveals the location where his army has chosen to attack. Upon hearing this, Amonasro comes out of hiding and reveals his identity. Radamès feels dishonored. At the same time, Amneris and Ramfis leave the temple and, seeing Radamès with their enemy, call the guards. Amonasro and Aida try to convince Radamès to escape with them, but he refuses and surrenders to the imperial guards.

Act 4

File:Set design by Philippe Chaperon for Act4 sc2 of Aida by Verdi 1880 Paris.jpg

Philippe Chaperon’s Act IV scene 2 set design for the 1880 Palais Garnier performance in Paris.

Scene 1: A hall in the Temple of Justice. To one side is the door leading to Radamès’ prison cell

Amneris desires to save Radamès (L’aborrita rivale a me sfuggia / “My hated rival has escaped me”). She calls for the guard to bring him to her.

She asks Radamès to deny the accusations, but Radamès refuses. Certain that, as punishment, he will be condemned to death, Amneris implores him to defend himself, but Radamès firmly refuses. He is relieved to know Aida is still alive and hopes she has reached her own country (Amneris, Radamès: Già i Sacerdoti adunansi / “Already the priests are assembling”). His decision hurts Amneris.

Radamès’ trial takes place offstage; he does not reply to Ramfis’ accusations and is condemned to death, while Amneris, who remains onstage, pleads with the priests to show him mercy. As he is sentenced to be buried alive, Amneris curses the priests while Radamès is taken away (Judgment scene, Amneris, Ramfis, and chorus: Ahimè! .. morir mi sento / “Alas … I feel death”).

Scene 2: The lower portion of the stage shows the vault in the Temple of Vulcan; the upper portion represents the temple itself

Radamès has been taken into the lower floor of the temple and sealed up in a dark vault, where he thinks that he is alone. As he hopes that Aida is in a safer place, he hears a sigh and then sees Aida. She has hidden herself in the vault in order to die with Radamès (Radamès and Aida: La fatal pietra sovra me si chiuse. / “The fatal stone now closes over me”). They accept their terrible fate (Radamès: Morir! Si pura e bella / “To die! So pure and lovely!”) and bid farewell to Earth and its sorrows.^[31] Above the vault in the temple of Vulcan, Amneris weeps and prays to the goddess Isis. In the vault below, Aida dies in Radamès’ arms. (Chorus, Aida, Radamès, Amneris: Immenso Ftha / “Almighty Ptah.”)

Émile Nelligan
Émile Nelligan as a young man

And today is the birthday of Émile Nelligan (Montreal; December 24, 1879 – November 18, 1941 Montreal); francophone poet from Quebec, Canada.

Verse

Le Vaisseau d’Or

Ce fut un grand Vaisseau taillé dans l’or massif:
Ses mâts touchaient l’azur, sur des mers inconnues;
La Cyprine d’amour, cheveux épars, chairs nues,
S’étalait à sa proue, au soleil excessif.

Mais il vint une nuit frapper le grand écueil
Dans l’Océan trompeur où chantait la Sirène,
Et le naufrage horrible inclina sa carène
Aux profondeurs du Gouffre, immuable cercueil.

Ce fut un Vaisseau d’Or, dont les flancs diaphanes
Révélaient des trésors que les marins profanes,
Dégoût, Haine et Névrose, entre eux ont disputés.

Que reste-t-il de lui dans sa tempête brève?
Qu’est devenu mon coeur, navire déserté?
Hélas! Il a sombré dans l’abîme du Rêve!

Laissez-le vivre ainsi sans lui faire de mal!
Laissez-le s’en aller; c’est un rêveur qui passe
C’est une âme angélique ouverte sur l’espace
Qui porte en elle un ciel auroral.

Mac Tag

Two of the hardest words in the language to rhyme are life and love. — Stephen Sondheim

aida, cowboy coleridge, emile nelligan, giuseppe verdi, love letter, love poem, love song, matthew arnold, muse, not the same, poem of the day, Rhett, roxanne, song of the day, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, twt, wilhelm marstrand, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 23 December – what matters – Emma by Jane Austen – birth of Norman Maclean – art by Nancy Graves

23 December 2023 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. Who or what matters to you? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

how appropriate
our song, the song
of the day

for what else does

you hear from me
in tones sincere,
you know who i am
you understand
yes, you see,
you know

i ask only to hear
your voice,
it comes complete
and the feelin’s
that accompany
nothin’ else matters

´What did she say?´
just what she should
enough to show
that it does matter

when i saw you,

you were walkin’

up the sidewalk

towards me

there were others

but it did not matter,

all i saw was you

and as i came forward,

my mind was already

slidin’ along the cracks

that let the light in

that it should have been this

i was always lookin’ for

i knew exactly

how long it had been

she remembered exactly where,

i figured out how many miles

nine years and six months

twenty seven hundred miles

and countless dreams later,

their we were

so familiar

so new

so…

“I cannot breathe.”

i am strugglin’

to put this into words

you hear from me
in tones sincere,
if i felt less
i might be able
to talk about it more
but you know who i am

i have been indifferent
but you understand
yes, you see, you know

i ask only to hear
your voice

seldom,
does it come complete
seldom can it happen
but when the feelin’s
are there,
nothin’ else matters

“What did she say?”
just what she should

enough to show
though it may not matter

no worries about
a white Christmas here
good, leaves more time
for dreamin’ of another,
other kinda of Christmas…

walked down
to a local bar
yeah,
she was there,
with her friends,
lookin’ great
she said hello
and smiled
all i could ask

her perfume
smelled good
i had a beer
and worked
on a poem
(nothin’ if not
the life of the party)

when i got up to go
she gave me a hug
more than i could hope

verse and a hug
what else matters

Nothin’ Else Matters

Nothin’ I have
to give matters
Except these words

Else I lose myself,
I must keep findin’ ’em
Fore if they do not come
Then will all be lost

Matters not what this way comes

I will find them and give them to you

The Song of the Day is “Nothing Else Matters” by Metallica. we do not own the rights to this song. no copyright infringement intended

1898 illustration of Mr. Knightley and Emma Woodhouse

On this day in 1815, The novel Emma by Jane Austen is first published. The novel is about youthful hubris and the perils of misconstrued romance. The story takes place in the fictional village of Highbury and the surrounding estates of Hartfield, Randalls, and Donwell Abbey. Emma Woodhouse is described as handsome, clever, and rich. Emma is spoiled, headstrong, and self-satisfied; she greatly overestimates her own matchmaking abilities; she is blind to the dangers of meddling in other people’s lives; and her imagination and perceptions often lead her astray. It was the last novel to be completed and published during Austen’s life.

I cannot make speeches, Emma:’ he soon resumed; and in a tone of such sincere, decided, intelligible tenderness as was tolerably convincing.—’If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am.—You hear nothing but truth from me.—I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it.—Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover.—But you understand me.—Yes, you see, you understand my feelings—and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear, once to hear your voice.’
- Chapter 13: Mr. Knightley to Emma.

Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure; seldom can it happen that something is not a little disguised, or a little mistaken; but where, as in this case, though the conduct is mistaken, the feelings are not, it may not be very material.
- Chapter 13: On Emma’s response to Mr. Knightley’s proposal.

What did she say? Just what she ought, of course. A lady always does. She said enough to show there need not be despair – and to invite him to say more himself.
- Chapter 13: Description of Emma’s response to Mr. Knightley’s proposal.

Norman Maclean

Today is the birthday of Norman Maclean (Norman Fitzroy Maclean, Clarinda, Iowa; December 23, 1902 – August 2, 1990 Chicago); author and scholar noted for his books A River Runs Through It and Other Stories (1976) and Young Men and Fire (1992).

Prose

A River Runs Through It (1976)

The brain gives up a lot less easily than the body.
- p. 22

“Help,” he said “is giving part of yourself to somebody who comes to accept it willingly and needs it badly.”
- p. 22

One of life’s quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful even if it is only a floating ash.
- p. 68

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.

Everything that was to happen had happened and everything that was to be seen had gone. It was now one of those moments when nothing remains but an opening in the sky and a story — and maybe something of a poem. Anyway, as you possibly remember, there are these lines in front of the story:

And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose …

These words are now part of the story.

“USFS 1919: The Ranger, the Cook, and the Hole in the Sky”, p. 217

And today is the birthday Nancy Graves (December 23, 1939 – October 21, 1995, in Massachusetts) was an American sculptor, painter, printmaker, and sometime-filmmaker known for her focus on natural phenomena like camels or maps of the Moon. Her works are included in many public collections, including those of the National Gallery of Art (Washington, D.C.), the Brooklyn Museum of Art, the Smithsonian American Art Museum, the National Gallery of Australia (Canberra), the Des Moines Art Center, Walker Art Center (Minneapolis), and the Museum of Fine Arts (St. Petersburg, FL). When Graves was just 29, she was given a solo exhibition at the Whitney Museum of American Art. At the time she was the youngest artist, and fifth woman to achieve this honor.

Mary Beth Edelson’s Some Living American Women Artists / Last Supper (1972) appropriated Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper, with the heads of notable women artists collaged over the heads of Christ and his apostles. John the Baptist’s head was replaced with Nancy Graves, and Christ’s with Georgia O’Keeffe. This image, addressing the role of religious and art historical iconography in the subordination of women, became “one of the most iconic images of the feminist art movement.”

Gallery

20221223_194214

20221223_194940

20221223_194955

Mac Tag

cowboy coleridge, emma, jane austen, love letter, love poem, metallica, muse, norman maclean, nothing else matters, Rhett, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, twt, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 22 December – somethin’ – birth of Puccini – verse by Kenneth Rexroth – art by Jean-Michel Basquiat

22 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Who holds your heart? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

leanin’ towards,

the easin’ venerates

this pale face to the awakenin’

listen to the music in the distance

clear night with chord changes,

and awareness ripples through

to the rhythms of our bodies

entwined for the descent

our eyes towards the meanin’,

from this languid place

hey, you are still here

this is not a dream

“Stop. Of course

I’m still here.

Those days are gone.”

how long, how much

will it take to make up

for all the days without

“You don’t need

to make up for anything.

You just need to be now.”

“You have not said two words.”
i do not want to ruin it
“Sleep with me?”
absolutely
……

she taught me
how to let go
and what it meant
to miss someone

she was prone
to walk about
in her bare feet

she liked dressin’ up
and vodka and caviar

she would pour
and whisper,
“Sublime.”
and say,
“Savour it. And don’t eat it
all at once. Because that way,
there is nothing left to enjoy.”

we would stay up all night
talkin, dancin’, walkin’
deserted streets drinkin’
from a bottle of champagne

we met every night
in the same room
in that old hotel
until one night…

she taught me
somethin’
to believe in

Albert Maignan’s Green Muse (1895): a poet succumbs to the Green Fairy.

what a week
sorry,
wine will not do
gotta chase
“la fée verte”
and hold
the sugar…

indeed, somethin’
akin to magic…
a worn copy
of Manon Lescaut
voices from the past
nights spent underneath
a High Plain’s sky
full of stars
long road trips
on two-lane blacktops
stoppin’ for first light
or last
writin’ verse or sketchin’
long gone memories
of when

Hold The Heart

Somethin’ akin to magic
Bein’ with a full woman
Who can hold the heart
Of an inamorato
Somethin’ happens
In seein’ the lightness
And swiftness of movement
Watchin’ her dance
Ridin’ horseback
Brushin’ her hair
In witnessin’ her
Fervent attentions
Her ardent advances
Somethin’ happens

Somethin’ happens
Bein’ with you
A woman who
has a crown

of enchantment
and can hold my heart

The Song of the Day is “Hold the Heart” by Big Country. we do not own any rights to this song. no copyright infringement intended

Giacomo Puccini

Today is the birthday of Giacomo Puccini Antonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini (born Giacomo Antonio Domenico Michele Secondo Maria Puccini; Tuscany; 22 December 1858 – 29 November 1924); opera composer. In my opinion, the greatest composer of Italian opera after Verdi. Puccini’s early work was rooted in traditional late-19th-century romantic Italian opera. Later, he successfully developed his work in the realistic verismo style, of which he became one of the leading exponents. Puccini’s most renowned works are La bohème (1896), Tosca (1900), and Madama Butterfly (1904), all of which are among the important operas played as standards.

Manon Lescaut

Manon Lescaut premiered at the Teatro Regio in Turin on 2 February 1893. By coincidence, Puccini’s first enduringly popular opera appeared within a week of the premiere of Verdi’s last opera, Falstaff, which was first performed on 9 February 1893. In anticipation of the premiere, La Stampa wrote that Puccini was a young man concerning whom “great hopes” had a real basis (“un giovane che e tra i pochi sul quale le larghe speranze non siano benigne illusioni“). Manon Lescaut was Puccini’s first triumph, acclaimed by critics and public alike. After the London premiere in 1894, George Bernard Shaw pronounced: “Puccini looks to me more like the heir of Verdi than any of his rivals.”

Original poster for Puccini’s Tosca

La bohème

Puccini’s next work after Manon Lescaut was La bohème, a four-act opera based on the 1851 book by Henri Murger, La Vie de Bohème. La bohème premiered in Turin in 1896, conducted by Arturo Toscanini. Within a few years, it had been performed throughout many of the leading opera houses of Europe, including Britain, as well as in the United States. It was a popular success, and remains one of the most frequently performed operas ever written.

The libretto of the opera, freely adapted from Murger’s episodic novel combines comic elements of the impoverished life of the young protagonists with the tragic aspects, such as the death of the young seamstress Mimí. Puccini’s own life as young man in Milan served as a source of inspiration for elements of the libretto. During his years as a conservatory student and in the years before Manon Lescaut, he experienced poverty similar to that of the bohemians in La bohème, including chronic shortage of necessities like food, clothing and money to pay rent. Puccini himself commented: “I lived that Bohème, when there wasn’t yet any thought stirring in my brain of seeking the theme of an opera”. (“Quella Bohème io l’ho vissuta, quando ancora non mi mulinava nel cervello l’idea di cercarvi l’argomento per un’opera in musica.“)

Tosca

Puccini’s next work after La bohème was Tosca (1900), arguably Puccini’s first foray into verismo, the realistic depiction of many facets of real life including violence. Puccini had been considering an opera on this theme since he saw the play Tosca by Victorien Sardou in 1889, when he wrote to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, begging him to get Sardou’s permission for the work to be made into an opera: “I see in this Tosca the opera I need, with no overblown proportions, no elaborate spectacle, nor will it call for the usual excessive amount of music.”

Puccini photographed in 1908

Madama Butterfly

The original version of Madama Butterfly, premiered at La Scala on 17 February 1904 with Rosina Storchio in the title role. It was initially greeted with great hostility. When Storchio’s kimono accidentally lifted during the performance, some in the audience started shouting: “The butterfly is pregnant” and “There is the little Toscanini”. The latter comment referred to her well publicised affair with Arturo Toscanini. This version was in two acts; after its disastrous premiere, Puccini withdrew the opera, revising it for what was virtually a second premiere at Brescia in May 1904 and performances in Buenos Aires, London, the USA and Paris. In 1907, Puccini made his final revisions to the opera in a fifth version, which has become known as the “standard version”.

Puccini with conductor Arturo Toscanini

Turandot

Turandot, Puccini’s final opera, was left unfinished, and the last two scenes were completed by Franco Alfano based on the composer’s sketches. The libretto for Turandot was based on a play of the same name by Carlo Gozzi. The music of the opera is heavily inflected with pentatonic motifs, intended to produce an Asiatic flavor to the music. Turandot contains a number of memorable stand-alone arias, among them Nessun dorma.

In the autumn of 1884, Puccini began a relationship with a married woman named Elvira Gemignani (née Bonturi, 1860–1930) in Lucca. Elvira’s husband, Narciso Gemignani, was a philanderer, and Elvira’s marriage was not a happy one. Elvira became pregnant by Puccini. Elvira left Lucca when the pregnancy began to show, and gave birth elsewhere to avoid gossip. Elvira, Antonio and Elvira’s daughter by Narciso, began to live with Puccini shortly afterwards. Narciso was killed by the husband of a woman that Narciso had an affair with, dying on 26 February 1903. Only then, in early 1904, were Puccini and Elvira able to marry.

The marriage between Puccini and Elvira was also troubled by infidelity, as Puccini had frequent affairs himself, including with well-known singers such as Maria Jeritza, Emmy Destinn, Cesira Ferrani, and Hariclea Darclée.

In 1909, Elvira publicly accused Doria Manfredi, a maid working for the Puccini family, of having an affair with the composer. Following the accusation, Doria Manfredi committed suicide. An autopsy determined, however, that Doria had died a virgin, refuting the allegations. Elvira was prosecuted for slander, and was sentenced to more than five months in prison, although a payment to the Manfredi family by Puccini spared Elvira from having to serve the sentence. Puccini may have been having an affair with Giulia Manfredi, Doria’s cousin.

A chain smoker of Toscano cigars and cigarettes, Puccini began to complain of chronic sore throats towards the end of 1923. A diagnosis of throat cancer led his doctors to recommend a new and experimental radiation therapy treatment, which was being offered in Brussels. Puccini and his wife never knew how serious the cancer was, as the news was revealed only to his son.

Puccini died in Brussels on 29 November 1924, from complications after the treatment; uncontrolled bleeding led to a heart attack the day after surgery. News of his death reached Rome during a performance of La bohème. The opera was immediately stopped, and the orchestra played Chopin’s Funeral March for the stunned audience. He was buried in Milan, in Toscanini’s family tomb, as a temporary measure. In 1926 his son arranged for the transfer of his father’s remains to a specially created chapel inside the Puccini villa at Torre del Lago.

Kenneth Rexroth

Today is the birthday of Kenneth Charles Marion Rexroth (December 22, 1905 – June 6, 1982); poet, translator and critical essayist. He is regarded as a central figure in the San Francisco Renaissance. Although he did not consider himself to be a Beat poet, and disliked the association, he was dubbed the “Father of the Beats” by Time Magazine. He was among the first poets in the United States to explore traditional Japanese poetic forms such as haiku.

Rexroth viewed love for another person as a sacramental act that could connect one with a transcendent, universal awareness. In his introduction to his poem The Phoenix and the Tortoise, Rexroth articulated his understanding of love and marriage: “The process as I see it goes something like this: from abandon to erotic mysticism, from erotic mysticism to the ethical mysticism of sacramental marriage, thence to the realization of the ethical mysticism of universal responsibility.”

Rexroth married Andrée Dutcher in 1927, a commercial artist and painter from Chicago. He claimed to have fallen in love with her at first sight when he saw her in the doorway of the apartment building he was renting. He encouraged Dutcher to pursue non-commercial painting, and she gave him feedback on his writing. The two shared many interests and what Rexroth described as a perfect relationship. Their marriage deteriorated, however, and the couple was divorced near Rexroth’s 35th birthday. Andrée died of complications from epilepsy shortly after, in 1940. Her death triggered sadness in Rexroth, who wrote a number of elegiac poems in her honor.

Within a year of Andrée’s death, Rexroth married the nurse and poet Marie Kass. They opened up their home to weekly literary discussions, anti-war protesters, and Japanese-American convalescents avoiding internment. The two separated in 1948.

In 1949, Rexroth traveled to Europe with Marthe Larsen. The two were married in Aix-en-Provence despite Rexroth still being legally married to Marie. When the couple returned to the USA, Marthe was pregnant. In 1956, Marthe fell in love with the poet, Robert Creeley, and she later left Kenneth despite his pleas for her to stay. Rexroth later removed all instances of her name from his poetry.

After living in San Francisco for 41 years, Rexroth moved to Santa Barbara in 1968. After a few years, he married Carol Tinker, his longtime assistant. They remained married until Rexroth’s death in 1982.

Verse

In Defense of the Earth (1956)[edit]

The holiness of the real
Is always there, accessible
In total immanence. The nodes
Of transcendence coagulate
In you, the experiencer,
And in the other, the lover.
- “Time Is the Mercy of Eternity” – The title of this poem is derived from a line by William Blake : “Time is the mercy of Eternity; without Time’s swiftness Which is the swiftest of all things, all were eternal torment.”)

All night I lay awake beside you,
Leaning on my elbow, watching your
Sleeping face, that face whose purity
Never ceases to astonish me.

Towards the end of the night, as trucks rumbled
In the streets, you stirred, cuddled to me,
And spoke my name. Your voice was the voice
Of a girl who had never known loss
Of love, betrayal, mistrust, or lie.

Now I know surely and forever,
However much I have blotted our
Waking love, its memory is still
there. And I know the web, the net,
The blind and crippled bird. For then, for
One brief instant it was not blind, nor
Trapped, not crippled. For one heart beat the
Heart was free and moved itself. O love,
I who am lost and damned with words,
Whose words are a business and an art,
I have no words. These words, this poem, this
Is all confusion and ignorance.
But I know that coached by your sweet heart,
My heart beat one free beat and sent
Through all my flesh the blood of truth.

The Great Nebula of Andromeda

In the star-filled dark we cook
Our macaroni and eat
By lantern light. Stars cluster
Around our table like fireflies.

Late at night the horses stumble
Around the camp and I awake.
I lie on my elbow watching
Your beautiful sleeping face
Like a jewel in the moonlight.
If you are lucky and the
Nations let you, you will live
Far into the twenty-first
Century. I pick up the glass
And watch the Great Nebula
Of Andromeda swim like
A phosphorescent amoeba
Slowly around the Pole. Far
Away in distant cities
Fat-hearted men are planning
To murder you while you sleep.

And today is the birthday of Jean-Michel Basquiat (December 22, 1960 – August 12, 1988); artist who rose to success during the 1980s as part of the Neo-expressionism movement.

Gallery

20221222_213335

20221222_213432

20221222_213623

Mac Tag

big country, cowboy coleridge, giacomo puccini, hold the heart, kenneth rexroth, la boheme, love letter, love poem, love song, madama butterfly, manon lescaut, muse, poem of the day, Rhett, song of the day, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, tosca, turandot, twt, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 21 December – promise – art by Achille Vianelli & Thomas Couture – verse by Gustave Kahn – birth of Maud Gonne – premiere of Arnold Schoenberg’s String Quartet No. 2

21 December 2023 By Rhett 1 In Love, Quotes, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Does someone tread on your dreams? Do you hide your face in a crowd of stars? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

leanin’ towards,

the easin’ venerates

this pale face to the awakenin’

listen to the music in the distance

clear night with chord changes,

and awareness ripples through

to the rhythms of our bodies

entwined for the descent

our eyes towards the meanin’,

from this languid place

not gonna ask if,

but rather how,

as in how sick are y’all

of always readin’

about bein’ without

well, against all odds

and to no one’s greater

disbelief than mine,

it is time to write about with

leanin’ towards…

the softenin’ light
a pale face to the need
listen in the distance
to the music

clear night to the chords,
weariness lulls the want
to the fragrant rhythm

the descent of eyes,
the will grows weak

towards the horizon,
adornment immacolata

in this promise

a wish to the stars
i wish i may,
someone
to share
these dreams

one here to stay
to believe
to need
more
to want
everything
this life
has to offer

stretch on
starry night
what are you now
a promise
a wish
that you will stay

desert stretches on
starry night above
unfolds on and on
mescal buzz comin’
unfurls… effortless

what am i now

voices promise

you need not say a word

you are a dream

Today is the birthday of Achille Vianelli or Vianelly (Porto Maurizio, near Genoa 21 December 1803 – 2 April 1894 Benevento); painter of landscapes with genre scenes, often in watercolor. He was a knight of the Order of Francesco I of the Two Sicilies, and honorary professor of the Academy of Fine Arts of Naples.

Gallery

Piazza San Gaetano and San Lorenzo Maggiore in Naples, c. 1845

Posillipo, di Achille Viannelli

Thomas Couture
Self-portrait

Today is the birthday of Thomas Couture (Senlis, Oise 21 December 1815 – 30 March 1879 Villiers-le-Bel, Val-d’Oise); painter and teacher. He was interred in Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris.

Gallery

Romans during the Decadence (1847)
Anselm Feuerbach (1852)
Daydreams (1859). The Walters Art Museum.
A Lawyer Going to Court (1860s)
The Duel After the Masked Ball (1857)

Gustave Kahn

Today is the birthday of Gustave Kahn (21 December 1859, in Metz – 5 September 1936, in Paris); Symbolist poet and art critic. He claimed to have invented the term vers libre, or free verse; he was one of the first European exponents of the form. His principal publications include Les Palais nomades, 1887, Domaine de fée, 1895, and Le Livre d’images, 1897. Kahn also made a contribution to the history of the Symbolist movement with his book Symbolistes et décadents, 1902.

Verse

Les Paons

Se penchant vers les dahlias,

Des paons cabraient des rosaces lunaires,

L’assouplissement des branches vénère

Son pâle visage aux mourants dahlias.

Elle écoute au loin les brèves musiques

Nuit claire aux ramures d’accords,

Et la lassitude a bercé son corps

Au rythme odorant des pures musiques.

Les paons ont dressé la rampe ocellée

Pour la descente de ses yeux vers le tapis

De choses et de sens

Qui va vers l’horizon, parure vermiculée

De son corps alangui.

En l’âme se tapit

le flou désir molli de récits et d’encens.

A celebration of muses and unrequited love! I so enjoy readin’ about men, and women, who were able to take words and gather them together in such a way as to create somethin’ timeless, which is what I aspire to create. Today is the birthday of the woman who inspired this verse by W.B. Yeats:

“Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

maudgonne That is Maud Gonne whom Yeats was addressing. We have written of their relationship before here at TLA. She was born in Surrey, England, on 20 December 1865, just six months after Yeats was born in Dublin. They first met when they were each 25 years old. Yeats later referred to the day he met her as “when the troubling of my life began.” She was an Irish revolutionary, independent-minded, graceful, and reared in affluence. She was tall, red-headed, and exquisitely beautiful. In his Memoirs, Yeats wrote: “I had never thought to see in a living woman such great beauty. It belonged to famous pictures, to poetry, to some legendary past. A complexion like the blossom of apples, and yet face and body had the beauty of lineaments which Blake calls the highest beauty because it changes least from youth to age, and a stature so great that she seemed of a divine race.” She wore long black dresses and she kept singing birds as pets. He asked her to marry him over and over again. She refused, over and over again. She once told him: “You would not be happy with me. … You make beautifully poetry out of what you call your unhappiness and you are happy in that. Marriage would be such a dull affair. Poets should never marry.” In a letter to him in 1911, she wrote, “Our children were your poems of which I was the father sowing the unrest & storm which made them possible & you the mother who brought them forth in suffering & in the highest beauty.” Yeats wrote about her:
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

The Song of the Day is “Crowd of Stars” by Feeder. I do not own the rights to this song. No copyright infringement intended.

Wien Museum, Inventarnummer HMW 78103

And it was on this day in 1908 that Arnold Schoenberg’s Quartet No. 2 for strings and soprano, premiered in Vienna, by the Rosé Quartet with soprano Marie Gutheil-Schoder.

This work in four movements was written during an emotional time in Schoenberg’s life. Though it bears the dedication “to my wife”, it was written during Mathilde Schoenberg’s affair with their friend and neighbour, artist Richard Gerstl, in 1908. (For more on Gerstl and his sad end search Gerstl on TLC).

The second movement quotes the Viennese folk song, “O du lieber Augustin”. The third and fourth movements are quite unusual for a string quartet, as they also include a soprano singer, using poetry written by Stefan George. On setting George, Schoenberg himself later wrote, “I was inspired by poems of Stefan George, the German poet, to compose music to some of his poems and, surprisingly, without any expectation on my part, these songs showed a style quite different from everything I had written before. … New sounds were produced, a new kind of melody appeared, a new approach to expression of moods and characters was discovered.”

The string quartet is in four movements:

Mäßig (Moderate), F♯ minor
Sehr rasch (Very brisk), D minor
“Litanei”, langsam (“Litany”, slow), E♭minor, though from a Schenkerian perspective, “in spite of the decisive bass reading, the upper voice fails to unfold a fundamental line from the structural “
or G♭ major
“Entrückung”, sehr langsam (“Rapture”, very slow), No key

Text

The latter two movements of the Second String Quartet are set to poems from Stefan George‘s collection Der siebente Ring (The Seventh Ring), which was published in 1907.

Litanei
Tief ist die trauer die mich umdüstert,
Ein tret ich wieder, Herr! in dein haus.

Lang war die reise, matt sind die glieder,
Leer sind die schreine, voll nur die qual.

Durstende zunge darbt nach dem weine.
Hart war gestritten, starr ist mein arm.

Gönne die ruhe schwankenden schritten,
Hungrigem gaume bröckle dein brot!

Schwach ist mein atem rufend dem traume,
Hohl sind die hände, fiebernd der mund.

Leih deine kühle, lösche die brände.
Tilge das hoffen, sende das licht!

Gluten im herzen lodern noch offen,
Innerst im grunde wacht noch ein schrei.

Töte das sehnen, schliesse die wunde!
Nimm mir die liebe, gib mir dein glück!

Litany
Deep is the sadness that gloomily comes over me,
Again I step, Lord, in your house.

Long was the journey, my limbs are weary,
The shrines are empty, only anguish is full.

My thirsty tongue desires wine.
The battle was hard, my arm is stiff.

Grudge peace to my staggering steps,
for my hungry gums break your bread!

Weak is my breath, calling the dream,
my hands are hollow, my mouth fevers.

Lend your coolness, douse the fires,
rub out hope, send the light!

Still active flames are glowing inside my heart;
in my deepest insides a cry awakens.

Kill the longing, close the wound!
Take love away from me, and give me your happiness!

Entrückung
Ich fühle luft von anderem planeten.
Mir blassen durch das dunkel die gesichter
Die freundlich eben noch sich zu mir drehten.

Und bäum und wege die ich liebte fahlen
Dass ich sie kaum mehr kenne und du lichter
Geliebter schatten—rufer meiner qualen—

Bist nun erloschen ganz in tiefern gluten
Um nach dem taumel streitenden getobes
Mit einem frommen schauer anzumuten.

Ich löse mich in tönen, kreisend, webend,
Ungründigen danks und unbenamten lobes
Dem grossen atem wunschlos mich ergebend.

Mich überfährt ein ungestümes wehen
Im rausch der weihe wo inbrünstige schreie
In staub geworfner beterinnen flehen:

Dann seh ich wie sich duftige nebel lüpfen
In einer sonnerfüllten klaren freie
Die nur umfängt auf fernsten bergesschlüpfen.

Der boden schüffert weiss und weich wie molke.
Ich steige über schluchten ungeheuer.
Ich fühle wie ich über letzter wolke

In einem meer kristallnen glanzes schwimme—
Ich bin ein funke nur vom heiligen feuer
Ich bin ein dröhnen nur der heiligen stimme.

Rapture
I feel air from another planet.
The faces that once turned to me in friendship
Pale in the darkness before me.

And trees and paths that I once loved fade away
So that I scarcely recognize them, and you bright
Beloved shadow—summoner of my anguish—

Are now extinguished completely in deeper flames
In order, after the frenzy of warring confusion,
To reappear in a pious display of awe.

I lose myself in tones, circling, weaving,
With unfathomable thanks and unnamable praise;
Bereft of desire, I surrender myself to the great breath.

A tempestuous wind overwhelms me
In the ecstasy of consecration where the fervent cries
Of women praying in the dust implore:

Then I see a filmy mist rising
In a sun-filled, open expanse
That includes only the farthest mountain retreats.

The land looks white and smooth like whey.
I climb over enormous ravines.
I feel like I am swimming above the furthest cloud

In a sea of crystal radiance—
I am only a spark of the holy fire
I am only a whisper of the holy voice.

Mac Tag

Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead. – Oscar Wilde

Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge

achille vianelli, cowboycoleridge, crowd of stars, feeder, love letter, love poem, love song, muse, poem of the day, Rhett, song of the day, the lovers almanac, thomas couture, twt, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 20 December – without – art by Ivana Kobilca

20 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Random

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Are you without the one you do not want to be without?

And how ’bout this, can you believe I am on my way to see you?! Ready or not, here I come.

“So, this is really going down huh?”

Yes!

“Is traffic bad?”

Off and on.

“Ok. Be careful. Come to me.”

Absolutely.

“Hey, I’m getting more and more nervous. I can’t wait to see you. Thank you for driving to me.”

I am close.

“I cannot breathe.”

to be continued…

Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle – Pale Love, Pale Rider

Dear Muse,

layin’ here naked with,
words not necessary
now

lost in touch
hands movin’
across the curve
of your hip
yours movin’
over my arms

the only sound,
aside from passion,
the occasional
street traffic noise
from peachtree

feelin’ right

as we do,
parallel
only to
each other

ok y’all

this is really

happenin’

scared, nervous,

excited, feelin’

so fortunate

and amazed

after

so many years

and how many

words and miles

a respite

from without

comin’ into view

without

feelin’s persist
prevailin’ mood

once gained
soon lost

some sing, some sigh
some laugh, some weep
robbed of rest
nothin’ lulls

without

the voice
hear and obey
calm, my bluster
swells no more
the storm blows

without

blues pervade
lingerin’ thoughts

to the depths
She speaks
the words, written
forsaken

without

darkness
chains bind
let ’em come, let ’em
shadows
this awaits

without

fadin’
there must be
some kinda way
cannot be much longer

without you

she has what it takes
great eyes, nice smile,
wonderful laugh,
and pretty hands

but so conflicted
unsure, confused,
afraid, too stuck
in solitude,
too stubborn,
hell if i know

s’pose i will never
see her again

A rework of an original poem and a song. The Dark Muse fought and won again as she usually does these days. This topic is one of my favorites. I have visited it before and probably will again, so if you do not like the song of the day just stay tuned. There are many good songs on this topic and we might get to your favorite. The Poem of the Day:

Without You, Reprise No. Three

Without you

feelin’s persist
persistent feelin’s

That which was once gained
That which was soon lost
Others sing, others sigh
Others laugh, others weep
Robbed of rest
Pain still lulls

Without you

Moods prevail
Prevailin’ moods

The voice; hear and obey
Sister to despair
Monarch of the lost
Come down; my bluster
Swells no more
The stormy rage blows

Without you

Gloom pervades
Pervadin’ gloom

To the depths
Down, She speaks
Her words; must record
All is forsaken

Without you

Despair lingers,
Lingerin’ despair,

Eternal Darkness
Eternal chains bind
To infinite pain
Let ’em come, Let ’em
Eternal Shadows
This is what awaits

Without you

Hope fadin’
Fadin’ hope

There must be some way
Some kinda way
To work this out
I just cannot
Be much longer
Without you, without you

The Song of the Day is “Without You” by The Doobie Brothers. we do not own the rights to this song. no copyright infringement intended.

Ivana Kobilca
Self-portrait in White, around 1910

Today is the birthday of Ivana Kobilca (Ljubljana, Carniola, Austrian Empire 20 December 1861 – 4 December 1926 Ljubljana, Kingdom of Serbs, Croats and Slovenes); painter and a key figure of Slovene cultural identity. She was a realist painter who studied and worked in Vienna, Munich, Paris, Sarajevo, Berlin, and Ljubljana. She mostly painted oil paintings and pastels. She was a controversial person, criticised for following movements that did not developed further until later.

Gallery

20221220_185330

Summer, 1889

Kofetarica (1888)

Parizanka s pismom

Mac Tag

Because of that great nobleness of hers

The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs,

Burns but more clearly – W. B. Yeats

ivana koblica, the lovers almanac, the lovers chonicle

The Lovers’ Chronicle 19 December – ma vie – birth of Italo Svevo & Édith Piaf

19 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Random

Dear Zazie, Today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Are these days halcyon days for you? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

non, je ne regrette rien…

keeps echoin’ about

no longer waitin’

to be taken back

the pull of solitude

and routine are strong

but the effort is worth it

to find again

the past is paid

and swept away,

startin’ over happens

ma vie, mes joies

begins with you

non regrette rien

non, je ne regrette rien…

are you kiddin’

no, i regret nothin

everything had to happen

the high times, the low

the wonder, the heartache,

all of it, just as it came

it had to unfold

just as it did,

for me to get to you

comfort
to live in belief,
the conviction
of a full woman

reveal the past
the present wish
capriciously flung
into the light

this is sorrow
and beauty

now i know
what i created

non, je ne regrette rien

tired pale blue eyes, open
sleep evades again
without

non, rien de rien, non…
keeps echoin’
about

waitin’ for a dream
to take me
back
to halcyon days

such a dang struggle
tryin’ to figure
without

je ne regrette rien…
hits all the notes
of doubt

the pull of solitude
and routine
so strong
would the effort even
be worth it
to find
halcyon days again

a lifetime, maybe more
learnin’ to live
without

non, je ne regrette rien…
louder now, within
and out
can the past be paid
and swept away,
forgotten
does startin’ over
ever happen

could
ma vie, mes joies
really begin
with you

Halycon Days, Reprise

These tired pale blue eyes, still open
How can I sleep without you here
Were I with you all night I could,
From need be free and never want

Without you, alone I must be
Unless you join me, in my dreams
Then the days we had, can go on and on

Halcyon days never endin’
You shall find wherever you go
Me all the while attendin’
To the memories of those days

Inspired in oh, so many ways
These words, this vision, this desire
Dream with me so that we may cling
To those days we had long ago

For without ’em, without those days,
We will always want for meanin’
Nothin’ lost that cannot be caught
Life without loss, livin’ for dreams

Halcyon days never endin’
You shall find wherever you go
Me all the while attendin’
To the true meanin’ of those days

So please come away, come on darlin’
In those days, this dream let us stay
Time’s holiday, we can make it
Not thrown away, sacred to hold

Convince you to stay, how can I
Now, with me today, you will come
We can find the right way, tell me
So come away, come on darlin’

Halcyon days never endin’
You shall find wherever you go
Me all the while attendin’
To the days we had together

The SOD, really? Non, je ne regrette rien by Edith Piaf. we do no own the rights to this recording.

Today is the birthday of Italo Svevo (Aron Ettore Schmitz; Trieste, then in Austrian Empire, after 1867 Austria-Hungary, 19 December 1861 – 13 September 1928 Motta di Livenza); writer, businessman, novelist, playwright, and short story writer.

A close friend of Irish novelist and poet James Joyce, Svevo was considered a pioneer of the psychological novel in Italy and is best known for his classic Modernist novel La Coscienza di Zeno (1923), a work that had a profound effect on the movement.

La coscienza di Zeno (1923)[edit]

Italian quotations are cited from Cristina Benussi (ed.) La coscienzia di Zeno (Milano: Feltrinelli, 2004);

È un modo comodo di vivere quello di credersi grande di una grandezza latente.
- It is comfortable to live in the belief that you are great, though your greatness is latent.
- P. 10; p. 12.

La malattia è una convinzione ed io nacqui con quella convinzione.
- Disease is a conviction, and I was born with that conviction.
- P. 11; p. 14.

L’amore sano è quello che abbraccia una donna sola e intera, compreso il suo carattere e la sua intelligenza.
- Healthy love is the love that embraces a single, whole woman, including her character and her intelligence.
- P. 14; p. 16.

Quando si muore si ha ben altro da fare che di pensare alla morte.
- When a man dies, he has too many other worries to allow any thinking about death.
- P. 45; p. 55.

Il vino è un grande pericolo specie perché non porta a galla la verità. Tutt’altro che la verità anzi: rivela dell’individuo specialmente la storia passata e dimenticata e non la sua attuale volontà; getta capricciosamente alla luce anche tutte le ideucce con le quali in epoca più o meno recente ci si baloccò e che si è dimenticate.
- Wine is a great danger, especially because it doesn’t bring truth to the surface. Anything but the truth, indeed: it reveals especially the past and forgotten history of the individual rather than his present wish; it capriciously flings into the light also all the half-baked ideas with which in a more or less recent period one has toyed and then forgotten.
- P. 194; p. 232.

La vita non è né brutta né bella, ma è originale!
- Life is neither ugly nor beautiful, but it is original!
- P. 275; p. 330.

È così che a forza di correr dietro a quelle immagini, io le raggiunsi. Ora so di averle inventate. Ma inventare è una creazione, non già una menzogna.
- Thus, after pursuing those images, I overtook them. Now I know that I invented them. But inventing is a creation, not a lie.
- P. 337; p. 404.

Édith Piaf
Piaf in 1962

Today is the birthday of La Môme Piaf, Édith Piaf (born Édith Giovanna Gassion, Belleville, Paris 19 December 1915 – 10 October 1963 Plascassier, Grasse); cabaret singer, songwriter and actress who became widely regarded as France’s national chanteuse, as well as being one of France’s greatest international stars.

Her music was often autobiographical with her singing reflecting her life. Her specialty was chansons and torch ballads, particularly of love, loss and sorrow. Among her well known songs are “La Vie en rose” (1946), “Non, je ne regrette rien” (1960), “Hymne à l’amour” (1949), “Milord” (1959), “La Foule” (1957), “L’Accordéoniste (fr)” (1955), and “Padam … Padam …” (1951).

Since her premature death in 1963 and with the aid of several biographies and films including 2007’s Academy Award winning La Vie en rose, Piaf has acquired a legacy as one of the greatest performers of the 20th century, and her voice and music continue to be celebrated globally.

Her grandmother, known as Maman Tine, a “madam” who ran a brothel in Bernay in Normandy. Her mother, Annetta Giovanna Maillard (1895–1945) (of French descent on her father’s side and of Italian and algerian chaoui origin on her mother’s, a native of Livorno, Italy) worked as a café singer under the name Line Marsa.

In 1929, at age 14, she joined her father in his acrobatic street performances all over France, where she first sang in public. At the age of 15, Piaf met Simone “Mômone” Berteaut (fr), who may have been her half-sister. They were able to rent a room at Grand Hôtel de Clermont (18 rue Veron, Paris 18ème).

In 1932, Piaf met and fell in love with Louis Dupont. She soon left Dupont.

Piaf at the ABC music hall in Paris in 1951

Spring 1944 saw the first colaboration and a love affair with Yves Montand in the Moulin Rouge. In 1947, she wrote the lyrics to the song Mais qu’est-ce que j’ai ? (music by Henri Betti) for Montand. Within a year, he became one of the most famous singers in France. She broke off their relationship when he had become almost as popular as she was.

The love of Piaf’s life, the married boxer Marcel Cerdan, died in a plane crash in October 1949, while flying from Paris to New York City to meet her. Piaf and Cerdan’s affair made international headlines, as Cerdan was the former middleweight world champion and a legend in France.

Piaf married Jacques Pills (real name René Ducos), her first husband, in 1952 (her matron of honour was Marlene Dietrich) and divorced him in 1957. In 1962, she wed Théo Sarapo (Theophanis Lamboukas), a Greek hairdresser-turned-singer and actor who was 20 years her junior. The couple sang together in some of her last engagements.

Piaf’s grave in Père Lachaise Cemetery, Paris

She died at age 47 at her villa in Plascassier (Grasse), on the French Riviera, the day before filmmaker and friend Jean Cocteau died. Her last words were “Every damn thing you do in this life, you have to pay for.” It is said that Sarapo drove her body back to Paris secretly so that fans would think she had died in her hometown. She is buried in Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. The name inscribed at the foot of the tombstone is Famille Gassion-Piaf. Her name is engraved on the side as Madame Lamboukas dite Édith Piaf.

Piaf’s work and name resound in popular culture and music today.

One of the most prominent uses of her songs occurred in the 2010 film, Inception; “Non, je ne regrette rien” was used as a motif in the narrative element of the film.

Piaf’s life has been the subject of multiple films and plays.

La Vie en rose (2007), a film about her life directed by Olivier Dahan, premiered at the Berlin Film Festival in February 2007. Titled La Môme in France, the film stars Marion Cotillard as Piaf with a performance that won her an Academy Award for Best Actress (Oscar). David Bret’s 1988 biography, Piaf, A Passionate Life, was re-released by JR Books to coincide with the film’s release.

Mac Tag

edith piaf, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle

The Lovers’ Chronicle 18 December – transition – art by Paul Klee

18 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Quotes, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is the Lovers’ Chronicle for today from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Whose words are important to you? Are their words enough? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

as time passes i welcome, you

solo sonatas make me smile

but i welcome this duet

reflectin’ on the future of choice to make

you know what i want with the simplest

means, sketches in black and white

the conviction grows stronger,

this, the attraction becomin’

what was meant to be

minds becomin’ settled

into what was all along

meant to be

did we know then

what it was

and now what could be

feelin’ yet more heavily

an inextinguishable bond,

a mutual attraction

and the deepest

understandin’

could the years

of sacrifice

have been prelude

to what comes next

transitions
in a small hotel

i was comin’
and she was goin’

one night
when i could not sleep
i walked down to the lobby
and there she was

i made tea
and she joined me

we talked
all the way
to first light
about the places
we had been
about music,
and art,
and poetry

we saw each other
every night after that
we created a place
where we could be

and we danced

thanks bret

the hush, hoverin’
remindin’ me
of the vanished

“But don’t you miss
companionship?”
no not really

callin’ this, a needed
transitional phase
an interstitial place
of heightened Presence

learnin’ to cherish
the in-between-ness
of what-has-been-
shall-not-continue
and what-is-to-be-
is-yet-to-be-seen

the valley, golden hues and purple shades
the speakin’ west wind and cold silent night
and watchin’ eyes with their wonderful light
so wrought upon me that i should never
have left them at all

sunset and twilight give way to night
the wind whistles melancholy notes
the campfire burns down to red embers
a subtle difference apparent
in all of this or else
the shadowy change
is in us

More Than Just Words

Waitin
And anticipatin
Her touch
Her soft caress

Wishin
She was lyin near me
Right now
Right here with me

Dreamin
About bein with her
About
Us together

Hopin
Our time with each other
Will last
And have no end

Wantin for her all that she wants
From love
From this wide world

Needin
All that life can give me
I need
More than just words

Paul Klee
Paul Klee in 1911

Today is the birthday of Paul Klee (Münchenbuchsee, Switzerland; 18 December 1879 – 29 June 1940 Muralto, Switzerland); artist. His style was influenced by movements in art that included Expressionism, Cubism, and Surrealism. Klee was a natural draftsman who experimented with and explored color theory. His lectures Writings on Form and Design Theory (Schriften zur Form und Gestaltungslehre), published in English as the Paul Klee Notebooks, are held to be as important for modern art as Leonardo da Vinci’s A Treatise on Painting for the Renaissance. He and his colleague, Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky, both taught at the Bauhaus school of art, design and architecture. His works reflect his dry humor and his sometimes childlike perspective, his personal moods and beliefs, and his musicality.

Klee began studying art at the Academy of Fine Arts in Munich. He excelled at drawing but seemed to lack any natural color sense. He later recalled, “During the third winter I even realized that I probably would never learn to paint.” During these times of youthful adventure, Klee spent much time in pubs and had affairs with lower class women and artists’ models.

Klee married Bavarian pianist Lily Stumpf in 1906. They lived in a suburb of Munich, and while she gave piano lessons and occasional performances, he kept house and tended to his art work. His attempt to be a magazine illustrator failed. Klee’s art work progressed slowly for the next five years, partly from having to divide his time with domestic matters, and partly as he tried to find a new approach to his art. In 1910, he had his first solo exhibition in Bern, which then traveled to three Swiss cities.

Klee suffered from a wasting disease, scleroderma, toward the end of his life, enduring pain that seems to be reflected in his last works of art. One of his last paintings, Death and Fire, features a skull in the center with the German word for death, “Tod”, appearing in the face. He died in Muralto, Locarno, Switzerland, on 29 June 1940 without having obtained Swiss citizenship, despite his birth in that country. His art work was considered too revolutionary, even degenerate, by the Swiss authorities, but his request was accepted, six days after his death. The words on his tombstone, Klee’s credo: “I cannot be grasped in the here and now, For my dwelling place is as much among the dead, As the yet unborn, Slightly closer to the heart of creation than usual, But still not close enough.” He was buried at Schosshaldenfriedhof, Bern, Switzerland.

Gallery

My Room (German: Meine Bude), 1896. Pen and ink wash, 4¾ × 7½ inches. In the collection of the Klee Foundation, Bern, Switzerland

Flower Myth (Blumenmythos) 1918, watercolor on pastel foundation on fabric and newsprint mounted on board, Sprengel Museum, Hannover, Germany

Paul Klee as a soldier, 1916

Red Balloon, 1922, oil on muslin primed with chalk, 31.8 x 31.1 cm. The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York

Tropical Gardening, 1923 watercolor and oil transfer drawing on paper, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York.

Nocturnal Festivity, 1921, The Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York.

Tale à la Hoffmann (1921), watercolor, ink, and pencil on paper. 31.1 × 24.1 cm. In the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

Dame mit Sonnenschirm, 1883–1885, pencil on paper on cardboard, Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern

Hilterfingen, 1895, ink on paper, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York

Third Invention: Jungfrau im Baum, 1903, etching, Museum of Modern Art, New York

Sixth Invention: Zwei Männer, einander in höherer Stellung vermutend, begegnen sich, 1903, etching, Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern

Aged Phoenix,1905,etching, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York

Fenster und Palmen, 1914, watercolor on grounding on paper on cardboard, Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich

In den Häusern von St. Germain, 1914, watercolor on paper on cardboard, Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern

Föhn im Marc’schen Garten, 1915, watercolor on paper on cardboard, Lenbachhaus, Munich

Acrobats, 1915, watercolor, pastel and ink on paper, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York

In Engelshut, 1931, watercolor and colored inks on paper, mounted on paper, Guggenheim Museum

Red/Green Architecture (yellow/violet gradation), 1922, oil on canvas on cardboard mat, Yale University Art Gallery, Yale University, New Haven, Connecticut

Senecio, 1922, oil on gauze, Kunstmuseum Basel, Basel

Fright of a Girl, 1922, Watercolor, India ink and oil transfer drawing on paper, with India ink on paper mount, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York

Zeichen in Gelb, 1937, pastel on cotton on colored paste on jute on stretcher frame, Foundation Beyeler, Riehen near Basel

Nach der Überschwemmung, 1936, wallpaper glue and watercolors on Ingres paper on cardboard

Revolution des Viadukts, 1937, oil on oil grounding on cotton on stretcher frame, Hamburger Kunsthalle

Die Vase, 1938, oil on jute, Foundation Beyeler, Riehen near Basel

Heroische Rosen (Heroic Roses), 1938, oil on canvas, Kunstsammlung Nordrhein-Westfalen, Düsseldorf

Insula dulcamara, 1938, oil color and colored paste on newsprint on jute on stretcher frame, Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern

Ohne Titel (Letztes Stillleben), 1940, oil on canvas on stretcher frame, Zentrum Paul Klee, Bern

Was fehlt ihm? (What Is He Missing?), 1930, stamp drawing in ink, Ingres paper on cardboard, Fondation Beyeler, Riehen near Basel

Mac Tag

The Light of Lights

Looks always on the motive, not the deed,

The Shadow of Shadows on the deed alone

– W. B. Yeats

cowboy coleridge, extreme, love letter, love poem, love song, more than just words, more than words, muse, paul klee, poem of the day, Rhett, song of the day, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, twt, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 17 December – the day we met – verse by John Greenleaf Whittier – art by Paul César Helleu

17 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. How has the day you met someone special touched your life? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

I have played the SOD over and over and over today.

the night we met

sittin’ on a bench

on the plaza

so engrossed

we knew not

what else existed

we are now

not the same

when i think of the path we took

to get to that day, how did we

was it fate or luck or magic

whatever

what matters now,

from that day to this

give ourselves up

to denied feelin’s,

seekin’ increase

in every reflection

to hear those lines

which drive me,

delivered

with such intensity

found, our own contentment

where we want for nothin’

beyond what we have

or give it a more

fascinatin’ name

call it hope

what it is
or what it means
can never be said

but it is here

a pledge
of the possible
from that first day

a sense
of harmony
only found here

the justification
of bein’
here

with you

yes, thinkin’ about
the day we met,
always a good way
to git things flowin’
i wish i could remember
i wish i could forget
we were invincible
why did we not stay
why was it not enough
why is it never enough

the day we met
the day we fell

The Day We Met

The day we met
Stands apart
From all the days
In my memories

To say that I am
Changed by that day
Is to not say
Near enough

Before that day
My way had been lost
More importantly
My words had been lost

After that day, after darkness
My words began to flow again
At times I was so engrossed in you
I knew not what else existed
You became my greatest pleasure
We touched and two became one

When I think of the path I took
To get to that day, to get to you
I am left in wonder at how
We managed to meet that day
Was it fate or luck or magic or what
Whatever it was it matters not

What matters is this
I have loved you
From that day
To this day

The Song of the Day is “The Day We Met” by Vermillion Lies

John Greenleaf Whittier

Today is the birthday of John Greenleaf Whittier (Haverhill, Massachusetts; December 17, 1807 – September 7, 1892 Hampton Falls, New Hampshire); Quaker poet and advocate of the abolition of slavery in the United States. Frequently listed as one of the Fireside Poets. Whittier is also remembered for his book Snow-Bound.

Verse

Better heresy of doctrine than heresy of heart.
- Mary Garvin
Tradition wears a snowy beard, romance is always young.
- Mary Garvin

The Night is Mother of the Day,
The Winter of the Spring,
And ever upon old Decay
The greenest mosses cling.

A Dream of Summer,

Beauty seen is never lost.
- Sunset on the Bearcamp

The Beauty which old Greece or Rome
Sung, painted, wrought, lies close at home.

To ———

Low stir of leaves and dip of oars
And lapsing waves on quiet shores.

Snow Bound

All hearts confess the saints elect,
Who, twain in faith, in love agree,
And melt not in an acid sect
The Christian pearl of charity!
Snow Bound

Life is ever lord of Death
And Love can never lose its own.

Paul César Helleu

And today is the birthday of Paul César Helleu (Vannes, Brittany 17 December 1859 – 23 March 1927 Paris); oil painter, pastel artist, drypoint etcher, and designer, best known for his numerous portraits of beautiful society women of the Belle Époque. He also conceived the ceiling mural of night sky constellations for Grand Central Terminal in New York City.

Helleu was commissioned in 1884 to paint a portrait of a young woman named Alice Guérin (1870–1933). They fell in love, and married two years later, on 28 July 1886. Throughout their lives together, she was his favourite model. Charming, refined and graceful, she helped introduce them to the aristocratic circles of Paris, where they were popular fixtures.

Gallery

20221218_132729

Portrait d’Alice Guérin, Helleu’s future wife

Paul Helleu Sketching with His Wife (1889), by John Singer Sargent, The Brooklyn Museum, New York

Peggy Letellier, pastel, 1905
Mademoiselle Vaughan, pastel, 1905
On the sofa, pastel, 1899
Camara, pastel, 1905
Elegant Woman at the Rail, pastel, 1905

Le Chapeau Plissés, drypoint
Madame Chéruit, drypoint
Le Sphinx, drypoint
Étude d’après la même, drypoint
Madame Letellier, drypoint

Madame Helleu on Her Yacht L’étoile, oil on canvas, ca. 1898–1900
Le Grand Pavois, oil on canvas, 1901
Madame Paul Helleu Seated at Her Secretaire, oil on canvas, 1900
Lady with Flowers, oil on canvas, 1910
Young woman in white (Mrs. Helleu), oil on canvas, 1900

Théodore Deck plate decorated by Helleu, 1884, Colmar Museum
Le Joueur de flûte, color print, 1895
Hydrangeas, pastel, 1911
The Yacht L’étoile, oil on canvas, 1903
Grand Central Terminal ceiling in New York City

Mac Tag

Perhaps the greatest reading pleasure has an element of self-annihilation. To be so engrossed that you barely know you exist.

– Ian McEwan

Tell me,

Is it your message, stars, that when death comes

My soul shall touch with his, and the two flames

Be one?

– W. B. Yeats

cowboy coleridge, ian mcewan, john greenleaf whittier, love letter, love poem, love song, muse, paul cesar helleu, poem of the day, Rhett, song of the day, the day we met, the loves almanac, twt, vermillion lies, w b yeats, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 16 December – La Carrozzo dei Fantasmi – birth of Jane Austen – art by Wassily Kandinsky

16 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Random

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

give yourself wholly, seek solace

in every reflection, resolve against

ever settlin’ for ordinary

to hear those lines which drive,

pronounced with such clarity

i did not then know what it was to feel

had i really felt, could i have believed

givin’ ourselves wholly to this

from an unknown,
inexorable source
comes the need

color, splashes
leapin’ without plan
laid bare or concealed
silent, scrupulous
in fanfare or played
pianissimo on the keys
and verse serene, cradlin’

are those not the means
embark, while we still can

La Carrozzo dei Fantasmi

playin’ in the background
from whence no return
the drum bangs slowly
to let someone near
best leave that lie and
embark that carriage…

never cared for that
to be understood
never knew what it was
to need someone…

a wanderer
on the high plains
carin’ not
if anyone
understands

Today is the birthday of Jane Austen (Steventon, Hampshire, England; 16 December 1775 – 18 July 1817 Winchester, Hampshire); novelist known primarily for her six major novels, which interpret, critique and comment upon the British landed gentry at the end of the 18th century. Austen’s plots often explore the dependence of women on marriage in the pursuit of favourable social standing and economic security. Her works critique the novels of sensibility of the second half of the 18th century and are part of the transition to 19th-century literary realism. Her use of biting irony, along with her realism, humour, and social commentary, have long earned her acclaim among critics, scholars, and popular audiences alike.

With the publications of Sense and Sensibility (1811), Pride and Prejudice (1813), Mansfield Park (1814) and Emma (1816), she achieved success as a published writer. She wrote two additional novels, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, both published posthumously in 1818, and began another, eventually titled Sanditon, but died before its completion. She also left behind three volumes of juvenile writings in manuscript, a short epistolary novel Lady Susan, and another unfinished novel, The Watsons. Her six full-length novels have rarely been out of print, although they were published anonymously and brought her moderate success and little fame during her lifetime.

Austen has inspired a large number of critical essays and literary anthologies. Her novels have inspired many films, from 1940’s Pride and Prejudice to more recent productions like Sense and Sensibility (1995), Emma (1996), Mansfield Park (1999), Pride & Prejudice (2005), and Love & Friendship (2016).

Sense and Sensibility

They gave themselves up wholly to their sorrow, seeking increase of wretchedness in every reflection that could afford it, and resolved against ever admitting consolation in future.
- Chapter 1
To hear those beautiful lines which have frequently almost driven me wild, pronounced with such impenetrable calmness, such dreadful indifference!
- Chapter 13
Know your own happiness. You want nothing but patience; or give it a more fascinating name: call it hope.
- Chapter 19
Her mind did become settled, but it was settled in a gloomy dejection. She felt the loss of Willoughby’s character yet more heavily than she had felt the loss of his heart…
- Chapter 32
There was a kind of cold hearted selfishness on both sides, which mutually attracted them; and they sympathised with each other in an insipid propriety of demeanour, and a general want of understanding.
- Chapter 34
I did not then know what it was to love […] had I really loved, could I have sacrificed my feelings to vanity, to avarice?
- Chapter 44

Wassily Kandinsky
Wassily Kandinsky, c. 1913 or earlier

And today is the birthday of Wassily Wassilyevich Kandinsky (Moscow; 4 December (16 December by the Gregorian calendar) 1866 – 13 December 1944 Neuilly-sur-Seine); painter and art theorist. He is credited with painting one of the first purely abstract works.

Gallery

Lady in Mosca – 1912

Der Blaue Reiter (1903)

Early-period work, Munich-Schwabing with the Church of St. Ursula (1908)

Odessa Port, 1898
Akhtyrka, 1901
Rotterdam sun, 1906
Murnau, Dorfstrasse (Street in Murnau, A Village Street), 1908
Houses in Munich, 1908
Murnau, train & castle, 1909

Improvisation 27 (Garden of Love II), 1912, oil on canvas, 47 3/8 x 55 1/4 in. (120.3 x 140.3 cm), The Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York

The Cow, 1910
Study for Improvisation V , 1910
The Rider, 1911
Landscape With Two Poplars 1912
Squares with Concentric Circles, 1913
1913
Composition 6, 1913
Aquarell 6

Small worlds I, 1922
Circles in a Circle, 1923
On White II, 1923
Several Circles, 1926
Soft Hard, 1927

Brown with supplement, 1935
Composition IX, 1936
Composition X, 1939

Composition VII—according to Kandinsky, the most complex piece he ever painted (1913)

Composition VI (1913)

Points, 1920, 110.3 × 91.8 cm, Ohara Museum of Art

Thanks for stoppin’ by y’all

Mac Tag

jane austen, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, wassily kandinsky

The Lovers’ Chronicle 15 December – El Pacifico – art by David Teniers the Younger – verse by Muriel Rukeyser

15 December 2023 By Rhett 0 In Random

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

creatin’ these stories,

this verse, for myself

for you unkown till now

i would imagine findin’ you,

makin’ love to you, tryin’

by any means to reach

the limits of ourselves,

to let go the means, to wake

how shall we get there

how shall we tell each other

i god we are connected

Pale Love, Pale Rider

random musin’s…

memoria, hablando
a través de memorias

is that not the meanin’
is that not the purpose,
conscious or not,
of this compulsive need

El Pacifico

down south of the border
they have a sayin’…
El Pacifico
no tiene memoria

to be awash again
in that perfect water
washin’ away
these memories…

tell her i miss everything
when you see her, tell her…

if you came to me
would you say you knew
me, that you had known
me always, would you…

shadows cast upon
an adobe wall…

Portrait of David Teniers by Philip Fruytiers, 1655

Today is the birthday of David Teniers the Younger or David Teniers II (Antwerp 15 December 1610 – 25 April 1690 Brussels); painter, printmaker, draughtsman, miniaturist painter, staffagepainter, copyist and art curator. He was an innovator in a wide range of genres such as history, genre, landscape, portrait and still life. Perhaps best remembered as the leading Flemish genre painter of his day. Teniers is particularly known for developing the peasant genre, the tavern scene, pictures of collections and scenes with alchemists and physicians.

He was court painter and the curator of the collection of Archduke Leopold Wilhelm, the art loving Governor General of the Habsburg Netherlands. He created a printed catalogue of the collections of the Archduke. He was the founder of the Antwerp Academy, where young artists were trained to draw and sculpt in the hope of reviving Flemish art after its decline following the death of the leading Flemish artists Rubens and Anthony van Dyck in the early 1640s.

Teniers married into the famous Brueghel artist family when Anna Brueghel, daughter of Jan Brueghel the Elder, became his wife on 22 July 1637. Rubens, who had been the guardian of Anna Brueghel after her father’s death, was a witness at the wedding. Through his marriage Teniers was able to cement a close relationship with Rubens who had been a good friend and frequent collaborator with his wife’s father.

Teniers’ wife died on 11 May 1656. On 21 October of the same year the artist remarried. His second wife was Isabella de Fren. It has been suggested that Teniers’ main motive for marrying the ‘spinster’ was her rather elevated position in society. His second wife also brought him a large dowry. The couple had four children, two sons and two boys. Teniers petitioned the king of Spain to be admitted to the aristocracy but gave up when the condition imposed was that he should give up painting for money.

Gallery

Judith with the Head of Holofernes

Smokers in an interior, c. 1637; oil on panel

Village festival, 1645; oil-painting on canvas

Card players, c. 1644-45; oil on panel

Mountain landscape with a gypsy fortune teller, after 1644; oil on canvas

A family concert on the terrace of a country house: a self-portrait of the artist with his family, between 1640-49; oil on canvas

A peasant holding a glass, 1640’s; oil on copper-plate

The Temptation of St. Anthony; oil on panel

Peasants playing cards in an interior, between 1630-45; oil on copper-plate

Landscape with peasants playing bowls outside an inn, c. 1660; oil on canvas

River landscape with rainbow, after 1644; oil on canvas

A pastoral landscape with a herdsman playing a pipe near a waterfall, 1660’s; oil on canvas

View of Drij Toren at Perk, with Teniers’ family, 1660’s; oil on canvas

Archduke Leopold Wilhelm in his gallery in Brussels, c. 1647-51; oil on copper-plate

Archduke Leopold Wilhelm in his gallery in Brussels, 1650-52; oil on canvas

A picture gallery with two men examining a seal and a red chalk drawing, and a monkey present, oil on panel

Jesus among the Doctors, modello by Teniers after Ribera c. 1651-56; oil on panel

Smoking and drinking monkeys, c. 1660; oil on panel

Guardroom with monkeys, c. 1633; oil on panel

Guardroom with the Deliverance of Saint Peter, c. 1645; oil on panel

A guardroom with a self-portrait of the artist, 1640’s; oil on copper-plate

An alchemist in his laboratory; oil on canvas

The alchemist, c. 1650; oil on panel

Village doctor examining a urine flask, 1645; oil on panel

Still-life with overturned jug, 1635; oil on panel

Kitchen still life with a vase of flowers, dead birds, a fish and a cat, with Nicolaes van Verendael and Carstian Luyckx, c. 1670; oil on canvas

The Soap Bubbles, c. 1660-70; oil on canvas

Peasant Wedding, 1650; oil on canvas

Muriel Rukeyser
Muriel Rukeyser in 1945

Today is the birthday of Muriel Rukeyser (December 15, 1913 – February 12, 1980 New York); poet and political activist, best known for her poems about equality, feminism, social justice, and Judaism. Kenneth Rexroth said that she was the greatest poet of her “exact generation”.

Verse

The Speed of Darkness (1968)

The Universe is made of stories, not of atoms.

I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane.
- “Poem”

Slowly I would get to pen and paper,
Make my poems for others unseen and unborn.
In the day I would be reminded of those men and women,
Brave, setting up signals across vast distances,
considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values.
- “Poem”

We would try to imagine them, try to find each other,
To construct peace, to make love, to reconcile
Waking with sleeping, ourselves with each other,
Ourselves with ourselves. We would try by any means
To reach the limits of ourselves, to reach beyond ourselves,
To let go the means, to wake.
- “Poem” — these lines are among those quoted on the The Pacifist Memorial

The Gates (1976)

How shall we venture home?
How shall we tell each other of the poet?
How can we meet the judgment on the poet,
or his execution? How shall we free him?
How shall we speak to the infant beginning to run?
All those beginning to run?
- “The Gates”

O for God’s sake
they are connected
underneath.
- “Islands”

Mac Tag

david teniers the younger, el pacifico, muriel rukeyser, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle

Not The Same

Gallery

Verse

Synopsis

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Act 4

Verse

Le Vaisseau d’Or

Nothin’ Else Matters

Prose

A River Runs Through It (1976)

Hold The Heart

Manon Lescaut

La bohème

Tosca

Madama Butterfly

Turandot

Verse

In Defense of the Earth (1956)[edit]

The Great Nebula of Andromeda

Gallery

Verse

Text

Without You, Reprise No. Three

Gallery

Summer, 1889

Halycon Days, Reprise

La coscienza di Zeno (1923)[edit]

More Than Just Words

Gallery

The Day We Met

Verse

Gallery

Sense and Sensibility

Gallery

El Pacifico

Gallery

Verse

The Speed of Darkness (1968)

The Gates (1976)

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