TeaWithTater.com » Private conversations in a cafe

The Lovers’ Chronicle 24 March – rememberin’ – verse by William Morris – art by Frank Weston Benson – photography by Edward Weston – Broadway premiere of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

24 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

Dear Zazie,

Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag:

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

this one started out
with our intrepid hero
reminiscin’ about
the one that never was
“Then it changed”
yes into said hero
recallin’ that man
does not live on
solitude and sadness alone
“Glad to have inspired that”
you did, it was as if a fresh wind
came along and blew out
the clouds and blew in
long forgotten feelings
and i remembered
i could feel

dreamed a dream of somethin’ not known, read plenty about it, saw it up close with the only couple i knew had it, saw the movies, over and over, and listened to the songs so i knew it could happen but no one was more surprised than i, when i awakened to find you standin’ there

when beginnin’ over

gittin’ reacquainted

with the things

given up for lost

along the way

what was forgotten,

rushin’ towards

what was buried

can be overcome

the new moon

and the wind

blowin’ your hair

an awakenin’ man

standin’ at the foot

of ever after

remember what was said
when last to which we came

all we sought,
yet could not have
right there, right then
but could not be

and now years hence,
dreams, born of due time

let it suffice, this verse,
tellin’ a tale not too abstract
and hopefully, not too late

rememberin’ the moments,
oh, there were more than one,
when everything could have changed

i really do not like carryin’ on
with too many words
so suffice to say, those moments
were every day i saw you

que saudade

i go, rememberin’
what was said and what
could not be said
when every day
seemed what we sought

when beginnin’ over
gittin’ reacquainted
with the things
given up for lost
along the way

what was forgotten
cannot rush towards
or sing about
what was buried
cannot overcome
or write about

the new moon
and the wind
blowin’ your hair

horses runnin’
across the plains
an awakenin’ man
standin’ at the foot
of a half remembered dream

William_Morris_age_53 Today is the birthday of William Morris (Walthamstow, Essex, England 24 March 1834 – 3 October 1896 Hammersmith, Middlesex, England); textile designer, poet, novelist, translator, and socialist activist, born at Elm House in Walthamstow, Essex.

Morris married Jane Burden at St Michael at the Northgate in Oxford on 26 April 1859. After the marriage, the Morrises lived at Red House in Bexleyheath, Kent. While living there, they had two daughters, Jane Alice “Jenny,” born in January 1861, and Mary “May” (March 1862–1938), who later edited her father’s works. They moved to 26 Queen Square in London, which they shared with the design firm of Morris, Marshall, Faulkner & Co., and later bought Kelmscott House in Hammersmith as their main residence.

Jane Morris painted by Dante Gabriel Rossetti as Proserpine (1874)

Burden was an embroiderer and artists’ model who embodied the Pre-Raphaelite ideal of beauty. She was a model and muse to Morris and to Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

I too
Will go, remembering what I said to you,
When any land, the first to which we came
Seemed that we sought, and set your hearts aflame,
And all seemed won to you: but still I think,
Perchance years hence, the fount of life to drink,
Unless by some ill chance I first am slain.
But boundless risk must pay for boundless gain.

…

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time,
Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?
Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme
Beats with light wing against the ivory gate,
Telling a tale not too importunate
To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of an empty day.

…

“Ah! wilt thou leave me then without one kiss,
To slay the very seeds of fear and doubt,
That glad to-morrow may bring certain bliss?
Hast thou forgotten how love lives by this,
The memory of some hopeful close embrace,
Low whispered words within some lonely place?”

…

Love is enough: have no thought for to-morrow
If ye lie down this even in rest from your pain,
Ye who have paid for your bliss with great sorrow…

…

Lo, the lovers unloved that draw nigh for your blessing!
For your tale makes the dreaming whereby yet they live
The dreams of the day with their hopes of redressing,
The dreams of the night with the kisses they give,
The dreams of the dawn wherein death and hope strive.

…

Eve shall kiss night,
And the leaves stir like rain
As the wind stealeth light
O’er the grass of the plain.
Unseen are thine eyes
Mid the dreamy night’s sleeping,
And on my mouth there lies
The dear rain of thy weeping.

…

“Come — pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending!
Come — fear ye shall have, mid the sky’s overcasting!
Come — change ye shall have, for far are ye wending!
Come — no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting,
But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting!
Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!”

…

Frank_W_Benson_artist_headshot-crop Today is the birthday of Frank Weston Benson, (Salem, Mass. March 24, 1862 – November 15, 1951 Salem, Mass.); artist perhaps best known for his Realistic portraits, American Impressionist paintings, watercolors and etchings. He began his career painting portraits of distinguished families and murals for the Library of Congress. Some of his best known paintings (Eleanor, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston; Summer, Rhode Island School of Design Museum) depict his daughters outdoors at Benson’s summer home, Wooster Farm, on the island of North Haven, Maine. He also produced numerous oil, wash and watercolor paintings and etchings of wildfowl and landscapes.

In the summer of 1884 Benson painted at Concarneau. While there, Benson became engaged to Ellen Perry Peirson, the daughter of friends from Salem, Massachusetts. They married in 1888 when Benson had established himself in his career.

Gallery

In Summer, 1887, Private collection. Portrait of Ellen Perry Peirson.
Portrait of My Wife, 1889, National Gallery of Art, Washington D.C.

Moonlight on the Waters oil 1899

Portrait of Margaret Washburn, 1886, Private collection
The Graces: Thalia, mural, 1900, Library of Congress, Washington, D. C.
Red and Gold, portrait of countess Clelia de Candia, 1915, Butler Institute of American Art, Youngstown, Ohio

The Sisters, 1899, Terra Museum, Chicago
Eleanor Holding a Shell, 1902, Private collection
Calm Morning, 1904, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston
Evening Light, 1908, Cincinnati Art Museum, Ohio

The Anchorage, etching, 1915, Art Gallery, University of New Hampshire
Geese Alighting, ca. 1916, etching, Brooklyn Museum, New York
Ducks in the Rain, etching, 1918, Art Gallery, University of New Hampshire

Camp, 1921

Eleanor, 1907
Summer, 1909
Elizabeth and Ann, c.1909
Summer, portrait of countess Rita de Candia, 1909
Margaret Gretchen Strong, 1909
Playing Solitaire oil 1909
The Reader, portrait of countess Cecilia Maria de Candia, ca. 1910
Against the Sky, ca. 1912
Study for Young Girl with a Veil, 1912
The Grey Room, 1913
The Dining Room Table, 1919
Great White Herons 1923

Figure in a Room, 1912, oil on canvas – New Britain Museum of American Art

Emily Vanderbilt Binney oil 1894

Tody is the birthday of Edward Weston (Edward Henry Weston, Highland Park, Illinois, March 24, 1886 – January 1, 1958 Carmel Highlands, California); photographer. In my opinion, one of the the most innovative and influential American photographers. Over the course of his 40-year career Weston photographed an expansive set of subjects, including landscapes, still lives, nudes, portraits, genre scenes and even whimsical parodies. His focus was on the people and places of the American West. In 1937 Weston was the first photographer to receive a Guggenheim Fellowship, and over the next two years he produced nearly 1,400 negatives using his 8 × 10 view camera. Some of his most famous photographs were taken of the trees and rocks at Point Lobos, California, near where he lived for many years.

He knew he wanted to be a photographer from an early age, and initially his work was typical of the soft focus pictorialism that was popular at the time. Within a few years, however, he abandoned that style and went on to be one of the foremost champions of highly detailed photographic images.

In 1947 he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease and he stopped photographing soon thereafter. He spent the remaining ten years of his life overseeing the printing of more than 1,000 of his most famous images.

Soon after moving to Tropico, California, Weston was introduced to his sister’s best friend, Flora May Chandler. She was a graduate of the Normal School, later to become UCLA. She assumed the position of a grade-school teacher in Tropico. She was seven years older than Weston and a distant relative of Harry Chandler, who at that time was the head of an influential family in Southern California. On January 30, 1909, Weston and Chandler married in a simple ceremony.

Sometime in the fall of 1913, Los Angeles photographer, Margrethe Mather visited Weston’s studio because of his growing reputation, and within a few months they developed an intense relationship. Weston was a quiet Midwestern transplant to California, and Mather was a part of the growing bohemian cultural scene in Los Angeles. She was very outgoing and artistic in a flamboyant way, and her permissive sexual morals were far different from the conservative Weston at the time – Mather had been a prostitute and was bisexual with a preference for women. Mather presented a stark contrast to Weston’s home life, and he found Mather’s uninhibited lifestyle irresistible and her photographic vision intriguing.

Over the summer of 1920 Weston met two people who were part of the growing Los Angeles cultural scene: Roubaix de l’Abrie Richey, known as “Robo” and a woman he called his wife, Tina Modotti. Modotti, who was then known only as a stage and film actress, was never married to Robo, but they pretended to be for the sake of his family. Weston and Modotti were immediately attracted to each other, and they soon became lovers.

Gallery

20230324_200115

Epilogue (1919) featuring Margrethe Mather

edwardwestonTina_Modotti_-_Edward_Weston

“The White Iris” (Modotti)
Modotti

And it was on this day in 1955 that Tennessee Williams‘ play Cat on a Hot Tin Roof premiered in New York City at the Morosco Theatre. It was directed by Elia Kazan and starred Barbara Bel Geddes, Ben Gazzara, and Burl Ives. Tennessee Williams won a second Pulitzer Prize for the play, and a Tony Award, and the show ran for 694 performances. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was reportedly, Williams’ favorite play.

Barbara Bel Geddes as Maggie in the original Broadway production of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1955)

Maggie: I’ll win, all right.

Brick: Win what? What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof?

Maggie: Just staying on it, I guess. As long as she can.

Mac Tag

cat on a hot tin roof, edward weston, frank weston benson, tennessee williams, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, william morris

The Lovers’ Chronicle 23 March – never forget – art by Josef Čapek & Juan Gris

23 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag. Who is the someone you will never forget you? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

this is one of my favorite stories
“Do tell”
the idea came from watchin’
the Dallas episode when JR died
“Never saw it”
you and most everyone else
but i enjoyed that silly series
“Bet you never thought
you’d get a poem out of it”
oh heck no
“So watching it paid off”
indeed, but let’s delay
the never forget scenario
as long as we can

written as if foreseen

that we are each other

what was thought too late,

now is the time to get it right

hold on to these feelin’s

now that you and i are here

and why we will know

and let go

what was kept hidden

our moments together

we will keep and surrender

not forgotten

the music begins

the dance goes like this;

closed position,

higher in the elbows,

tone in the arms

and constant connection

through the body

for now,

we are one, and

just for this night

we are in Argentina

the rhythm is steady as

a pulse, sensuous

somethin’ we carry with us

never forget

risin’ the next mornin’, tired, hungover,
with a strong cup of coffee, drivin’ south,
on the caliche road, over the cattle guard,
turnin’ left where tire tracks cut their way
across the pasture, stoppin’ at the gate

with determined purpose, as if
any hesitation could stop this…
out of the truck, through the gate,
past the metal angel statue, heart
poundin’, kneelin’ in the dirt coverin’
the words written and the cold wind
carried the cries across the canyon

the day we met
the lunches
the parties
the laughs
the hugs
the opera
i gave you
what we created
our shared yearnin’
our wishes and dreams

never forget

never fergit…
if you think
you have it all
figured out,
that sumbitch
can come un-figured

Never Forget

She hesitated, then opened the door
The room was simple, orderly, tasteful;
a bed, desk, bookcase, table, leather chairs
She stood for a moment, takin’ it in

The strong presence and the familiar scents;
sandalwood, cedar, leather, crisp linen
She opened the closet, turned on the light
Inside; pairs of well polished cowboy boots,
custom cowboy hats, suits, starched jeans and shirts
She reached for a starched shirt and held it close
And really fought to hold her composure
Then, at the bookcase, a picture amidst
poetry books and leather bound journals
A picture of them; younger and happy
She took it and sat down at the table
Her emotions comin’ apart, she placed
the picture next to a sealed envelope
with her name written in his hand writin’
Then, she looked at the crystal decanter,
engraved with his initials, almost full
of what looked like, no doubt, bourbon
probably his preferred single barrel
Suddenly, she really needed a drink
though she had not had a whisky in years
Hands shakin’, she poured from the decanter
slowly into a matchin’ crystal glass
Before she could stop, she had a small sip
The sweet, creamy burn jolted her senses
Then she had another and another
With her newfound amber colored courage
she rapidly opened the envelope,
took out the enclosed letter and read it
Then finally, the emotions poured out
All the pain and the said and unsaid words
All of the tears, all of the memories
All of the years, the good times, the bad times
She let it all go and it all came out

She tried to sleep that first night in his bed
Risin’ the next mornin’, tired, hungover,
with a strong cup of coffee, she drove south,
down the dirt road, over the cattle guard,
turned left where tire tracks cut their way across
the pasture and stopped at the metal gate
Then with a determined purpose, as if
any hesitation would prevent her
from doin’ what she knew she had to do:
out of the truck, opened the gate, walked through,
past the silver, metal angel statue,
stopped, and stared at the freshly covered ground
Heart poundin’, out of a pocket she took
an envelope and kneeled beside the mound
Her tears fell on the dirt as she covered
the words she had written for him and the
wind carried her cries across the canyon

Josef Čapek

Today is the birthday of Josef Čapek (Hronov, Bohemia (Austria-Hungary, later Czechoslovakia, now the Czech Republic); 23 March 1887 – April 1945 Bergen-Belsen concentration camp); artist who was best known as a painter, but who was also noted as a writer and a poet. He invented the word robot, which was introduced into literature by his brother, Karel Čapek.

Gallery

Abans de dormir

20230323_203736

Creation

Toilet

Half-Figure of a Girl

Letadlo (Aeroplane)
Zpívající děvčata (Singing girls)
Harmonikář (Harmonist)
Krajina v dešti (Landscape in the rain)
Kluci s kozou (Guys with a goat)
Piják (Blotter)
Matka s dětmi (Mother with children)
Hra (Game)
Autoportrét (Self-portrait)

Juan Gris
Juan Gris, 1922, photograph by Man Ray (Paris)

Today is the birthday of José Victoriano (Carmelo Carlos) González-Pérez (Madrid; March 23, 1887 – May 11, 1927 Boulogne-sur-Seine), better known as Juan Gris; painter and sculptor born in Madrid who lived and worked in France most of his life. Closely connected to the innovative artistic genre Cubism, his works are among the movement’s most distinctive.

After October 1925, Gris was frequently ill with bouts of uremia and cardiac problems. He died of renal failure at the age of 40, leaving a wife, Josette, and a son, Georges.

Gallery

Mujer sentada, 1917. Colección Carmen, Museo Thyssen Bornemisza

20230323_204550

Portrait of Picasso, 1912, oil on canvas, the Art Institute of Chicago

September 1916, Woman with Mandolin, after Corot (La femme à la mandoline, d’après Corot), oil on canvas, 92 x 60 cm, Kunstmuseum Basel

Guitar and Pipe, 1913, Dallas Museum of Art, Texas
Glass of Beer and Playing Cards, 1913, Columbus Museum of Art, Ohio
Violin and Checkerboard, 1913, Private collection
The Bottle of Anís del Mono, 1914, Queen Sofia Museum, Madrid
Fantômas, 1915, National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C.
Nature morte à la nappe à carreaux (Still Life with Checkered Tablecloth), 1915, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York
Newspaper and Fruit Dish, 1916, Yale University Art Gallery, New Haven, CT
Fruit Dish on a Checkered Tablecloth, 1917, Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum, New York
The Guitar (La Guitarra), 1918, Fundación Telefónica
Still Life with Fruit Dish and Mandolin, 1919, Private collection, Paris
Harlequin with Guitar, 1919, Centre Pompidou, Paris
Le Canigou, 1921, Albright-Knox Art Gallery, Buffalo, New York
Mac Tag

cowboy coleridge, josef capek, juan gris, lena katina, love letter, love poem, love song, muse, never forget, poem a day, poem of the day, Rhett, song of the day, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, tla, twt, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 22 March 2013 – is it enough – art by Dorothy Tennant, Ernest Lawson & Greta Kempton

22 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag. Is it enough for you? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

oh pretty sure there was
at least as far as drama goes
and sadness and emptiness

write what you know, right
and that was all that was known
for more than a decade

and when i began in earnest
in 2017 to try to make some
sense of it all, it did prove
to be enough to get me
to you

and now

no corner

without you

you roam wild

openin’ doors,

turnin’ over stones,

castin’ away shadows

where desire hid

and

i embrace it

you have become

first and last,

and randomly

in between

just when we thought

we would never

so now what…

we belong

you ask, what of sadness

an undercurrent within

that ebbs and flows

sharin’ means so much

at last, enough strength

to go there

always good at fallin’

now ready for stayin’

plainly evident

where i belong

known sadness

may make better verse

but is it enough

you ask, what of sadness

an undercurrent within
that ebbs and flows

shared some of it
and it means so much

cannot share it all
therein lies the flaw, perhaps fatal,
not enough strength to go there

some are good at fallin’
and some are good at stayin’

plainly evident
where i belong

what has been known
has been fleetin’
and unforgiven

but known sadness
makes better verse
so thereon i hang my hat
and hope, that it is enough

but where…

there you are
and now,
there is no escape

no corner
without you
you roam wild
openin’ doors,
turnin’ over stones,
castin’ away shadows
where desire hid
and worst,
or best, of all
i embrace it

you have wrought
disorder
to my routine
i try to protect
through reason
but you have become
first and last,
and randomly
in between

just when i think
i can walk away,
there you are
and i am back
to the edge
of feelin’s
i cannot

so now what…
we belong

Inspired by a Vita Sackville-West quote and a note I once sent to you. Here is……

Is It Enough

You ask, What am I sad about?
Why am I sad? Let me count the ways
There is an undercurrent within
Like a tide that ebbs and flows
Most days I am good at hidin’ it
I have shared some of it with you
And it means so much to me

That you were there and that you listened
I wish I could share it all with you
But that is my flaw, perhaps fatal,
I do not have the strength to go there

Vita Sackville-West wrote
That some men make good lovers
And some men make good husbands
To that I would add…
If a man is a good lover,
He should never, ever get married
It is plainly evident
That I am not the marryin’ kind
And that makes me sad
I am sad that the love I have known
Was fleetin’ and not lastin’
I am sad that I told you goodbye

I am sad that my mother was crazy
And that I cannot forgive her
I am sad about lies that were told
And the lives that were troubled
By my actions and my inactions
I am sad that you have known sadness
Sad that I could not save you from that
But it makes better verse
So that is what I hang my hat on
And I hope, that is enough

Portrait of Lady Dorothy Stanley, by George Frederick Watts

Today is the birthday of Dorothy Tennant (Russell Square, London 22 March 1855 – 5 October 1926); Victorian neoclassicist painter.

In 1890, she married the explorer of Africa, Henry Morton Stanley, and became known as Lady Stanley. She edited her husband’s autobiography, reportedly removing any references to other women in Stanley’s life.

After Stanley’s death, she married in 1907 Henry Jones Curtis (died 19 February 1944), a pathologist, surgeon and writer.

Gallery

Suspiria

20230322_185020

Lord Henry Morton Stanley (1841–1904) (1880)
L’Amour Blessé (1895)

Today is the birthday of Ernest Lawson (Halifax, Nova Scotia; March 22, 1873 – December 18, 1939); painter and a member of The Eight, a group of artists who formed a loose association in 1908 to protest the narrowness of taste and restrictive exhibition policies of the conservative, powerful National Academy of Design. Though Lawson was primarily a landscape painter, he also painted a small number of realistic urban scenes. His painting style is heavily influenced by the art of John Henry Twachtman, J. Alden Weir, and Alfred Sisley. Though considered an American Impressionist, Lawson falls stylistically between Impressionism and realism.

Lawson visited France in 1893 and studied at the Académie Julian with Jean-Joseph Benjamin-Constant and Jean-Paul Laurens. He practiced plein air painting in southern France and at Moret-sur-Loing, where he met the English Impressionist Alfred Sisley. In 1894, Lawson exhibited two paintings in the Salon. Lawson shared a Paris studio that year with W. Somerset Maugham, who is believed to have used Lawson as the inspiration for the character “Frederick Lawson” in his 1915 novel Of Human Bondage.

He married his former art teacher, Ella Holman after his return to the U. S. in 1896.

Lawson moved to Florida in 1936. Depressed and in declining health, he drowned under mysterious circumstances in 1939, while swimming on Miami Beach.

Gallery

Flâner dans le parc

20230322_185836

Approaching Storm

Brooklyn bridge

New England Birches

Spring Night, Harlem River –

Landscape

Excavation – Penn Station, oil on canvas, 1906. Frederick R. Weisman Art Museum

Today is the birthday of Greta Kempton (Martha Greta Kempton; March 22, 1901 – December 9, 1991); White House artist during the Truman administration.

20231209_093921

Kempton was born in Vienna and came to the United States in the 1920s. She studied at the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts before emigrating to the United States and in the 1930s was a student at the National Academy of Design and Art Students League, both in New York City.

By the 1930s Kempton was living in California and a well-established portrait painter. Her style was reminiscent of Rembrandt, Rubens, and other European masters. By the 1940s, she had compiled a list of subjects, including Dagmar Nordstrom, one of the Nordstrom Sisters, the families of some Hollywood residents of New Orleans, where she lived with her then-husband, the businessman Ambrose M. McNamara. Kempton became well known in Washington following the unveiling in 1947 of her portrait of Drucie Snyder, the daughter of Treasury Secretary John W. Snyder. Through Snyder, Kempton gained introductions to other high officials of the Truman administration. Later in 1947, she painted a portrait of Bess Truman, and that same year was commissioned to paint a portrait of the President himself – the first of five Kempton paintings for which Mr. Truman posed. The 1947 painting became the official White House portrait of President Truman.

She remained active as a painter well into her eighties and restored many paintings at Church of the Transfiguration, “The Little Church Around the Corner” in New York City. Her works are in the collections of the White House, the U.S. Department of the Treasury, the U.S. Supreme Court, the Harry S. Truman Library, the Franklin D. Roosevelt Library, the National Portrait Gallery, and a number of museums. Her papers, which include a number of portraits, now form a collection at the Harry S. Truman Library in Independence, Missouri.

She died in New York City from heart failure in December 1991, and her cremated remains were placed in the columbarium in the Church of the Transfiguration, Manhattan.

York City from heart failure in December 1991, and her cremated remains were placed in the columbarium in the Church of the Transfiguration, Manhattan.

Gallery

20231209_093731

20221210_113107

20221210_113124

20221210_113131

Mac Tag

dorothy tennant, ernest lawson, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, vita sackville-west

The Lovers’ Chronicle 21 March – intimate – art by Clarice Beckett

21 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag. Have you had one of these intimate conversations? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

if there is a category
for great words,
this one belongs
“Oh I agree”
it can be used to describe
a place or a conversation
“In a bar or a cafe”
it brought to mind the meal
we had at Terra Terroir
“After we bought the Fiat”
just the two of us up front
no one else came in
“It was lovely”
my favorite use of the word
is in descrbin’ how we end
each day, skin on skin
layin’ here kissin’
and readin’ poetry
“Nothing more intimate”

or wonderful

nothin’ more meanin’ful
through the echoin’
it strikes to hear the song
the descendin’, all in a rush
with such intensity

this is believin’
to have
an intimacy,

made, thy choice
and worth everything

when to this session of verse to be written,

i summon remembrance of time with you,

a sigh and the moments, intense, savored

and deep afresh long since worries away,

for while i think on thee, you are here

no matter how far and i can feel

your breath rise and fall

twilight darkens the clouds;

along the rock strewn hill

our time hastens towards us,

risin’ and fallin’ with each breath

darkness settles on the skylight,

and the need within calls,

touches, with calloused hands,

follow the curves up and down,

and the breaths, rise and fall

nothin’ more meanin’ful
through the echoin’
it strikes to hear the song
the descendin’, all in a rush
with such intensity

can this be
believin’ again
to have
but soon
before it closes,
and sours without

an intimacy,
made, thy choice
and worth anything

stopped talkin’
waves of relief
wash over
how easily
came the words
as if in the throes
of good verse

scared, vulnerable, but good
feelin’s, surprisin’ly still there
opened up as never before

those eyes,
a look
did you hear
words,
understandin’
those hands
through your hair

more words
in awe
insight,
wisdom
so damn good lookin’

sharin’ a story
but are you here
is this happenin’
is this Inception
spin the totem

whatever this is,
so intimate,
may it not end

Another vignette turned into a poem. Hope you like……

Intimate Conversation

He finally stopped talkin’
A wave of relief washed over him
Surprised how easily came the words
As easily as how the words came
When he had ahold of a good poem

He felt scared, vulnerable, but good
A feelin’ he’d never felt before
He had never opened up,
Opened himself, not to anyone
She watched him with those beautiful eyes,
Those eyes that he could look at all day
Her look told him she had heard
Every word, and understood
She ran her pretty fingers
Through her hair,
He loved it when she did that,
She began to talk
And he was in awe
Not just because what she said
Made so much sense, which it did
She was so insightful,
So wise and…
So damn good lookin’
No, he was amazed
And so moved that she had shared
Part of her story with him
He just could not get over the fact
That she was there, that they were havin’
This conversation
Made him wonder, was this real
Or an Inception moment
He wished he had a totem
To spin to see if he was dreamin’
Whatever this was,
He did not want it to end
It felt so intimate
And instantly became
One of his favorite memories
Perhaps his most favorite
Memory of all

Today is the birthday of Clarice Beckett (Clarice Majoribanks Beckett; Casterton, Victoria 21 March 1887 – 7 July 1935 Sandringham, Victoria); Tonalist painter whose works are featured in the collections of the National Gallery of Australia, National Gallery of Victoria and the Art Gallery of South Australia.

Beckett never left Victoria and rarely travelled outside Melbourne, much of her adult life being spent caring for her ailing parents at their home in bayside Beaumaris. She did however paint prolifically, often en plein air in and around Beaumaris, and mostly at daybreak or towards evening, when she was exempted from domestic duties. In her method and choice of “everyday” subject matter, Beckett remained indebted to Meldrum, but her work also differed from that of other tonalists, in part due to its emotional and spiritual qualities, reflecting her interest in Buddhism, Theosophy and Freud. By 1926, she was creating landscapes unprecedented in Australian art for their “radical simplicity”, and from 1930, she experimented further with a broader colour palette and more challenging compositions. In 1935, while painting the sea off Beaumaris during a winter storm, Beckett contracted pneumonia and died four days later, aged 48.

In what has been called “one of the great disasters of Australian art history”, well over one thousand of Beckett’s works were destroyed in the decades after her death, including many by her father that he deemed “unfinished”—works from her final years that were said by friends to be more abstract and spiritual. More works were lost in a bush fire, and in 1970, in an open-sided shed in country Victoria, as many as two thousand works were found abandoned, two thirds of which had been destroyed by the elements. Those that did survive were exhibited the following year in Melbourne, precipitating a resurgence of interest in Beckett. Catalogues, biographies and major exhibitions followed, and today she is represented in Australia’s national and state galleries.

Gallery

‘The red sunshade’ (1932),

Passing Trams
38 Bathing Boxes, 1934.
7 Naringal, landscape, 1926.
Across the Yarra
Autumn Morning (Early Morning, Beaumaris).
Beach Scene, 1932
Beaumaris Foreshore, 1926.
Beaumaris seascape c.1925.
Beaumaris
Collins Street, evening, 1931.
Evening Return.
Evening, St Kilda Road, 1930.
Evening.
Hawthorn Tea Gardens, 1933.
Moonrise, Beaumaris.
Mordialloc Pier (The Petrol Pump), 1927.
Morning Ride.
Out Strolling.
Passing trams –
Pavlova, Dying Swan, 1929.
Punt Road Bridge, Yarra River
Sandringham Beach, 1933.
Sunny Day.
Taxi Rank, 1931
The Bus Stop, 1930.
The Yarra, Sunset, 1930.
Untitled (Moored Boat, Bayside)
Yarra Winter Night, 1929.

Mac Tag

Follow us on twitter @cowboycoleridge

clarice beckett, cowboy coleridge, love letter, love poem, love song, lyle lovett, muse, poem a day, poem of the day, private conversation, Rhett, song of the day, tea with tater, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, tla, twt, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 20 March – woman – verse by Ovid – art by Edward Poynter & John Lavery

20 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Love, Poems, Random, Songs

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag. Do you have a man or woman in the city? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

how convenient
we were just talkin’
about this at Frühlingsfest
“On a beautiful, if chilly day”
we saw some fine art
“But mostly of animals or things”
so it seems to me
the purpose of art
is to capture beauty
and there is but one
true example,
with all due respect
to what Mallarmé wrote
*as my hand moves over
your hair and down your back*
“Ooh that gave me chills”

thou offspring of blue on white,
who after birth by my side remains,
not to be snatched from thence
by anyone, less wise than right,
with this, expos’d for you to find,
my ramblin’s should call to thee,
i cast about, as one fit for light,
thy visage in my sight, finest kind

found in you
all that could be wanted

in the brisk

slow surrender
of late winter,

your smile,
your eyes,
the curve
of your hip…

whatever else
my life is
with its movies
and verse
its music
and art

it matters most
with you in it

thus with you

whether stealin’ in dreams

or enterin’ memories

whichever,

i will have as may

as it shall be

for the soi-disant poète

and the femme triste

missin’

what is

whatever else

my life is

with its books

and verse

its music

and art,

it only matters

with you in it

in the brisk
slow surrender
of late winter,
think of you

your smile,
your eyes,
the curve
of your hip…

missin’
what was

whatever else
my life is
with its books
and verse
its music
and art
and wide
open spaces,
it only matters
with you in it

thus either
without you
or with you

whether stealin’ in dreams
or enterin’ memories
whichever,

i will have as may

as it shall be
for the soi-disant poet
and the Carolina woman

Another from the archives. Hope you enjoy……

Woman in Carolina

Somewhere
a woman
has risen from sleep
startin’ her day
in the Carolinas

In the brisk
and slow surrender
of late winter,
I think of her

Her pretty smile,
her eyes, her grace,
her pert glances,
the curve of her hip…
it is to swoon
there is no question

How I miss this woman
I think of her
shinin’
to chase away
doubt and darkness

Whatever else
my life is
with its books
and its words
and its wide open spaces,
it is also this dazzlin’ donna
livin’ in Carolina,
capturin’ the light

Ovid
Statue (1887) by Ettore Ferrari commemorating Ovid’s exile in Tomis (present-day Constanța, Romania)

Today is the birthday of Publius Ovidius Naso (Sulmo; 20 March 43 BC – AD 17/18 Tomis, Scythia Minor, Roman Empire), known as Ovid in the English-speaking world; Roman poet who lived during the reign of Augustus. He was a contemporary of the older Virgil and Horace, with whom he is often ranked as one of the three canonical poets of Latin literature. The Imperial scholar Quintilian considered him the last of the Latin love elegists. He enjoyed enormous popularity, but, in one of the mysteries of literary history, was sent by Augustus into exile in a remote province on the Black Sea, where he remained until his death. Ovid himself attributes his exile to carmen et error, “a poem and a mistake”, but his discretion in discussing the causes has resulted in much speculation among scholars.

The first major Roman poet to begin his career during the reign of Augustus, Ovid is perhaps best known for the Metamorphoses, a 15-book continuous mythological narrative written in the meter of epic, and for works in elegiac couplets such as Ars Amatoria (“The Art of Love”) and Fasti. His poetry was much imitated during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and greatly influenced Western art and literature. The Metamorphoses remains one of the most important sources of classical mythology.

Verse

Remedia Amoris (The Cure for Love)

Siquis amat quod amare iuvat, feliciter ardens
Gaudeat, et vento naviget ille suo.
At siquis male fert indignae regna puellae,
Ne pereat, nostrae sentiat artis opem.
- Let him who loves, where love success may find,
  Spread all his sails before the prosp’rous wind;
  But let poor youths who female scorn endure,
  And hopeless burn, repair to me for cure.
  - Lines 13-16

Principiis obsta; sero medicina paratur
Cum mala per longas convaluere moras.
- Resist beginnings; the remedy comes too late when the disease has gained strength by long delays.
  - Lines 91–92

Qui finem quaeris amoris,
Cedit amor rebus; res age, tutus eris.
- Love yields to business. If you seek a way out of love, be busy; you’ll be safe then.
  - Lines 143–144

Amores (Love Affairs)

Militat omnis amans
- Every lover is a soldier.
  - Book I; ix, line 1

Qui nolet fieri desidiosus, amet!
- Let who does not wish to be idle fall in love!
  - Book I; ix, 46

Procul omen abesto!
- Far away be that fate!
  - Book I; xiv, 41

Aequo animo poenam, qui meruere, ferunt.
- They bear punishment with equanimity who have earned it.
  - Book II, vii, 12

Quod licet ingratum est. Quod non licet acrius urit.
- We take no pleasure in permitted joys.
  But what’s forbidden is more keenly sought.
  - Book II; xix, 3

Cui peccare licet, peccat minus.
- Who is allowed to sin, sins less.
  - Book III, iv

Nitimur in vetitum semper, cupimusque negata.
- We are ever striving after what is forbidden, and coveting what is denied us.
- Variant translation:
  We hunt for things unlawful with swift feet,
  As if forbidden joys were only sweet.
  - Book III; iv, 17

Sic ego nec sine te nec tecum vivere possum.
- So I can’t live either without you or with you.
- Variant translation: Thus, I can neither live without you nor with you.
  - Book III; xib, 39

Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love)

Spectatum veniunt, veniunt spectentur ut ipsae.
- They come to see; they come that they themselves may be seen.
  - Book I, 99

Nocte latent mendae, vitioque ignoscitur omni,
Horaque formosam quamlibet illa facit.
- Blemishes are hid by night and every fault forgiven; darkness makes any woman fair.
  - Book I, 249–250

Iuppiter ex alto periuria ridet amantum.
- Jupiter from above laughs at lovers’ perjuries.
  - Book I, 633

Expedit esse deos, et, ut expedit, esse putemus.
- It is convenient that there be gods, and, as it is convenient, let us believe that there are.
  - Book I, 637

Intret amicitiae nomine tectus amor.
- Let love steal in disguised as friendship.
- Variant: Love will enter cloaked in friendship’s name.
  - Book I, line 720; translated by J. Lewis May in The Love Books of Ovid, 1930

Ut ameris, amabilis esto.
- If you want to be loved, be lovable.
- Variant: To be loved, be lovable.
  - Book II, 107

Pauperibus vates ego sum, quia pauper amavi;
Cum dare non possem munera, verba dabam.
- I am the poor man’s poet; because I am poor myself and I have known what it is to be in love. Not being able to pay them in presents, I pay my mistresses in poetry.
  - Book II, lines 165-166; translation by J. Lewis May

Cede repugnanti; cedendo victor abibis.
- Yield to the opposer, by yielding you will obtain the victory.
  - Book II, 197

Militiae species amor est.
- Love is a kind of warfare.
  - Book II, line 233

Da requiem: requietus ager bene credita reddit
- Grant a respite: a rested field gives a better return.
  - Book II, line 351 [1]

Nil adsuetudine maius.
- Nothing is stronger than habit.
- Variant translations: Nothing is more powerful than custom.
  - Book II, 345

Continua messe senescit ager.
- A field becomes exhausted by constant tillage.
  - Book III, 82

Candida pax homines, trux decet ira feras.
- Let white-robed peace be man’s divinity; rage and ferocity are of the beast.
  - Book III, 502

Casus ubique valet; semper tibi pendeat hamus
Quo minime credas gurgite, piscis erit.
- Chance is always powerful. Let your hook always be cast; in the pool where you least expect it, there will be fish.
  - Book III, 425

Edward Poynter (Alphonse Legros)

Today is the birthday of Edward John Poynter (Paris 20 March 1836 in Paris – 26 July 1919 in London); painter, designer, and draughtsman who served as President of the Royal Academy.

Gallery

20230320_203222

Andromeda, 1869

At Low Tide
The Siren (1864)
The Cave of the Storm Nymphs (1903)
Psyche in the Temple of Love
Corner of the Marketplace (1887)
Pea Blossoms

John Lavery

Today is the birthday of John Lavery (Belfast 20 March 1856 – 10 January 1941 Kilmoganny, County Kilkenny); painter best known for his portraits and wartime depictions.

Lavery’s first wife, Kathleen MacDermott, whom he married in 1889, died of tuberculosis in 1891. After eight years as a widower, he remarried. In 1909, Lavery married Hazel Martyn (1886–1935), an Irish-American known for her beauty and poise; with her he had one step-daughter, Alice Trudeau (Mrs. Jack McEnery). Hazel Lavery was to figure in more than 400 of her husband’s paintings. Hazel Lavery modelled for the allegorical figure of Ireland he painted on commission from the Irish government, reproduced on Irish banknotes from 1928 until 1975 and then as a watermark until the introduction of the Euro in 2002. The Laverys’ marriage was tempestuous, and Lady Lavery reportedly was unfaithful.

Sir John Lavery died in Rossenarra House from natural causes, and was interred in Putney Vale Cemetery.

Gallery

Evelyn Farquhar wife of Captain Francis Douglas Farquhar

Woman with golden turban, Hazel Lavery née Hazel Martyn

Hazel in rose and grey

War Room – depicts surrender of High Seas Fleet 1918
Munitions, Newcastle, 1917
A Coast Defence – an 18-pounder anti-aircraft gun, Tyneside, 1917
A Convoy, North Sea, 1918
The Wounded at Dover, 1918
Army Post Office 3, Boulogne, 1919
A Rally, 1885
Lady Lavery
Mrs Lavery sketching, 1910
Gaines Ruger Donoho
A Summer Afternoon
On the Riviera
Mrs Ralph Peto as a Bacchante
The Opening of the Modern Foreign and Sargent Galleries at the Tate Gallery, 26 June 1926

mac tag

Follow us on twitter: @cowboycoleridge

cowboy coleridge, edward poynter, jet city woman, john lavery, love letter, love poem, love song, muse, ovid, poem a day, poem of the day, queensryche, Rhett, song of the day, tea with tater, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, tla, twt, woman in the city, Zazie

The Lovers’ Chronicle 19 March – cracks – verse by William Allingham – art by Albert Pinkham Ryder & Charles M. Russell – photography by Thérese Le Prat

19 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

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,

from Leonard’s song “Anthem”
“Oh of course”
of the creatives,
he was one of the luckiest
to be a poet and hear the melody
“So songwriting is the pinnacle ”
i think so, songs span time
existin’ before anyone
could write or draw
“Speaking of luckiest”
you and i and our cracks
that kept the light comin’ in
till we found each other

and She, pretty sure
it was a She, said,
let there be light

it is good
especially first light
and last

the way it looks
reflectin’ off
your red hair

and the way it came in
through the cracks

showin’ i was still here

absolutely, not even close,

cannot feel any other way

without you

to be able again

so many words to say

the end of late winter day

now open, writ as should be

with clarity, probin’, touchin’

and oh, but to believe

we dance, we sing a song

that takes us away

when i consider those lingerin’ moments,

that time finally presents, as meant to be

whereon the verse in open flows easily;

when i perceive that now, more as one

i would not change the course taken,

from days of anguish to sullied nights;

all in all it brought us where we belong

no gloom, nor tears…

dressed in black
and withdrawn,
yours still

winds and a hush
bring what is left
of heart’s content

scarcely a song
hardly a word
the end
of a winter’s day

book lies open,
writ in dreams
lettin’ in the light

she danced, she sung
and took away

withdrawn
into solitude,
yours still,
rememberin’
the best
of our past
and so
to where i wait,
come gently on

the cracks
are necessary,
do you believe,
to let the light in

bring again
is it possible
need, want
dare say more

oh, not sure

at last, a crack
lettin’ the light in
i want to look
but i cannot
so conditioned
to darkness
can you tell me,
will it be alright

Think you know where this one comes from.

Ridin’ Away

Ridin’ away
Lettin’ go of what
Could not be let go
The rope you tied off
Does you no good now
Ridin’, fadin’ away
Becomin’ invisible
Though she tried
So hard to tell you that day
Standin’ in the Carolina sun

William Allingham

Today is the birthday of William Allingham (Ballyshannon, County Donegal 19 March 1824 – 18 November 1889 Hampstead, London); poet, diarist and editor. He wrote several volumes of lyric verse, and his poem ‘The Faeries’ was much anthologized. Perhaps best known for his posthumously published Diary, in which he records his lively encounters with Tennyson, Carlyle and other writers and artists. His wife, Helen Allingham, was a well-known water-colorist and illustrator.

Verse

No funeral gloom, my dears, when I am gone,
corpse-gazing, tears, black raiment, graveyard grimness.
Think of me as withdrawn into the dimness,
yours still, you mine.
Remember all the best of our past moments,
and forget the rest;
and so to where I wait, come gently on.

Poem: No funeral gloom – part of funeral of actress Ellen Terry 1928.

Winds and waters keep
A hush more dead than any sleep.

Ruined Chapel

Oh, bring again my heart’s content,
Thou Spirit of the Summer-time!
- Song
Scarcely a tear to shed;
Hardly a word to say;
The end of a Summer’s day;
Sweet Love is dead.
- An Evening

Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring
Lies open, writ in blossoms.
- Daffodil;).

Mary kept the belt of love, and oh, but she was gay!
She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.
- Lovely Mary Donnelly

Albert Pinkham Ryder
Ryder in 1905, photo by Alice Boughton

Today is the birthday of Albert Pinkham Ryder (New Bedford, Massachusetts; March 19, 1847 – March 28, 1917 New York City); painter perhaps best known for his poetic and moody allegorical works and seascapes, as well as his eccentric personality. While his art shared an emphasis on subtle variations of color with tonalist works of the time, it was unique for accentuating form in a way that some art historians regard as modernist.

Gallery

The shepardess

The Lone Scout, ca. 1885

Siegfried and the Rhine Maidens (1888–1891), National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

The Race Track (Death on a Pale Horse) (1895–1910), Cleveland Museum of Art

The Spirit of Autumn (c. 1875), the earliest documented work by Ryder. Columbus Museum of Art, Columbus, Ohio.
The Lover’s Boat c. 1881, Oil on canvas, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
The Forest of Arden (1888 – 1897, possibly reworked 1908). Oil on canvas, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City.
The Flying Dutchman, c. 1896, oil on canvas mounted on fiberboard, Smithsonian American Art Museum, Washington, D.C.
The Dead Bird, 1890-1900, the Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.
Seacoast in Moonlight, 1890, the Phillips Collection, Washington, D.C.

Charles M. Russell
Russell in 1907

Today is the birthday of Charles Marion Russell (St. Louis, Missouri; March 19, 1864 – October 24, 1926 Great Falls, Montana), also known as C. M. Russell, Charlie Russell, and “Kid” Russell; artist of the Old American West. Russell created more than 2,000 paintings of cowboys, Indians, and landscapes set in the Western United States and in Alberta, Canada, in addition to bronze sculptures. Known as ‘the cowboy artist’, Russell was also a storyteller and author. The C. M. Russell Museum Complex located in Great Falls, Montana, houses more than 2,000 Russell artworks, personal objects, and artifacts. Other major collections are held at the Montana Historical Society in Helena, Montana, the Buffalo Bill Center of the West in Cody, Wyoming, the Amon Carter Museum of American Art in Fort Worth, Texas, and the Sid Richardson Museum in Fort Worth, Texas.

Russell’s mural titled Lewis and Clark Meeting the Flathead Indians hangs in the state capitol building in Helena, Montana.

Russell came to Montana in 1880 at the age of 16. After an unsuccessful stint working on a sheep ranch, he found work with a hunter and trapper turned rancher named Jake Hoover, who owned a ranch in the Judith Basin, and from whom Russell learned much about the ways of the west. The two men remained lifelong friends. After a brief visit to his family in 1882, he returned to Montana, where he remained for the rest of his life. He worked as a cowboy for a number of outfits, and documented the harsh winter of 1886–1887 in a number of watercolors. Russell was working on the O-H Ranch in the Judith Basin of Central Montana at the time, when the ranch foreman received a letter from the owner, asking how the cattle herd had weathered the winter. Instead of a letter, the ranch foreman sent a postcard-sized watercolor Russell had painted of gaunt steer being watched by wolves under a gray winter sky. The ranch owner showed the postcard to friends and business acquaintances and eventually displayed it in a shop window in Helena, Montana. After this, work began to come steadily to the artist. Russell’s caption on the sketch, Waiting for a Chinook, became the title of the drawing, and Russell later created a more detailed version which is one of his best-known works.

In 1896, Russell married his wife Nancy. He was 32 and she was 18. In 1897, they moved from the small community of Cascade, Montana to the bustling county seat of Great Falls, where Russell spent the majority of his life.

On the day of Russell’s funeral in 1926, all the children in Great Falls were released from school to watch the funeral procession. Russell’s coffin was displayed in a glass sided coach, pulled by four black horses.

Russell produced about 4000 works of art, including oil and watercolor paintings, drawings and sculptures in wax, clay, plaster and other materials, some of which were also cast in bronze.

Gallery

Smoke of a .45, oil on canvas, 1908

When The Land Belonged to God, replica image displayed for many years in the Montana Senate

Charles Marion Russell
Russell working in his studio in Great Falls, Montana

C. M. Russell and his friends. A detail of the picture was used for a Montana U.S. Postage Stamp in 1989.
Self-portrait with Christmas greeting, 1914

The Tenderfoot (1900)

The Buffalo Hunt 1899, Amon Carter Museum, Fort Worth

Buccaroos, 1902

Laugh Kills Lonesome, oil on canvas, 1925. Along with Bronc to Breakfast and In Without Knocking, arguably the most famous of Russell’s “cowboy” paintings.
Bronc to Breakfast, oil, 1908
Loops and Swift Horses are Surer than Lead, 1916
The Herd Quitter
Roundup #2, oil 1913

Cree Indian
The Scouts
When Blackfoot and Sioux Meet
Buffalo Hunt

Water for Camp, depicting the everyday life of Native American women
Keeoma #3, one of a series of “Keeoma” paintings of sensual Native women, though the body model was Russell’s wife, Nancy
Waiting and Mad, not an official “Keeoma” painting, but sometimes considered part of the series
Lolly, showing a Victorian young woman
Rodeo cowgirl

Camp Cook’s Troubles
Burning Crow Buffalo Range
A Quiet Day in Utica also known as Tinning a Dog (1907). Depicts Russell and other actual residents of Utica, Montana, including general store owner Charles Lehman, and ex-slave Mollie Ringwold, hotel owner, saloon-keeper and later cook for the nearby Yogo sapphire mine
Waiting for a Chinook, also known as Last of the 5000. One of several depictions of the winter of 1886–87
To The Victor Belongs The Spoils

Lewis and Clark on the Lower Columbia. Russell depicted various stages of the Lewis and Clark Expedition in a number of works.
The Custer Fight (lithograph, 1903). Depicts the Battle of the Little Bighorn from the point of view of the Native American combatants.
The Indians discovering Lewis and Clark

Mac Tag

albert pinkham ryder, charles marion Russell, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, william allingham

The Lovers’ Chronicle 18 March – yes, i hear you – verse by Stéphane Mallarmé – art by Eugène Jansson

18 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

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

The Lovers’ Chronicle

takes your breath,

to see and to hear

puttin’ blue on white

announcin’

the sad opacity

do we know

what it means

here in the vision

shall we find out

to tell that it is

necessary

is worth tellin’

if you want

we will have each other

show with your lips

without sayin’ it

some nights tears come, look at me now

i have given up pretendin’, to believe

here with you gives as good as it gets

and when apart i dream

every night of holdin’ you,

or at least of divin’ after you,

through the waves

i hear you callin’

you need not worry

a mystery, who accepts
must seek the key

takes your breath,
made to see
in all forms
and to hear

puttin’ blue on white

announces,
the sad opacity
of the spectra

do we know
what it is
ancient and vague
whose meanin’ lies
in the mystery

shall we find out

write or paint
not the thing
but its effect

to do, one of your smiles,
how much would it take

to tell that it is
necessary
is worth tellin’

hesitation would be
to pay a worse silence

if you want
we will have each other

show with your lips
without sayin’ it

And now, we hark back to 18 March 2016 when Rhett discovered that Zazie had left him a note in December 2015.

Dangit! I feel bad! I had not heard from you in so long, I stopped comin’ by. So sorry I missed you! I have missed our correspondence terribly. I will stop by occasionally. Please let me know, are you ok?!

“I scream!
No one comes.
I scream again!
Still, no one comes.
I grab anything
to steady myself.
I feel like my legs
may give way.
I slowly allow myself
to the floor, tears,
I cry out one last time.
No one comes…
I then realize
no sound comes out.
No one can hear me!”

Yes, I can hear you!

but faintly,
barely a whisper
it had been so long
since i heard
the sweetest voice
i stopped listenin’
but i am listenin’ now
and i will be
please forgive me
and please come back

Stéphane Mallarmé
Portrait of Mallarmé, by Nadar, 1896

Today is the birthday of Stéphane Mallarmé (Paris; 18 March 1842 – 9 September 1898 Vulaines-sur-Seine), whose real name was Étienne Mallarme; poet and critic. He was a symbolist poet, and his work anticipated and inspired several revolutionary artistic schools of the early 20th century, such as Cubism, Futurism, Dadaism, and Surrealism.

On 10 August 1863, he married Maria Christina Gerhard.

Édouard Manet, Portrait of Stéphane Mallarmé, 1876

In my opinion, Mallarmé is one of the French poets most difficult to translate into English. The difficulty is due in part to the complex, multilayered nature of much of his work, but also to the important role that the sound of the words, rather than their meaning, plays in his poetry. When recited in French, his poems allow alternative meanings which are not evident on reading the work on the page. For example, Mallarmé’s Sonnet en ‘-yx’ opens with the phrase ses purs ongles (‘her pure nails’), whose first syllables when spoken aloud sound very similar to the words c’est pur son (‘it’s pure sound’). The ‘pure sound’ aspect of his poetry has been the subject of musical analysis and has inspired musical compositions. These phonetic ambiguities are difficult to reproduce in a translation which must be faithful to the meaning of the words.

Mallarmé’s poetry has been the inspiration for several musical pieces, notably Claude Debussy’s Prélude à l’après-midi d’un faune (1894), a free interpretation of Mallarmé’s poem L’après-midi d’un faune (1876), which creates powerful impressions by the use of striking but isolated phrases. Maurice Ravel set Mallarmé’s poetry to music in Trois poèmes de Stéphane Mallarmé (1913). Other composers to use his poetry in song include Darius Milhaud (Chansons bas de Stéphane Mallarmé, 1917) and Pierre Boulez (Pli selon pli, 1957–62).

Mallarmé during his career.

Un poème est un mystère dont le lecteur doit chercher la clef.

Le monde est fait pour aboutir à un beau livre.

Ecrire, c’est déjà mettre du noir sur du blanc.

Cette foule hagarde ! Elle annonce : Nous sommes la triste opacité de nos spectres futurs.

Sait-on ce que c’est qu’écrire ? Une ancienne et très vague mais jalouse pratique dont gît le sens au mystère du Coeur.

Peindre non la chose mais son effet.

Oh ! Pour faire, Seigneur, un seul de tes sourires, Combien faut-il donc de nos pleurs ?

Dire au peintre qu’il faut prendre la nature comme elle est, vaut de dire au virtuose qu’il peut s’asseoir sur le piano.

De blancs sanglots glissant sur l’azur des corolles
– C’était le jour béni de ton premier baiser.

La chair est triste, hélas! et j’ai lu tous les livres.

Si tu veux nous nous aimerons
Avec tes lèvres sans le dire
Cette rose ne l’interromps
Qu’à verser un silence pire

Eugène Jansson

Today is the birthday of Eugène Fredrik Jansson (18 March 1862, Stockholm – 15 June 1915, Skara); painter known for his night-time land- and cityscapes dominated by shades of blue. Towards the end of his life, from about 1904, he mainly painted male nudes. The earlier of these phases has caused him to sometimes be referred to as blåmålaren, “the blue-painter”.

Gallery

al crepuscolo

Dawn over Riddarfjärden 1899

In the twilight

20230318_112701

Le Bal des marins

Sunrise over the rooftops, 1903 (Nationalmuseum, Stockholm (image is cropped)

Pushing Weights with Two Arms, II, 1913–14 (in a private collection)

Mac Tag

eugene jansson. stephane mallarme, the lovers almanac

The Lovers’ Chronicle 17 March – survive – art by Mikhail Vrubel

17 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

Happy Saint Patrick’s Day Y’all. We will drink a pint of Guinness to your health!

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

The Lovers’ Almanac

well, did that obviously
“Certainly glad you did”
we can drama it up
and say it was a close call
but not sure about that
“You could have gone
with, stayin’ alive”
ooh then we could have
disco’d the night away
“All kidding aside”
right, again, we both
endured what we had to
to survive to be here

it is beginnin’, feelin’

look at us pushin’, not too late,

the fine taste of each day’s vision

and that recurrent dream pullin’

a swayin’ dance in the moonlight,

of slippin’ between the cool sheets now

together so effortlessly holdin’ on

curious
what have i learned
from writin’ everyday;

it is the daily grapple
with absurdity

some days it can be
dismissed summarily

other days
it threatens to suffocate
in an overwhelmin’ grip

so that just holdin’ on
is a struggle

every year
without knowin’
passed the days

the last fire has waned
and the search has settled

tireless traveler
at first light
no longer
find myself
surprised
at the one

today writin’
in the sunshine
hearin’ the song
and the fallin’ ease

knealin’
and knowin’ to what

the honor of your attention…
accept this verse,
humbly served

persistence, take a look
many years spent searchin’
for a many splendored thing
many years spent fightin’,
or ignorin’, a nature geared
not for permanence,
but for stoppin’ just long
enough to check the cinch
and jump the fence again

but now, headin’ home, alone
to study the rhyme, the rhythym
to write my songs, to paint,
to try to make
a little sense of it all

sure you could say
what took so long
to which i reply,
hell if i know

my name by you
not yet known

includin’ good and bad,
balance the art of bein’
survive the ire
of time wasted
in the failed search
for any splendored thing

Mikhail Vrubel
At work, 1900s

Today is the birthday of Mikhail Aleksandrovich Vrubel (Omsk; March 17, 1856 – April 14, 1910 Saint Petersburg); painter of the Symbolist movement and of Art Nouveau. He deliberately stood aloof from contemporary art trends, so that the origin of his unusual manner should be sought in Late Byzantine and Early Renaissance painting.

During 1896, he met the opera singer Nadezhda Zabela. Half a year later they married and settled in Moscow, where Zabela was invited by Mamontov to perform in his private opera theatre. While in Moscow, Vrubel designed stage sets and costumes for his wife, who sang the parts of the Snow Maiden, the Swan Princess, and Princess Volkhova in Rimsky-Korsakov’s operas.

Gallery

Pearl oyster

Demon Seated, 1890. Vrubel considered this demon as “a spirit, not so much evil as suffering and sorrowing, but in all that a powerful spirit… a majestic spirit”.

The Swan Princess, 1900

Demon Downcast, 1902

The Virgin and Child, 1884
The girl on the background of a Persian carpet, 1886
Chrysanthemums, 1894
Fortune teller, 1895
Flight of Faust and Mephisto, 1896
Pan, 1899
Lilac, 1900
Six-winged seraph (Azrael), 1904

Mac Tag

mikhail vrubel, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle

The Lovers’ Chronicle 16 March – visions – art by Rosa Bonheur – verse by Sully Prudhomme – premiere of Massenet’s Thaïs

16 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

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,

this one born of dreams
“One we have fulfilled”
as if i had said;
i will create it
and she will come
“You conjurer you”
certainly seems so
i was tryin’ to find myself,
my purpose, and searchin’
for a way to process the pain,
but also to be found
“And I did”
yes, glad you joined this vision

well not quite so dramatic as this, but… feelin’ that existence is not worth havin’ without you, repudiate all and rush off to find you, to tell you nothin’ else matters, just this right here, and it can be everything, givin’, openin’, welcomin’, grateful

i could see it

i could hear it

i could taste it

i came to show you

it was spoken and written

witnessed with voices and verse

then we started,

buildin’ and creatin’

we tasted, we trembled

it burns

we warm ourselves by it,

read by its light, adore,

and it burns

into the night sky
ridin’ the wind, there
doin’ penance

in the space of the mind
precise and certain
from the madness

encounterin’

every impulse

whisperin’
‘Let it not
to have been in vain’

what we see, we see
and seein’ is changin’

the light
leaves

heartbeat
sweatin’ through

the impulse
pourin’ in

tryin’ to translate
into images
for all there is

as close to redemption

no, never like,
they were
imprisoned words
no blood, no sight

on the Great Plains
arias of grass at sunset
flowin’ in the wind

he who shivers
at the bloomin’ of light,
in these eyes searchin’
a purebred flock of stars

forged
in martyrdom, the bell tolls
seasoned with shadows
it survives, a pastoral howl

what means these visions…
ridin’ through a desert
tired, we push on as if
doin’ penance for sins

we reach a spring
and camp for the night
sleep comes
as the constellations
crawl across the big sky

we part, knowin’
we have seen
the last of each other

as the distance grows
morose feelin’s take hold
and longin’ consumes

then, visions within
the vision… the first
erotic, i reach for you
you laugh and turn away
the next one…
that you need me

nothin’ worth nothin’
without you
repudiate all vows
and rush to find you

Today is the birthday of Rosa Bonheur (born Marie-Rosalie Bonheur, Bordeaux, France, 16 March 1822 – 25 May 1899 Thomery, France); artist, an animalière (painter of animals) and sculptor, known for her artistic realism. Her best-known paintings are Ploughing in the Nivernais, first exhibited at the Paris Salon of 1848, and now at the Musée d’Orsayin Paris, and The Horse Fair (in French: Le marché aux chevaux), which was exhibited at the Salon of 1853 (finished in 1855) and is now in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, in New York City. Bonheur, in my opinion, was one of the most famous female painters of the nineteenth century.

In a world where gender expression was literally policed, Bonheur broke boundaries by deciding to wear pants, shirts and ties. She did not do this because she wanted to be a man, though she occasionally referred to herself as a grandson or brother when talking about her family; rather, Bonheur identified with the power and freedom reserved for men. Wearing men’s clothing gave Bonheur a sense of identity in that it allowed her to openly show that she refused to conform to societies’ social construction of the gender binary. It also broadcast her sexuality at a time where the lesbian stereotype consisted of women who cut their hair short, wore pants, and chain-smoked. Bonheur did all three. Bonheur never explicitly said she was a lesbian but her lifestyle and the way she talked about her female partners suggests this.

She had two female partners in her lifetime; the first, Nathalie Micas, Bonheur grew up with and then lived with for forty years and the second, Anna Klumpke, came into her life after the death of her first partner. Bonheur, while taking pleasure in activities usually reserved for men, such as hunting and smoking, viewed her womanhood as something far superior to anything a man could offer or experience. She viewed men as stupid and mentioned that the only males she had time or attention for were the bulls she painted.

Having chosen to never become an adjunct or appendage to a man in terms of painting, she decided she would be her own boss and that she could lean on herself and her female partners instead. She had her partners focus on the home life while she took on the role of breadwinner by focusing on her painting. Bonheur’s legacy paved the way for other lesbian artists who didn’t favour the life society laid out for them.

Gallery

20230316_201014

The Horse Fair (1852–55; Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Ploughing in the Nivernais, Musée d’Orsay

Edouard Louis Dubufe, Portrait of Rosa Bonheur 1857. Symbolic of her work as an Animalière, the artist is depicted with a bull.

Portrait of Bonheur by Anna Elizabeth Klumpke

Weaning the Calves, 1879.

Spanish muleteers crossing the Pyrenees, 1875

Changement de pâturages, Changing pastures, a Scottish scene, 1863

Palette, Minneapolis Institute of Art
Study of a Cow. Courtesy Figge Art Museum.
Study of a Dog, possibly 1860s, Princeton University Art Museum
Relay Hunting
Head of a Bull. Brooklyn Museum
Portrait de Col. William F. Cody
The Highland Shepherd
Sangliers dans la neige, or Wild boars in the snow.
Le monarque de la meute, The Monarch of the herd
Royale à la maison

Bonheur, 1865, wearing the Legion of Honour
Bonheur & Natalie Micas, Nice, 1882
Bonheur, c. 1889

Sully_Prudhomme,_René-François-Armand,_BNF_Gallica Today is the birthday of poet Sully Prudhomme (Paris 16 March 1839 – 6 September 1907 Châtenay-Malabry, France). His first volume of poetry, Stances et Poemes (Stanzas and Poems) (1865), was well reviewed and established his reputation. The volume was filled with fluent and melancholic verse inspired by an unhappy love affair. Such as these, the Poems of the Day:

Le Vase brisé

Le vase où meurt cette verveine
D’un coup d’éventail fut fêlé ;
Le coup dut l’effleurer à peine :
Aucun bruit ne l’a révélé.

Mais la légère meurtrissure,
Mordant le cristal chaque jour,
D’une marche invisible et sûre,
En a fait lentement le tour.

Son eau fraîche a fui goutte à goutte,
Le suc des fleurs s’est épuisé ;
Personne encore ne s’en doute,
N’y touchez pas, il est brisé.

Souvent aussi la main qu’on aime,
Effleurant le cœur, le meurtrit ;
Puis le cœur se fend de lui-même,
La fleur de son amour périt ;

Toujours intact aux yeux du monde,
Il sent croître et pleurer tout bas
Sa blessure fine et profonde ;
Il est brisé, n’y touchez pas.

Never To See Or Hear Her

Never to see or hear her,
never to name her aloud,
but faithfully always to wait for her
and love her

To open my arms and, tired of waitin’,
to close them on nothin’,
but still always to stretch them out to her
and to love her

To only be able to stretch them out to her,
and then to be consumed in tears,
but always to shed these tears,
always to love her

Never to see or hear her,
never to name her aloud,
but with a love that grows ever more tender,
always to love her… Always

The Song of the Day is from the great Smokey Robinson – “Just to See Her”.

Never to see you. Always to long, just to see you.

And on this day in 1894 – Jules Massenet’s opera Thaïs is first performed.

Thaïs
Opera by Jules Massenet
Original poster, design by Manuel Orazi

Thaïs is a comédie lyrique opera in three acts and seven tableaux, by Jules Massenet to a French libretto by Louis Gallet, based on the novel Thaïs by Anatole France. It was first performed at the Opéra Garnier in Paris, starring the American soprano Sibyl Sanderson, for whom Massenet had written the title role. The original production was directed by Alexandre Lapissida, with costumes designed by Charles Bianchini and sets by Marcel Jambon (act 1, scene 1; act 3) and Eugène Carpezat (act 1, scene 2; act 2). The opera was later revised by the composer and was premiered at the same opera house on 13 April 1898.

The work was first performed in Italy at the Teatro Lirico Internazionale in Milan on 17 October 1903 with Lina Cavalieri in the title role and Francesco Maria Bonini as Athanaël. In 1907, the role served as Mary Garden’s American debut in New York in the U.S. premiere performance.

Thaïs takes place in Egypt during Byzantine rule, where a Cenobite monk, Athanaël, attempts to convert Thaïs, an Alexandrian courtesan and devotee of Venus, to Christianity, but discovers too late that his obsession with her is rooted in lust. While the courtesan’s true purity of heart is revealed, so is the religious man’s baser nature. The work is often described as bearing a sort of religious eroticism, and has had many controversial productions. Its famous Méditation, the entr’acte for violin and orchestra played between the scenes of act 2, is an oft-performed concert music piece; it has been arranged for many different instruments.

The role of Thaïs, similar to another Massenet heroine also written for Sibyl Sanderson, Esclarmonde, is notoriously difficult to sing and is reserved for only the most gifted of performers. Modern interpreters have included Carol Neblett, Anna Moffo, Beverly Sills, Leontyne Price, Renée Fleming, and Elizabeth Futral. Géori Boué was the first to record the opera, in 1952.

Synopsis

Act 1

Scene 1

A group of Cenobite monks go about their daily business. Athanaël, the most rigorous ascetic of them all, enters and confesses to the senior monk, Palémon, that he has lately been disturbed by visions of a courtesan and priestess of Venus named Thaïs, whom he had seen many years ago in his native city of Alexandria. Believing these visions to be a sign from God, he resolves, against Palémon’s advice, to return to Alexandria, convert Thaïs to Christianity, and persuade her to enter a convent.

Scene 2

Athanaël arrives in Alexandria and visits his old friend Nicias, a wealthy voluptuary. Nicias welcomes him with open arms and reveals himself to be Thaïs’s current lover. Upon hearing Athanaël’s plan, he laughs and warns him that the revenge of Venus can be terrible. Nevertheless, he procures clothing for his friend in preparation for a feast that evening at which Thaïs will appear. His slaves, Crobyle and Myrtale, dress Athanaël and mock his prudery.

The feast begins. Thaïs arrives and sings a bittersweet love duet with Nicias: this is their last night together. She then asks him about Athanaël, who overhears her and tells her that he has come to teach her “contempt for the flesh and love of pain.” Not tempted by this proposition, she offends his sense of propriety with a seductive song. He leaves, angrily promising to come back later, while she taunts him with a parting shot: “Dare to come, you who defy Venus!” and begins to disrobe as the curtain falls.

Act 2

Scene 1

Exhausted after the feast, Thaïs expresses dissatisfaction with her empty life and muses on the fact that one day, old age will destroy her beauty. Athanaël enters at this vulnerable moment, praying to God to conceal her beauty from him. He tells her that he loves her according to the spirit rather than the flesh, and that his love will last forever instead of a single night. Intrigued, she asks him to teach her the ways of this love. He nearly succumbs to her physical charm, but succeeds in explaining to her that if she converts, she will gain eternal life. She nearly succumbs to his eloquence, but then reasserts her nihilistic worldview and drives him away. However, after a long meditation she changes her mind.

Scene 2

Thaïs has joined Athanaël and resolved to follow him into the desert. He orders her to burn down her house and possessions in order to destroy all traces of her wicked past. She agrees, but asks if she can keep a statuette of Eros, the god of love, explaining to Athanaël that she sinned against love rather than through it. When he hears that Nicias gave it to her, however, Athanaël demands that she destroy it. Nicias appears with a group of revelers, who see Athanaël taking Thaïs away. Furious, they begin to stone him. Although Nicias is astonished at Thaïs’ decision to leave, he respects it and throws handfuls of money to distract the crowd. Thaïs and Athanaël escape.

Act 3

Scene 1

Thaïs and Athanaël travel on foot through the desert. Thaïs is exhausted, but Athanaël forces her to keep going and thus do penance for her sins. They reach a spring, where Athanaël begins to feel pity rather than disgust for her, and they share a few moments of idyllic, platonic companionship as they rest. Shortly afterwards, they reach the convent where Thaïs is to stay. Placing her in the care of Mother Superior Albine, Athanaël realizes that he has accomplished his mission — and that he will never see her again.

Scene 2

The Cenobite monks express anxiety over Athanaël’s asocial and morose behavior since his return from Alexandria. Athanaël enters and confesses to Palémon that he has begun to experience sexual longing for Thaïs. Palémon castigates him for having attempted to convert her in the first place. Athanaël falls into a depressed sleep and has an erotic vision of Thaïs. He tries to seize her, but she laughingly evades him. Then, a second vision tells him that Thaïs is dying.

Scene 3

Feeling that existence is worth nothing without her, he repudiates all his vows and rushes off to find her. He reaches the convent and finds her on her deathbed. He tells her that all he taught her was a lie, that “nothing is true but life and the love of human beings”, and that he loves her. Blissfully unaware, she describes the heavens opening and the angels welcoming her into their midst. She dies, and Athanaël collapses in despair.

Mary Garden as Thaïs

Mac Tag

jules massenet, rosa bonheur, sully prudhomme, thais, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle

The Lovers’ Chronicle 15 March – shots – art by Gerda Wegener & Wladimir Burliuk – premiere of My Fair Lady

15 March 2024 By Rhett 0 In Random

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,

this one has a dark past
but can be lightened up
a bit, by describin’ one
who has given up
after tryin’ to rid
themselves
of their burdens
“Glad those days are behind us”
and now the only ones of these
in our futures are tequila
“And inoculations”
better livin’ through chemistry
“Now, how about a shot
of us holdin’ each other”

it is so,

no echoes

here with you

the past is never past

but at last it sleeps

removed a time zone away

i only visit as the verse does

and of course, now,

i go there not alone

grateful to have you

along for the ride

and to share

the highs and the depths

it matters

woman in the shape of a dream
a dream in the shape of a woman
the nights are full

a woman on a screen porch
drinkin’ wine and wishin’

in her yearin’ to discover
the long denied

she whom the moon rules

here with you
there are no echoes

last time there,
some thirty years later,
there were still
some bullet holes
in the walls

every time i drive though
the town of birth and death,
where it all started,
i cannot help but wonder
what spirits roam there

i vow each time
that someday
i will stop
and spend the night

yeah
someday

she pulled a gun,
started shootin’
up the place
late at night
inside the house

sounds of the shots
and slurred shouts
at the unseeable
horrors

fired until empty
then collapsed
on the floor

i guess sometimes,
there are not enough shots

Today is the birthday of Wladimir Burliuk (Kharkiv, Ukraine 27 March [O.S. 15 March] 1886 – 1917 Thessaloniki, Greece); avant-garde artist (Neo-Primitivist and Cubo-Futurist), book illustrator. He died at the age of 32 in World War I.

In 1903 he studied at Azbe School in Munich, and a year later he was a soldier in the Russo-Japanese War. From 1905 to 1910 Burliuk attended the Kyiv Art School (KKHU). He lived in various places while going to KKHU, starting in Moscow, where he lived from 1907 until 1908. In 1908 he returned to Kiev and was in close contact with Aleksandra Ekster and Mikhail Larionov. Together with the members of the group The Link (Zveno) Wladimir and David Burliuk organized an avant-garde exhibition in Kiev.

From 1909 to 1910 he lived in St.Petersburg and from 1910 to 1911 he lived in Moscow. In 1910 he became the member of the group Jack of Diamonds together with David Burliuk, Ekster, Malevich (later also Nathan Altman and Wladimir Tatlin). In the same year he became the member of the group of avant-garde artists known as the Soyuz Molodyozhi (Union of the Youth).

In 1911 he joined the art school in Odessa. From 1913 to 1915 he illustrated many futuristic publications in Moscow, including the book The Assistance of the Muses in Spring (1915). He also co-illustrated Velimir Khlebnikov’s Roar! Gauntlets, 1908–1914 alongside Kazimir Malevich.

He was drafted into the Imperial army in 1916 and was killed the following year while fighting on the Macedonian front of World War I.

Gallery

20230315_191807

Ukrainian peasant woman

Father (1910)
Portrait Study (1911)
The Trees (1911)
The Landscape (1912)
Welimir Chlebnikow (1913)
Female Figure (1913)

On this day in 1956 – My Fair Lady debuts on Broadway at the Mark Hellinger Theatre.

My Fair Lady
Original Broadway Poster by Al Hirschfeld

My Fair Lady is a musical based on George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, with book and lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner and music by Frederick Loewe. The story concerns Eliza Doolittle, a Cockney flower girl who takes speech lessons from professor Henry Higgins, a phoneticist, so that she may pass as a lady. The original Broadway, London and film versions all starred Rex Harrison.

The musical’s 1956 Broadway production was a notable critical and popular success. It set a record for the longest run of any show on Broadway up to that time. It was followed by a hit London production, a popular film version, and numerous revivals.

Synopsis

Act I

On a rainy night in Edwardian London, opera patrons are waiting under the arches of Covent Garden for cabs. Eliza Doolittle, a Cockney flower girl, runs into a young man called Freddy. She admonishes him for spilling her bunches of violets in the mud, but she cheers up after selling one to an older gentleman. She then flies into an angry outburst when a man copying down her speech is pointed out to her. The man explains that he studies phonetics and can identify anyone’s origin by their accent. He laments Eliza’s dreadful speech, asking why so many English people don’t speak properly and explaining his theory that this is what truly separates social classes, rather than looks or money (“Why Can’t the English?”). He declares that in six months he could turn Eliza into a lady by teaching her to speak properly. The older gentleman introduces himself as Colonel Pickering, a linguist who has studied Indian dialects. The phoneticist introduces himself as Henry Higgins, and, as they both have always wanted to meet each other, Higgins invites Pickering to stay at his home in London. He distractedly throws his change into Eliza’s basket, and she and her friends wonder what it would be like to live a comfortable, proper life (“Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?”).

Eliza’s father, Alfred P. Doolittle, and his drinking companions, Harry and Jamie, all dustmen, stop by the next morning. He is searching for money for a drink, and Eliza shares her profits with him (“With a Little Bit of Luck”). Pickering and Higgins are discussing vowels at Higgins’s home when Mrs. Pearce, the housekeeper, informs Higgins that a young woman with a ghastly accent has come to see him. It is Eliza, who has come to take speech lessons so she can get a job as an assistant in a florist’s shop. Pickering wagers that Higgins cannot make good on his claim and volunteers to pay for Eliza’s lessons. An intensive makeover of Eliza’s speech, manners and dress begins in preparation for her appearance at the Embassy Ball. Higgins sees himself as a kindhearted, patient man who cannot get along with women (“I’m an Ordinary Man”). To others he appears self-absorbed and misogynistic.

Alfred Doolittle is informed that his daughter has been taken in by Professor Higgins, and considers that he might be able to make a little money from the situation (“With a Little Bit of Luck” [Reprise]).

Doolittle arrives at Higgins’s house the next morning, claiming that Higgins is compromising Eliza’s virtue. Higgins is impressed by the man’s natural gift for language and brazen lack of moral values. He and Doolittle agree that Eliza can continue to take lessons and live at Higgins’s house if Higgins gives Doolittle five pounds for a spree. Higgins flippantly recommends Doolittle to an American millionaire who has written to Higgins seeking a lecturer on moral values. Meanwhile, Eliza endures speech tutoring, endlessly repeating phrases like “In Hertford, Hereford and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen” (initially, the only “h” she aspirates is in “hever”) and “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” (to practice the “long a” phoneme). Frustrated, she dreams of different ways to kill Higgins, from sickness to drowning to a firing squad (“Just You Wait”). The servants lament the hard “work” Higgins does (“The Servants’ Chorus”). Just as they give up, Eliza suddenly recites “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain” in perfect upper-class style. Higgins, Eliza, and Pickering happily dance around Higgins’s study (“The Rain in Spain”). Thereafter she speaks with impeccable received pronunciation. Mrs. Pearce, the housekeeper, insists that Eliza go to bed; she declares she is too excited to sleep (“I Could Have Danced All Night”).

For her first public tryout, Higgins takes Eliza to his mother’s box at Ascot Racecourse (“Ascot Gavotte”). Henry’s mother reluctantly agrees to help Eliza make conversation, following Henry’s advice that Eliza should stick to two subjects: the weather and everybody’s health. Eliza makes a good impression at first with her polite manners but later shocks everyone with her vulgar Cockney attitudes and slang. She does, however, capture the heart of Freddy Eynsford-Hill, the young man she ran into in the opening scene. Freddy calls on Eliza that evening, but she refuses to see him. He declares that he will wait for her as long as necessary in the street outside Higgins’s house (“On the Street Where You Live”).

Eliza’s final test requires her to pass as a lady at the Embassy Ball, and after weeks of preparation, she is ready. All the ladies and gentlemen at the ball admire her, and the Queen of Transylvania invites her to dance with her son, the prince (“Embassy Waltz”). Eliza then dances with Higgins. A rival and former student of Higgins, a Hungarian phonetician named Zoltan Karpathy, is employed by the hostess to discover Eliza’s origins through her speech. Though Pickering and his mother caution him not to, Higgins allows Karpathy to dance with Eliza.

Act II

The event is revealed to have been a success, with Zoltan Karpathy having concluded that Eliza is “not only Hungarian, but of royal blood. She is a princess!” After the ball, Pickering flatters Higgins on his triumph, and Higgins expresses his pleasure that the experiment is now over (“You Did It”). The episode leaves Eliza feeling used and abandoned. Higgins completely ignores Eliza until he mislays his slippers. He asks her where they are, and she lashes out at him, leaving the clueless professor mystified by her ingratitude. When Eliza decides to leave Higgins, he insults her in frustration and storms off. Eliza cries as she prepares to leave (“Just You Wait” [Reprise]). She finds Freddy still waiting outside (“On the Street Where You Live” [Reprise]). He begins to tell her how much he loves her, but she cuts him off, telling him that she has heard enough words; if he really loves her, he should show it (“Show Me”). She and Freddy return to Covent Garden, where her friends do not recognize her with her newly refined bearing (“The Flower Market/Wouldn’t It Be Loverly?” [Reprise]). By chance, her father is there as well, dressed in a fine suit. He explains that he received a surprise bequest of four thousand pounds a year from the American millionaire, which has raised him to middle-class respectability, and now must marry Eliza’s “stepmother”, the woman he has been living with for many years. Eliza sees that she no longer belongs in Covent Garden, and she and Freddy depart. Doolittle and his friends have one last spree before the wedding (“Get Me to the Church on Time”).

Higgins awakens the next morning to find that, without Eliza, he has tea instead of coffee, and cannot find his own files. He wonders why she left after the triumph at the ball and concludes that men (especially himself) are far superior to women (“A Hymn to Him”). Pickering, becoming annoyed with Higgins, leaves to stay with his friend at the Home Office. Higgins seeks his mother’s advice and finds Eliza having tea with her. Higgins’s mother leaves Higgins and Eliza together. Eliza explains that Higgins has always treated her as a flower girl, but she learned to be a lady because Pickering treated her as one. Higgins claims he treated her the same way that Pickering did because both Higgins and Pickering treat all women alike. Eliza accuses him of wanting her only to fetch and carry for him, saying that she will marry Freddy because he loves her. She declares she no longer needs Higgins, saying she was foolish to think she did (“Without You”). Higgins is struck by Eliza’s spirit and independence and wants her to stay with him, but she tells him that he will not see her again.

As Higgins walks home, he realizes he’s grown attached to Eliza (“I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face”). He cannot bring himself to confess that he loves her, and insists to himself that if she marries Freddy and then comes back to him, he will not accept her. But he finds it difficult to imagine being alone again. He reviews the recording he made of the morning Eliza first came to him for lessons. He hears his own harsh words: “She’s so deliciously low! So horribly dirty!” Then the phonograph turns off, and a real voice speaks in a Cockney accent: “I washed me face an’ ‘ands before I come, I did”. It is Eliza, standing in the doorway, tentatively returning to him. The musical ends on an ambiguous moment of possible reconciliation between teacher and pupil, as Higgins slouches and asks, “Eliza, where the devil are my slippers?”

Mac Tag

alan jay lerner, frederick loewe, my fair lady, the lovers almanac, the lovers chronicle, Wladimir Burliuk

Gallery

Never Forget

Gallery

Gallery

Is It Enough

Gallery

Intimate Conversation

Gallery

Woman in Carolina

Verse

Remedia Amoris (The Cure for Love)

Amores (Love Affairs)

Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love)

Gallery

Gallery

Ridin’ Away

Verse

Gallery

Gallery

Gallery

Gallery

Le Vase brisé

Never To See Or Hear Her

Synopsis

Act 1

Act 2

Act 3

Gallery

Synopsis

Subscribe by email

Topics

What’s for tea?