Photo with 2 notes
Raoul Dufy
Intérieur à la fenêtre ouverte, 1928
http://www.artfixdaily.com/blogs/post/579-raoul-and-jean-dufy-at-the-mus%C3%A9e-marmottan-monet
Bright as a fallen fragment of the sky,
Mid shell-encrusted rocks the sea-pool shone,
Glassing the sunset-clouds in its clear heart,
A small enchanted world enwalled apart
In diamond mystery,
Content with its own dreams, its own strict zone
Of urchin woods, its fairy bights and bars,
Its daisy-disked anemones and rose-feathered stars.
The Rock Pool (extract)
Alfred Noyes
http://www.readbookonline.net/readOnLine/41924/
Ref. http://www.poetrylibrary.edu.au/poets/dutton-geoffrey/the-rock-pool-0731120 & http://allpoetry.com/poem/8562167-The_Rock_Pool-by-Edward_Shanks
Not Waving but Drowning
Nobody heard him, the dead man,
But still he lay moaning:
I was much further out than you thought
And not waving but drowning.Poor chap, he always loved larking
And now he’s dead
It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way,
They said.Oh, no no no, it was too cold always
(Still the dead one lay moaning)
I was much too far out all my life
And not waving but drowning.
Not Waving but Drowning
Stevie Smith
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175778
(Ref. http://www.bbc.co.uk/learningzone/clips/stevie-smith-not-waving-but-drowning/1302.html & also http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U-sBcAVAaHI )
Photo with 8 notes
Gustave Courbet
The Wave (circa 1869)
http://www.aucklandartgallery.com/whats-on/events/2012/april/open-late-tuesday-3-april
(Ref. http://www.nationalgalleries.org/collection/artists-a-z/C/2972/artist_name/Gustave%20Courbet/record_id/2486#.UHIITU3EYVc)
Photo with 2 notes
Snow Storm: Steamboat off a Harbour’s Mouth
Turner
http://artandperception.com/2007/07/wanderer-in-a-sea-of-foggy-ideas.html
Quote with 1 note
The words of the Preacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.
Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.
What profit hath a man of all his labor which he taketh under the sun?
One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever.
The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose.
The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits.
All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full: unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.
All things are full of labor; man cannot utter it: the eye is not satisfied with seeing, nor the ear filled with hearing.
The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? it hath been already of old time, which was before us.
There is no remembrance of former things; neither shall there be any remembrance of things that are to come with those that shall come after.
Ecclesiastes 1
Quote with 3 notes
The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
From you the wings of the song birds rose.You swallowed everything, like distance.
Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.Pilot’s dread, fury of blind driver,
turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!I made the wall of shadow draw back,
beyond desire and act, I walked on.Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.There was the black solitude of the islands,
and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
in which we merged and despaired.And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
And the word scarcely begun on the lips.This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!From billow to billow you still called and sang.
Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
lost discoverer, in you everything sank!It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
which the night fastens to all the timetables.The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
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