varia

'The Stomach Dance,' a print made in 1893 by Aubrey Beardsley (born 21 August 1872; died 16 March 1898) for the first English edition of Oscar Wilde’s 1891 play, Salome

'The Stomach Dance,' a print made in 1893 by Aubrey Beardsley (born 21 August 1872; died 16 March 1898) for the first English edition of Oscar Wilde’s 1891 play, Salome

Dame Janet Baker (born 21 August 1933) performing An die Musik, a setting composed in 1817 by Franz Schubert (1797-1828) of a poem by Franz Adolph Friedrich von Schober (1796-1882); Murray Perahia, piano

An die Musik

Du holde Kunst, in wieviel grauen Stunden,
Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt,
Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb entzunden,
Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt!

Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf’ entflossen,
Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir
Den Himmel beßrer Zeiten mir erschlossen,
Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür!

My own rather free translation…

O gracious art, in those gray hours
When my life has felt knotted & wild
You’ve lit a calm love in my heart
& shown me a better world

When I hear the sigh of your strings
Like a sweet holy chord
The sky seems a better place
O gracious art, I thank you for that

Pictured above, Salvatore Quasimodo (born 20 August 1901; died 14 June 1968), in a photograph taken around 1959, when he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature





Sunken Oboe
 
Miser misery hold your gift
This is my hour
Hoped for abandon
 
Frozen oboe repeats
Joy of returning leaves
(Not mine) & steals memory
 
It’s dusk inside me
The water goes down
The grass on my hands
 
Wings flutter in dark sky
The heart migrates
I am untilled
 
& the days rubble
 
 
Oboe sommerso
Avara pena, tarda il tuo donoin questa mia oradi sospirati abbandoni.Un oboe gelido risillabagioia di foglie perenni,non mie, e smemora;In me si fa sera:l’acqua tramontasulle mie mani erbose.Ali oscillano in fioco cielo,labili: il cuore trasmigraed io son gerbido,e i giorni una maceria.

Two more poems here

Pictured above, Salvatore Quasimodo (born 20 August 1901; died 14 June 1968), in a photograph taken around 1959, when he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature

Sunken Oboe

 
Miser misery hold your gift
This is my hour
Hoped for abandon
 
Frozen oboe repeats
Joy of returning leaves
(Not mine) & steals memory
 
It’s dusk inside me
The water goes down
The grass on my hands
 
Wings flutter in dark sky
The heart migrates
I am untilled
 
& the days rubble

 

 

Oboe sommerso

Avara pena, tarda il tuo dono
in questa mia ora
di sospirati abbandoni.

Un oboe gelido risillaba
gioia di foglie perenni,
non mie, e smemora;

In me si fa sera:
l’acqua tramonta
sulle mie mani erbose.

Ali oscillano in fioco cielo,
labili: il cuore trasmigra
ed io son gerbido,

e i giorni una maceria.

Two more poems here

'Jack Armstrong Blues,' composed by Jack Teagarden (born 20 August 1905; died 15 January 1964).  Written originally for Louis Armstrong, the piece is here performed in the mid-1950s by the Jack Teagarden All-Stars:

Marvin Ash, piano
Ray Bauduc, drums
Don Bonnee, clarinet
Heinie Beau, alto sax
Pud Brown, tenor sax
Ray Leatherwood, double bass
Charlie Teagarden, trumpet
Jack Teagarden, trombone

 

Pictured above, Gilbert Ryle (born 19 August 1900; died 6 October 1976)
From The Concept of Mind (1949):

'When two terms belong to the same category, it is proper to construct conjunctive propositions embodying them. Thus a purchaser may say that he bought a left-hand glove and a right-hand glove, but not that he bought a left-hand glove, a right-hand glove and a pair of gloves. 'She came home in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair' is a well-known joke based on the absurdity of conjoining terms of different types. It would have been equally ridiculous to construct the disjunction 'She came home either in a flood of tears or else in a sedan-chair'. Now the dogma of the Ghost in the Machine does just this. It maintains that there exist bodies and minds; that there occur physical processes and mental processes; that there are mechanical causes of corporeal movements and mental causes of corporeal movements. 'I shall argue that these and other analogous conjunctions are absurd; but, it must be noticed, the argument will not show that either of the illegitimately conjoined propositions is absurd in itself.' I am not, for example, denying that there occur mental processes. Doing long division is a mental process and so is making a joke. But I am saying that the phrase 'there occur mental processes' does not mean the same sort of thing as 'there occur physical processes', and, therefore, that it makes no sense to conjoin or disjoin the two. will If my argument is successful, there will follow some interesting consequences. First, the hallowed contrast between Mind and Matter will be dissipated, but dissipated not by either of the equally hallowed absorptions of Mind by Matter or of Matter by Mind, but in quite a different way. For the seeming contrast of the two will be shown to be as illegitimate as would be the contrast of 'she came home in a flood of tears' and 'she came home in a sedan-chair'. The belief that there is a polar opposition between Mind and Matter is the belief that they are terms of the same logical type.'

Pictured above, Gilbert Ryle (born 19 August 1900; died 6 October 1976)

From The Concept of Mind (1949):

'When two terms belong to the same category, it is proper to construct conjunctive propositions embodying them. Thus a purchaser may say that he bought a left-hand glove and a right-hand glove, but not that he bought a left-hand glove, a right-hand glove and a pair of gloves. 'She came home in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair' is a well-known joke based on the absurdity of conjoining terms of different types. It would have been equally ridiculous to construct the disjunction 'She came home either in a flood of tears or else in a sedan-chair'. Now the dogma of the Ghost in the Machine does just this. It maintains that there exist bodies and minds; that there occur physical processes and mental processes; that there are mechanical causes of corporeal movements and mental causes of corporeal movements. 'I shall argue that these and other analogous conjunctions are absurd; but, it must be noticed, the argument will not show that either of the illegitimately conjoined propositions is absurd in itself.' I am not, for example, denying that there occur mental processes. Doing long division is a mental process and so is making a joke. But I am saying that the phrase 'there occur mental processes' does not mean the same sort of thing as 'there occur physical processes', and, therefore, that it makes no sense to conjoin or disjoin the two. will If my argument is successful, there will follow some interesting consequences. First, the hallowed contrast between Mind and Matter will be dissipated, but dissipated not by either of the equally hallowed absorptions of Mind by Matter or of Matter by Mind, but in quite a different way. For the seeming contrast of the two will be shown to be as illegitimate as would be the contrast of 'she came home in a flood of tears' and 'she came home in a sedan-chair'. The belief that there is a polar opposition between Mind and Matter is the belief that they are terms of the same logical type.'

Pictured above, Le nagueur, a pastel drawing by Gustave Caillebotte (born 19 August 1848; died 21 February 1894); in the collection of the Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Pictured above, Le nagueur, a pastel drawing by Gustave Caillebotte (born 19 August 1848; died 21 February 1894); in the collection of the Musée d’Orsay, Paris

Ophidium Eel, Muraena, a print made in 1867 by Jonathan Couch, from his A History of the Fishes of the British Islands, 1867
A poem by Ogden Nash (born 19 August 1902; died 19 May 1971):
The Eel
I don’t mind eels
Except as meals.
And the way they feels.

Ophidium Eel, Muraena, a print made in 1867 by Jonathan Couch, from his A History of the Fishes of the British Islands, 1867

A poem by Ogden Nash (born 19 August 1902; died 19 May 1971):

The Eel

I don’t mind eels

Except as meals.

And the way they feels.

Pictured above, Robert Duncan (born 7 January 1919; died 3 February 1988), in a 1985 photograph by John Tranter

The Temple of the Animals The temple of the animals has fallen into disrepair. The pad of feet has faded. The panthers flee the shadows of the day. The smell of musk has faded but lingers there… lingers, lingers. Ah, bitterly in my room. Tired, I recall the animals of last year: the altars of the bear, tribunals of the ape, solitudes of elephantine gloom, rare zebra-striped retreats, prophecies of dog, sanctuaries of the pygmy deer. Were there rituals I had forgotten? animal calls to which those animal voices replied, calld and calld until that jungle stirrd. Were there voices that I heard? Love was the very animal made his lair, slept out his winter in my heart. Did he seek my heart or ever sleep there? I have seen the animals depart, forgotten their voices, or barely remembered — like the last speech when the company goes or the beloved face that the heart knows, forgets and knows — I have heard the dying footsteps fall. The sound has faded, but lingers here. Ah, bitterly I recall the animals of last year. (first published in Poetry, 1957)

Pictured above, Robert Duncan (born 7 January 1919; died 3 February 1988), in a 1985 photograph by John Tranter


The Temple of the Animals

The temple of the animals has fallen into disrepair.
The pad of feet has faded.
The panthers flee the shadows of the day.
The smell of musk has faded but lingers there…
lingers, lingers. Ah, bitterly in my room.
Tired, I recall the animals of last year:
the altars of the bear, tribunals of the ape,
solitudes of elephantine gloom, rare
zebra-striped retreats, prophecies of dog,
sanctuaries of the pygmy deer.

Were there rituals I had forgotten? animal calls
to which those animal voices replied,
calld and calld until that jungle stirrd.
Were there voices that I heard?
Love was the very animal made his lair,
slept out his winter in my heart.
Did he seek my heart or ever
sleep there?

I have seen the animals depart,
forgotten their voices, or barely remembered
— like the last speech when the company goes
or the beloved face that the heart knows,
forgets and knows —
I have heard the dying footsteps fall.
The sound has faded, but lingers here.
Ah, bitterly I recall
the animals of last year.



(first published in Poetry, 1957)

Pictured above, Jan. 4, 1966, a painting by On Kawara (born 2 January 1933), from his Today series

Pictured above, Jan. 4, 1966, a painting by On Kawara (born 2 January 1933), from his Today series

Pictured above, a plate from Coloured Figures from English Fungi, published 1789-1791, with illustrations by James Sowerby

A poem by Emily Dickinson (born 10 December 1830; died 15 May 1886):
The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants - At Evening, it is not At Morning, in a Truffled Hut It stop opon a Spot As if it tarried always And yet it’s whole Career Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay - And fleeter than a Tare - ’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler - The Germ of Alibi - Doth like a Bubble antedate And like a Bubble, hie - I feel as if the Grass was pleased To have it intermit - This surreptitious Scion Of Summer’s circumspect. Had Nature any supple Face Or could she one contemn - Had Nature an Apostate - That Mushroom - it is Him!More Dickinson posts:
Winter is good
Emily Dickinson and Roni Horn
She faces front, unafraid, her eyes wide and clear

Pictured above, a plate from Coloured Figures from English Fungi, published 1789-1791, with illustrations by James Sowerby

A poem by Emily Dickinson (born 10 December 1830; died 15 May 1886):

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants -
At Evening, it is not
At Morning, in a Truffled Hut
It stop opon a Spot

As if it tarried always
And yet it’s whole Career
Is shorter than a Snake’s Delay -
And fleeter than a Tare -

’Tis Vegetation’s Juggler -
The Germ of Alibi -
Doth like a Bubble antedate
And like a Bubble, hie -

I feel as if the Grass was pleased
To have it intermit -
This surreptitious Scion
Of Summer’s circumspect.

Had Nature any supple Face
Or could she one contemn -
Had Nature an Apostate -
That Mushroom - it is Him!



More Dickinson posts:

Winter is good

Emily Dickinson and Roni Horn

She faces front, unafraid, her eyes wide and clear