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Meunier, Henri - EM27 - LHeure du Silence

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 20:57:06 -0800

Henri Meunier Belgian (1873-1922), L'Heure du Silence, November 1897, 12 in x 15 3/4 in (31 cm x 40 cm)

http://wixter.stumbleupon.com/review/37465553/

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 17:28:05 -0800

The Indigo Bunting

I go to the door often.
Night and summer. Crickets
lift their cries.
I know you are out.
You are driving
late through the summer night.

I do not know what will happen.
I have no claim on you.
I am one star
you have as guide; others
love you, the night
so dark over the Azores.

You have been working outdoors,
gone all week. I feel you
in this lamp lit
so late. As I reach for it
I feel myself
driving through the night.

I love a firmness in you
that disdains the trivial
and regains the difficult.
You become part then
of the firmness of night,
the granite holding up walls.

There were women in Egypt who
supported with their firmness the stars
as they revolved,
hardly aware
of the passage from night
to day and back to night.

I love you where you go
through the night, not swerving,
clear as the indigo
bunting in her flight,
passing over two
thousand miles of ocean.

Robert Bly

http://www.thegreatnude.tv/blog/images/posts/03.09/andrew-wyeth/9-andrew-wyeth-Lovers.jpg

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 06:58:35 -0800

http://wixter.stumbleupon.com/review/37452475/

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 06:54:10 -0800

Adam's Complaint

Some people,
no matter what you give them,
still want the moon.

The bread, the salt,
white meat and dark,
still hungry.

The marriage bed
and the cradle,
still empty arms.

You give them land,
their own earth under their feet,
still they take to the roads.

And water: dig them the deepest well,
still it's not deep enough
to drink the moon from.

Denise Levertov

http://www.thegreatnude.tv/blog/images/posts/03.09/andrew-wyeth/8-andrew-wyeth-Overflow.jpg

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 19:00:56 -0800

Andrew Wyeth, Overflow

http://wixter.stumbleupon.com/review/37435189/

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 14:51:41 -0800

Envy of Other People's Poems

In one version of the legend the sirens couldn't sing.
It was only a sailor's story that they could.
So Odysseus, lashed to the mast, was harrowed
By a music that he didn't hear -- plungings of the sea,
Wind-sheer, the off-shore hunger of the birds --
And the mute women gathering kelp for garden mulch,
Seeing him strain against the cordage, seeing
the awful longing in his eyes, are changed forever
On their rocky waste of island by their imagination
Of his imagination of the song they didn't sing.

Robert Hass

http://www.thegreatnude.tv/blog/images/posts/03.09/andrew-wyeth/5-andrew-wyeth-floatation_device.jpg

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 14:44:00 -0800

http://wixter.stumbleupon.com/review/37376885/

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 14:15:50 -0800

The Blue Booby

The blue booby lives
on the bare rocks
of Galapagos
and fears nothing.
It is a simple life:
they live on fish,
and there are few predators.
Also, the males do not
make fools of themselves
chasing after the young
ladies. Rather,
they gather the blue
objects of the world
and construct from them

a nest—an occasional
Gaulois package,
a string of beads,
a piece of cloth from
a sailor’s suit. This
replaces the need for
dazzling plumage;
in fact, in the past
fifty million years
the male has grown
considerably duller,
nor can he sing well.
The female, though,

asks little of him—
the blue satisfies her
completely, has
a magical effect
on her. When she returns
from her day of
gossip and shopping,
she sees he has found her
a new shred of blue foil:
for this she rewards him
with her dark body,
the stars turn slowly
in the blue foil beside them
like the eyes of a mild savior.

James Tate

David Alfaro Siqueiros. Self-Portrait. - Olgas Gallery

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 11:34:43 -0800

David Alfaro Siqueiros. Self-Portrait. 1961. Acrylic. 81 x 61 cm.

Head III - Francis Bacon Painting

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:14:40 -0800

Francis Bacon, Head III, 1961