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How definitions do change… #Eliot #Middlemarch

How definitions do change… #Eliot #Middlemarch

#lartigue #postcard + #fortunecookie

#lartigue #postcard + #fortunecookie

"No plumbers in the foyé, please."

"No plumbers in the foyé, please."

mhsteger:

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)

mhsteger:

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)

As the altar of a church would present but a barren stylization but for the uncalculated offerings of the confused and humble; as the corsage of a woman is made suddenly martial and sorrowful by the rose thrust among the more decorous blooms by the hand of a lover suffering the violence of the overlapping of the permission to bestow a last embrace, and its withdrawal: making a vanishing and infinitesimal bull’s-eye of that which had a moment before been a buoyant and showy bosom, by dragging time out of his bowels (for a lover knows two times, that which he is given, and that which he must make)—so Felix was astonished to find that the most touching flowers laid on the alter he had raised to his imagination were placed there by the people of the underworld, and that the reddest was to be the rose of the doctor.

from Djuna Barnes’ Nightwood

[pp. 30-1 in NDP98]

Andy Goldsworthy’s Stone River, at Stanford’s Cantor Center

Andy Goldsworthy’s Stone River, at Stanford’s Cantor Center

discardingimages:

in the court of Pluto and ProserpinaÉvrart de Conty, Les Échecs amoureux, France 1496-1498.
BnF, Français 143, fol. 136v

discardingimages:

in the court of Pluto and Proserpina

Évrart de Conty, Les Échecs amoureux, France 1496-1498.

BnF, Français 143, fol. 136v

Authenticity comes from a single faithfulness: that to the ambiguity of experience.
John Berger (via invisiblestories)
M. H. Abrams notes that Joyce was also interested in producing aesthetic objects embodying “purposiveness … without … a purpose” as he pursued a “systematic translation of religious formulas into a comprehensive aesthetic theory, in which the artist, or artificer, undertakes to redeem both life and the world by recreating them into a new world. Joyce’s new world, however, is radically opposed to Wordsworth’s, for it is no other than the work of art itself.” Put another way, Joyce rejects the acquiescence to the natural world central to poems like “Tintern Abbey,” the “Intimations” ode, and The Prelude, works in which the self is recovered, albeit bedimmed. Instead, in what I am suggesting is characteristic of the fundamentally Coleridgean model that Joyce employs, the world is entirely rebuilt—purified by imaginative revelation. Nevertheless, my intention here is not to make the familiar suggestion that Joyce is essentially a Romantic nor to imply that Coleridge is something of a proto-modernist but rather to note their common aesthetic endeavor, in which the self is subsumed in the aesthetic form or the vision itself. As a theory, this enterprise derives from Coleridge’s intellectual engagement with Kant, specifically his dissatisfaction with the inaccessibility of noumena. In practice, however, Coleridge’s “Kubla Khan” and “The Ancient Mariner” establish the tradition of determined aestheticism that runs from Keats through Wilde, Alfred, Lord Tennyson, D. G. Rossetti, Robert Browning, W. B. Yeats, and Ezra Pound before reaching Joyce. In tracing this broad trajectory, I stress the prevalence of the supernatural, or of a pursuit of beauty, that goes beyond achieving a tolerable representation of the physical world.
Brad Bannon, “Joyce, Coleridge, and the Eastern Aesthetic” (JJQ 48.3, 2011). (via grandhotelabyss)