Anastasia Matveeva, Evening, 2016 When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d, and the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night, I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring, lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west, and thought of him …
Henri Rousseau, The Snake Charmer, 1907 In the swamp in secluded recesses,a shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. Solitary the thrush,the hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,sings by himself a song. Song of the bleeding throat,death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,if thou wast not granted to sing …
William Blake, The Sun at His Eastern Gate, 1820 Have you reckon’d a thousand acres much? have you reckon’d the earth much? Have you practis’d so long to learn to read? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems? Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the …
Walt Whitman – Canto di me stesso / Song of myself, 2 Read More »
Jacob Van Ruisdael, Waterfall by a church, 1667 Whispers of heavenly death murmur’d I hear,labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals,footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low,ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing,(or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses,mournfully …
Walt Whitman – Sussurri di morte celeste / Whispers of Heavenly Death Read More »
Paul Delvaux, The cortege, 1963 Dead poets, philosophs, priests, martyrs, artists, inventors, governments long since, language-shapers on other shores, nations once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn, or desolate, I dare not proceed till I respectfully credit what you have left wafted hither, I have perused it, own it is admirable, (moving awhile among it,) think nothing …
Walt Whitman – Poeti estinti, filosofi, preti / Dead poets, philosophs, priests Read More »
Claus Bergen, The Commander, 1918 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,the ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,the port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;but O heart! heart! heart!O the bleeding drops of red,where …
Walt Whitman – O Capitano! Mio Capitano! / O Captain! My Captain Read More »
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