James Ensor, The Despair of Pierrot, 1892 Eyes, lakes of my simple passion to be rebornOther than as the actor who gestures with his handAs with a pen, and evokes the foul soot of the lamps,Here’s a window in the walls of cloth I’ve torn. With legs and arms a limpid treacherous swimmerWith endless leaps, …
Stephane Mallarmé – Il Pagliaccio Punito / The Clown Chastised Read More »
Pedro Saenz, The Poet’s Tomb, 1901 Such as into Himself at last eternity changes him,the Poet with a naked sword provokeshis century appalled to not have knowndeath triumphed in that strange voice! They, like an upstart hydra hearing the angel oncepurify the meaning of tribal wordsproclaimed out loud the prophecy drunkwithout honour in the tide …
Stephane Mallarmè – La tomba di Edgar Poe / The Tomb of Edgar Poe Read More »
Jan Brueghel the Elder and Pieter van Avont, Flower Garland with the Holy Family, c. 1623 From golden showers of the ancient skies, on the first day, and the eternal snow of stars, you once unfastened giant calyxes for the young earth still innocent of scars: young gladioli with the necks of swans, laurels divine, …
Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, Immaculate Conception, 1678 The moon was saddening. Seraphim in tears dreaming, bow in hand, in the calm of vaporous flowers were drawing from dying violins white sobs gliding down over blue corollas. – It was the blessed day of your first kiss. My dreaming loving to torment me was drinking …
Paul Baudry, The pearl and the wave, 1862 Crushed by the overwhelming cloud depth of basalt and lavas by even the enslaved echoes of a trumpet without power what sepulchral shipwreck (you know it, slobbering there, foam) among hulks the supreme one flattened the naked mast too or that which, furious mistake of some noble …
Stephane Mallarmè – Crushed by the overwhelming cloud Read More »
Wassily Kandinsky, The golden sail, 1903 The flesh is sad, alas! – and I’ve read all the books. Let’s go! Far off. Let’s go! I sense that the birds, intoxicated, fly deep into unknown spume and sky! Nothing – not even old gardens mirrored by eyes – can restrain this heart that drenches itself in …
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