edited digital collage including photograph by Yoann Boyer via Unsplash
There’ll be that crowd to make men wild through all the centuries, And maybe there’ll be some young belle walk out to make men wild Who is my beauty’s equal, though that my heart denies, But not the exact likeness, the simplicity of a child, And that proud look as though she had gazed into the burning sun, And all the shapely body no tittle gone astray, I mourn for that most lonely thing; and yet God’s will be done, I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.
THE rain set early in to-night, The sullen wind was soon awake, It tore the elm-tops down for spite, And did its worst to vex the lake: I listen’d with heart fit to break. When glided in Porphyria; straight She shut the cold out and the storm, And kneel’d and made the cheerless grate Blaze up, and all the cottage warm; Which done, she rose, and from her form Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl, And laid her soil’d gloves by, untied Her hat and let the damp hair fall, And, last, she sat down by my side And call’d me.
cf. Videos by mohamed Hassan (storm) and Moshe Harosh (woman) both via Pixabay (edited collage by me)
THE LARGEST fire ever known Occurs each afternoon, Discovered is without surprise, Proceeds without concern: Consumes, and no report to men, An Occidental town, Rebuilt another morning To be again burned down.
cf. Photograph by Shane Rounce (detail) via Unsplash and CGI by pixel shox
i stepped back into time waded into the same river twice you know, nick had some really good advice for gatsby it’s easy to get lost romance glancer true love chancer happiness chaser gone again spacer
cf. London Stereoscopic Company, “Jeames at Home!” (ca. 1860-1870)
Who will go drive with Fergus now, And pierce the deep wood’s woven shade, And dance upon the level shore? Young man, lift up your russet brow, And lift your tender eyelids, maid, And brood on hopes and fear no more.
And no more turn aside and brood Upon love’s bitter mystery; For Fergus rules the brazen cars, And rules the shadows of the wood, And the white breast of the dim sea And all dishevelled wandering stars.
Elavil, Ludiomil, Doxepin, Norpramin, Prozac, Lithium, Xanax, Wellbutrin, Parnate, Nardil, Zoloft. The coated ones smell sweet or have no smell; the powdery ones smell like the chemistry lab at school that made me hold my breath.
—Jane Kenyon, “Having it Out with Melancholy” (excerpt)
cf. Photographs by Clem Onojeghuo (ocean) and Lukas Budimaier (man) via Unsplash (edited collage)
“Consider them both, the sea and the land; and do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half-known life. God keep thee! Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!”
Twelve o’clock. Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory And all its clear relations, Its divisions and precisions, Every street lamp that I pass Beats like a fatalistic drum, And through the spaces of the dark Midnight shakes the memory As a madman shakes a dead geranium.
—T.S. Eliot, Rhapsody on a Windy Night (excerpt)
If this is what’s real If this is what’s true Tell me how come I keep forgetting we’re not in love anymore…
cf. from W. H. Broadwell, “Night Photography” (ca. 1909)