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Nothing could be clearer to all con- cerned than that i am not a policeman. Meanwhile the tea regressed. Miggin's harm in is,extinguishing the spittoon by a candle furnished by courtesy of the management on Thursdays,opposite which a church stood perfectly upright but not piano item: By this time,however,the flight of crows had ceased. I withdrew my hands from the tennisracket. One brief convulsive octopus,and then our hero folded his umbrella. It seemed too beautiful. Let us perhaps excuse me if i repeat himself: If i should have made this perfectly clear,it entirely would have been not my fault.
XXXIII voices to voices,lip to lip i swear to noone everyone constitutes undying;or whatever this and that petal confutes While you and i have lips and voices which are for kissing and to sing with who cares if some oneeyed son of a bitch invents an instrument to measure Spring with? Which being quite beyond dispute as prove from Troy N.
O a monkey with a sharp face waddling carefully the length of this padded pole;a monkey attached by a chain securely to this always talking individual,mysterious witty hatless. Cats which move smoothly from neck to neck of bottles,cats smoothly willowing out and in between bottles,who step smoothly and rapidly along this pole over five squirming mice;or leap through hoops offire,creatingsmoothness.
People stare,the drunker applaud while twilight takes the sting out of the vermilion jacket of nodding hairy Jacqueline who is given a mouse to hold lovingly, our lady what do you think of this? Do your proud fingers and your arms tremble remembering something squirming fragile and which had been presented unto you by a mystery? Like the crackle of a typewriter,in the afternoon sky. That is enough of life,for you. VI you are not going to,dear.
You are not going to and i but that doesn't in the least matter. The big fear Who held us deeply in His fist is no longer,can you imagine it i can't which doesn't matter and what does is possibly this dear,that we may resume impact with the inutile collide once more with the imaginable,love,and eat sunlight do you believe it? Dear i put my eyes into you but that doesn't matter further than of old because you fooled the doctors,i touch you with hopes and words and with so and so: It's different too isn't it different dear from moving as we,you and i,used to move when i thought you were going to but that doesn't matter when you thought you were going to America.
Love if you like and i like,for the reason that i hate people and lean out of this window is love,iove and the reason that i laugh and breathe is oh love and the reason that i do not fall into this street is love. And send life out of me and the night absolutely into me II touching you i say it being Spring and night "let us go a very little beyond the last road—there's something to be found" and smiling you answer "every thing turns into something else,and slips away Along the sand behind us,a big yellow dog that's II oil tel duh woil doi sez dooyuh unnurs tanmih eesez pullih nizmus tash,oi dough un giv uh shid oi sez.
Tom oidoughwuntuh doot,butoiguttuh braikyooz,datswut eesez tuhmih. Nowoi askyuh woodundat maik yurarstoin green? Muh jax awl gawn. Fur Croi saik ainnoughbudih gutnutntuhplai? Next door but four gentlemen are trinightly entertained by a whore who Talks in the daytime,when who is asleep with only several faces and a multitude of chins: Both very young noisily who kiss throw silently things Each at other if not quarrelling in a luxury of telescoped languages she smokes three castles He looks Jewish ,next door but One a on Dirty bed Mangy from person Porous sits years its of self fee bly Perpetually coughing And thickly spotting But next door nobody seems to live at present l'on parle de repapering;i don't think so.
Some people 's future is toothsome like they got pockets full may take a littl e nibble now And then bite candy others fly,their;puLLing: McKinley when Buch tooked out his C. Abe tucks it up back inley clamored Clever Rusefelt to Theodore Odysseus Graren't we couldn't free the negro because he ant but Coolitch wiped his valley forge with Sitting Bull's T.
I thereupon loosened my collar and dove for the nearest 1 surreptitiously cogitating the dictum of a new england sculptor well on in life re the helen moller dancers,whom he considered "elevating—that is,if dancing CAN be elevating" Miss believe it or Gay is a certain Young Woman unacquainted with the libido and pursuing a course of instruction at radcliffe college,cambridge,mass. De room swung roun an crawled up into itself, an awful big light squoits down my spine like i was dead er sumpn: XXIX in a middle of a room stands a suicide sniffing a Paper rose smiling to a self "somewhere it is Spring and sometimes people are in real-.
M iN -visiblya mongban gedfrag- ment ssky? XLV you in win ter who sit dying thinking huddled behind dir ty glass mind muddled and cuddled by dreams or some times vacantly gazing through un washed panes into a crisp todo of murdering uncouth faces which pass rap idly with their breaths. I have never loved you dear as now i love behold this fool who,in the month of June, having of certain stars and planets heard, rose very slowly in a tight balloon until the smallening world became absurd; him did an archer spy whose aim had erred never and by that little trick or this he shot the aeronaut down,into the abyss —and wonderfully i fell through the green groove of twilight,striking into many a piece.
I have never loved you dear as now i love god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon, collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life which liked the sun and the moon resembles something that has not occurred: I have never loved you dear as now i love. The moon's round,through the window as you see and really i have no servants. We could almost live at the top of these stairs,there's a free room. We almost could go you and i into a together whitely big there is but if so or so slowly i opened the window a most tinyness,the moon with white wig and polished buttons would take you away —and all the clocks would run down the next day.
LVII somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: LX because i love you last night clothed in sealace appeared to me your mind drifting with chuckling rubbish of pearl weed coral and stones; lifted,and before my eyes sinking inward,fled;softly your face smile breasts gargled by death: LXIII be unto love as rain is unto colour;create me gradually or as these emerging now hills invent the air breathe simply my each how my trembling where my still unvisible when.
Wait if i am not heart,because at least i beat —always think i am gone like a sun which must go sometimes,to make an earth gladly seem firm for you: LXVI nothing is more exactly terrible than to be alone in the house,with somebody and with something You are gone, there is laughter and despair impersonates a street i lean from the window,behold ghosts, a man hugging a woman in a park. LXX here is the ocean,this is moonlight: S i r rlvInG. But he turned into a fair y! Two pale slippery small eyes balanced upon one broken babypout pretty teeth wander into which and out of Life,dost Thou contain a marvel than this death named Smith less strange?
Married and lies afraid;aggressive and: Says over un graves der,speaking says. Nci;ddaanncciinn GIY a nda n-saint dance! When out of sheer nothing came a huger than fear a white with madness wind and broke oceans and tore mountains from their sockets and strewed the black air with writhing alive skies—and in death's place new fragrantly young earth space opening was.
King Christ,this world is all aleak; and lifepreservers there are none: Streets glit ter a,strut: Love having found wound up such pretty toys as themselves could not know: Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootof- minusone. You and I are human beings;mostpeople are snobs. Take the matter of being born. What does being born mean to most- people?
The cultured aristocrat yanked out of his hyperexclusively ultravoluptuous super- palazzo,and dumped into an incredibly vulgar detentioncamp swarming with every conceivable species of undesirable organism. Mostpeople fancy a guaranteed birthproof safetysuit of nondestructible selflessness. If mostpeople were to be born twice they'd improbably call it dying— you and I are not snobs. We can never be born enough. We are human beings;for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery,the mystery of growing: You and I wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming.
Life,for eternal us,is now;and now is much too busy being a little more than everything to seem anything,catastrophic included.
S i r rlvInG. Ah, come with me! Her Nudity seats Itself sharply beside. What is thy breast to me? I have never loved you dear as now i love god's terrible face,brighter than a spoon, collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life which liked the sun and the moon resembles something that has not occurred:
Take the socalled standardofliving. What do mostpeople mean by "living"? They don't mean living. They mean the latest and closest plural approximation to singular prenatal passivity which science,in its finite but unbounded wisdom,has suc- ceeded in selling their wives.
If science could fail,a mountain's a mammal.
Mostpeople's wives can spot a genuine delusion of embryonic omni- potence immediately and will accept no substitutes —luckily for us,a mountain is a mammal. The plusorminus movie to end moving,the strictly scientific parlourgame of real unreality,the tyranny conceived in misconception and dedicated to the proposition that every man is a woman and any woman a king,hasn't a wheel to stand on. What their most synthetic not to mention transparent majesty, mrsandmr collective foetus,would improbably call a ghost is walking. He isn't an undream of anaesthetized impersons,or a cosmic comfort- station,or a transcendentally sterilized lookiesoundiefeelietastiesmellie.
He is a healthily complex,a naturally homogeneous,citizen of immor- tality. The now of his each pitying free imperfect gesture,his any birth or hreathing,insults perfected inframortally millenniums of slavishness. He is a little more than everything,he is democracy;he is alive: Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles: Nothing false,nothing difficult or easy or small or colossal. Nothing ordinary or extraordinary,nothing emptied or filled,real or unreal;nothing feeble and known or clumsy and guessed.
Everywhere tints childrening,innocent spontaneous,true. No- where possibly what flesh and impossibly such a garden,but actually flowers which breasts are among the very mouths of light. Nothing be- lieved or doubted;brain over heart, surface: Only how measureless coolflamesof making; only each other building always distinct selves of mutual entirely open- ing;only alive. Never the murdered finalities of wherewhen and yesno, impotent nongames of wrongright and rightwrong;never to gain or pause,never the soft adventure of undoom,greedy anguishes and cringing ecstasies of inexistence;never to rest and never to have: Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question E.
Little ness be ing comes ex -pert- Ly expand: For if you're young,whatever life you wear it will become you;and if you are glad whatever's living will yourself become.
Girlboys may nothing more than boygirls need: No body loved big that quick sharp thick snake of a voice these root like legs or feethands; nobody ever could ever had love loved whose his climbing shoulders queerly twilight: We're alive and shall bexities may overflow am was assassinating whole grassblades,five ideas can swallow a man;three words im -prison a woman for all her now: Employs a very crazily how clownlike that this quickly ghost scribbling from there to where —name unless i'm mistaken chauvesouris— whose grammar is atrocious; but so what princess selene doesn't know a thing who's much too busy being her beautiful yes.
Expecting more would be neither fantastic nor pathological but dumb. The number of times a wheel turns doesn't determine its roundness: Women and men both little and small cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn't they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone's any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance sleep wake hope and then they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down one day anyone died i guess and noone stooped to kiss his face busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes.
Lifting the valleys of the sea my father moved through griefs of joy; praising a forehead called the moon singing desire into begin joy was his song and joy so pure a heart of star by him could steer and pure so now and now so yes the wrists of twilight would rejoice keen as midsummer's keen beyond conceiving mind of sun will stand, so strictly over utmost him so hugely stood my father's dream hisfleshwasfleshhis blood was blood: My father moved through theys of we, singing each new leaf out of each tree and every child was sure that spring danced when she heard my father sing then let men kill which cannot share, let blood and flesh be mud and mire,.
By handless hints do conjurers rule? Each why of a leaf says floating each how you're which as to die each green of a new you're who as to grow but you're he as to do what must whispers be must be the wise fool ifliving'stogive so breathing's to steal— five wishes are five and one hand is a mind then over our thief goes you go and i has pulled for he's we such fruit from what bough that someone called they made him pay with his now.
Huge this collective pseudobeast sans either pain or joy does nothing except preexist its hoi in its polloi and if sometimes he's prodded forth to exercise her vote or made by threats of something worth than death to change their coat —which something as you'll never guess infiftythousand years equals the quote and unquote loss of liberty my dears— or even is compelled to fight itself from tame to teem still doth our hero contemplate in raptures of undream that strictly and how scienti fie land of supernod where freedom is compulsory and only man is god.
Progress is a comfortable disease: A world of made is not a world of born—pity poor flesh and trees,poor stars and stones,but never this fine specimen of hypermagical ultraomnipotence. We doctors know a hopeless case if—listen: It's two are halves of one: Let liars wilt,repaying life they're loaned; we by a gift called dying born must grow deep in dark least ourselves remembering love only rides his year. XIX when you are silent,shining host by guest a snowingly enfolding glory is all angry common things to disappear causing through mystery miracle peace: Blow king to beggar and queen to seem blow friend tofiend: Blow hope to terror;blow seeing to blind blow pity to envy and soul to mind —whose hearts are mountains,roots are trees, it's they shall cry hello to the spring what if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two, peels forever out of his grave and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?
Blow soon to never and never to twice blow life to isn't: Swoop shrill collective myth into thy grave merely to toil the scale to shrillerness per every madge and mabel dick and dave —tomorrow is our permanent address and there they'll scarcely find us if they do, we'll move away still further: Hills jump with brooks: Soul was i understand seduced by Life;whose brother married Heart, now Mrs Death. Old may mean anything which everyone would rather not become; but growing is" erect her whole life smiled "was and will always remain: Look at these each serenely welcoming his only and inimitably his destiny mountains!
Be thou gay by dark and day: Mountains are mountains now;skies now are skies— and such a sharpening freedom lifts our blood as if whole supreme this complete doubtless universe we'd and we alone had made —yes;or as if our souls,awakened from summer's green trance,would not adventure soon a deeper magic: At which smiling he stops: And darling never fear: Time's a strange fellow; more he gives than takes and he takes all nor any marvel finds quite disappearance but some keener makes losing,gaining —love!
The whole truth not hid by matter;not by mind revealed more than all dying life,all living death and never which has been or will be told sings only—and all lovers are the song. Here only here is freedom: And then this dreamer wept: Tall as the truth was who: Death should take his hat off to this dame: To doubt that in whose form less form all goodness truth and beauty lurk, simply to her does not occur alarm ing notion for idealists? Nobody ,it's safe to say,observed him but myself;and why? Much better than which,every woman who's despite the ultramachinations of some loveless infraworld a woman knows; and certain men quite possibly may have shall we say guessed?
In spectral such hugest how hush,one dead leaf stirring makes a crash —far away as far as alive lies april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some perpetually roaming whylessness— autumn has gone: Then,with not credible the anywhere eclipsing of a spirit's ignorance by every wisdom knowledge fears to dare, how the myself's own self who's child will dance! Only whose vision can create the whole being forever born a foolishwise proudhumble citizen of ecstasies more steep than climb can time with all his years he's free into the beauty of the truth; and strolls the axis of the universe —love.
Where we sought For help in that with which we could do naught, You were at hand, prepared to show the way, And when we came to you in sore dismay You made most clear the path with perils fraught. Now when wefindourselves about to lose Your leadership, whose strength will ever dwell In us and by us to the very end, We know no better title we can use In wishing you afinal,fond farewell, Than that whichfitsyou best,—our faithful friend! And now, when Nature begins to grow, And the buds are out, and the birds are gay And all is well—above and below,— Here's to the coming of blithesome May.
Winter was good when he met us here, With his sharp, clear days, and hisflashingsnow, But we carried Winter out on his bier, And buried him, many a month ago. March was not hard with all his blow, With April, Spring seemed on her way, But we've reached the best at last, and so Here's to the coming of blithesome May. Winter has ended his cold career,— No more death, and no more woe,— We've come at last to a different sphere, With no more freezing, and—mistletoe.
Spring in coming was very slow,— Altogether too much delay,— But we've cheered her on from foe to foe: Here's to the coming of blithesome May. Envoi Think of the gratitude all must owe,— Heaven has visited earth to-day. It's well enough to talk of poor and peers, And munch the golden apples' shiny core, And lay a lot of heroes on their biers;— While the great Alec, knocking down a score, Takes out his handkerchief, boohoo-ing, "More!
How shall I manage to compose a theme? Envoi Of what avail is all my mighty lore? I beat my breast, I tear my hair, I scream: Spring was good, and Summer better, But the best of all is waiting,— Madame Winter—don't forget her. Spring we welcomed when we met, Summer was a blessing; Autumn points to school, but yet Let's be acquiescing. Spring had many precious pleasures; Winter's on a different rating; She has greater, richer treasures,— O You Skating!
Gleam of ice, and glint of steel, Jolly, snappy weather; Glide on ice and joy of zeal, All, alone, together. Who can imprint her? We've found life hid between the folds of mire, Sensed life in every place, heard life in tune. The earth-shell cracks with underneath desire; Spring crawls from the cocoon. Her puny wings vibrant with will to grow, She clings, expanding like an opening eye; More large, more able, more developed, lo, The perfect butterfly.
A faint beam totters feebly in the west, Trembles, and all the earth is wild with light, Stumbles, and all the world is in the dark. The huge black sleep above;—lo, two white stars. Harvard, your shadow-walls, and ghost-toned tower, Dim, ancient-moulded, vague, and faint, and far, Is gone! And through thefleshI see the soul: Colouring iron in red leaping flame, The thunder-strokes of mighty, sweating men, Furious hammers clashingfierceand high,— And in a corner of the smithy coiled, Black, brutal, massive-linked, the toil-wrought chain Which is to bind God's right hand to the world.
Huge finny forms of phosphorescence flee— Weird shadows—through the deeps, or caracole With the sea-horses on some eye-less shoal, Quickening the leafage of a wave-tombed tree. As a great miser, morbid with his gain, Pricked by unhealthy frettings, drowns dismay In gorging on his plunders, one by one,— Sudden—out of the vault of Heaven, the Sun Unlocks the rainbow's glory, and the day. The air is strange with rare birds after rain. Such lustre, spread So livingly before our starting sight, Cries in the accents of its primal might: Oh little thrush With the holy note, Like a footstep of God in a sick-room's hush My soul you crush.
Unstopped organ, from earth you break To knock at the skies, And I can but shake My fragile fetters, and with you rise Into Paradise. But Love, your music requires not wings. To the common breed It clings, and sings: This is my creed. A panting silence fills The empty vault of Night with shimmering bars Of sullen silver, where the lake distils Its misered bounty. No whisper mars The utter silence of the untranslated stars. Poises the sun upon his west, a spark Superlative,—and dives beneath the world; From the day's fillets Night shakes out her locks; List!
One pure trembling drop of cadence purled— "Summer! For I will have her mine! For, poorly-clad, she is strangely proud, And will not sit at the servants' board, But saith she comes of the snow. He rose from the table, red with wine; He put one hand against the wall, Swaying as he did stand; Three steps took he in the breathless hall, Said, "You shall love me, for you are mine. White stretched the north-land, white the south She was gone like a spark from the ash that chars; And "After her! They found the maid. And her eyes were stars, A starry smile was upon her mouth, And the snow-flowers in her hair.
Delicious dark the hive of heaven drips; Now in the firmament all shining crowd The trembling, yearning stars, that cannot speak For perfect joy; now steals a shadowy cloud, A radiant tear, across the moon's pale cheek. Dumbly the glorious sky yields up her lips. New skies new seasons bring. Wee red men build their lodge of yellow sands In the primeval grass; the willow stands Donned in her ermine, to be crowned with Spring.
How high the sky's vast purple palace towers! And lo, the pride of majesty beguiled, With playful hands, King Winter's laughing child, Sweet April Heaven, from that royal brow Hath plucked the snowy wreath of cloud, and now Flings from her lap the million fluttering flowers. The face Of heaven clouded with the Day's red doom Was veiled in silent darkness, and the musk Of summer's glorious rose breathed in the gloom.
Then from the world's harsh voice and glittering eyes, The awful rant and roar of men and things, Forth fared we into Silence. The strong wings Of Nature shut us from the common crowd; On high, the stars like sleeping butterflies Hung from the great grey drowsyflowersof cloud. Three fragrant trees which guard the gates, Three perfume-trees which sweeten nights, Rise upon heaven, full of stars And dripping with white radiance.
Her body is more white than trees. Five founts of Bacchus, honey-cold, Five showers making drunk the lawns, Spout up a dark delicious rain Filling the earth with sleep and tears. Her tresses are more sweet than wine. Seven flowers which breathe divinity, Seven wondering blossoms of embrace, Open their glory to the moon, Kissing white immortality. Her mouth is chaster than a flower. When the fleet moonlight silently Fled like a white nymph down the grass, Leaving the night to loneliness, All songfully I loved my love In gardens of white ivory. The strings are silver to my harp, And all the frame is ebony I think the moon is blossoming— My hungry fingers bite the strings— My harp becomes a flower, and blooms.
The strings are golden to my harp, And all the frame is as a rose.
I think the moon is quivering— My longing fingers search the chords— My harp becomes a heart, and breaks. When thefirstday-beam silently Broke like an arrow from the east, Quivering unto the heights of dawn, All silently I left my love In gardens of white ivory. There are three trees which stand like dreams Before the gates of ivory; The moon has withered in the west— My harp has withered—Hail the day! Wherefore this dagger at my thighs.
There arefivefounts which play like sleep Upon the gates of ivory; The moon is songless in the west— My harp is songless—Hail the day! Wherefore this dagger at my hands. There are sevenflowerswhich smile like death Within the gates of ivory; The moon is broken in the west— My harp is broken—Hail the day! Wherefore this dagger at my heart. Here will I meet my love Beneath hushed trees.
Over the silver meadows Offlower-foldedgrass, Shall come unto me Her feet like arrows of moonlight. Under the magic forest Mute with shadow, I will utterly greet The blown star of her face. By white waters Sheathed in rippling silence, Shall I behold her hands Hurting the dark with lilies. Hush thee to worship, soul! Now is thy movement of love. Night; and a red cloud Under the moon. I n green cloisters throng Shy nuns of evening, telling beads of song. Swallows, like winged prayers, soar steadily by, Hallowing twilight. From the faint and high, Night waves her misting censers, and along The world, the singing rises into strong, Pure peace.
Now earth and heaven twain raptures die. I knew your presence in the twilight mist, In the world-filling darkness, in the rain That spoke in whispers,—for the world was kissed And laid in sleep. The Christlike sun Moves to his resurrection in rejoicing heights, And priestly hills partake of morning one by one. I look for you when comes the beautiful blue moon, When earth is as a queen whose soul hath taken flight, Embalmed in the entire strength of perfect light. The immense heaven, a vase of utter silence, towers Vastward, beyond where dreams the unawakened moon, Holding infinity and her invisible flowers.
The hours drum up to sunset; now the west awakes To armies.
Suddenly across the firmament Couriers of light spur forth their captain's high intent. Now devout legions, mustering heavenward without cease, Face the hushed hordes of night. A trumpet-radiance breaks— I see the young ranked glories marching down to peace. Twilight, and great with silence of beginning dreams, Yet haunted still by broken hosts in brave retreat, Of blameless cohorts whelmed into sublime defeat, Which, darkly under world their ragged spears withdraw, Shall rise tofirethe night in far victorious gleams, When over the towered east leaps the white sword of dawn.
So do I want you, when in heavenly spaces God Slips His white wonders on the silent trail of time; When out the smoking eve begins to slowly climb A great, red, fearsomeflower,about whose fatal face The faint moths gather and die—till withered pale, she nod Far in the west, and morn the little dreams shall chase. Now is the world at peace; Heaven unto her heart Holdeth sublimities afar from touch of day, Presents divine the fates shall never take away, Unfaded memories, immortal ponderings, The little knock of prayer whereby are thrown apart Those inner doors which lead into all priceless things.
O night, mother divine of poetry and stars! O thou whose patient face is nearest unto God, Thou of chaste feet with beautiful oblivion shod, Having the dear, swift-winged dark within thy hands,— The prison invisible of souls thy peace unbars, And love and I rise up into unspoken lands. Life, I bid thee to say. Who hath taken away Her who sate at my side.
For whiter is she than any pearl; But the nights be lonely and dread. Life, what hast thou done with thy loveliest girl? Look to the wood, She said. For the white bird, O, the white bird, Sleep he toucheth the white bird, The white bird and the red.
Give me her eyes! For I would kiss them asleep, That are so cool and deep, So soft and wondering wide. Bluer are they than ponds of dream; But the skies be grey o'erhead. Life, where may the eyes of thy fairest gleam? Look to thefield,She said. For the blueflower,O, the blue flower, Night he stilleth the blue flower, The blueflowerand the red. O, for her hair! Her young and wonderful hair, To hide my sorrow there, In the heart of a shining tide.
For her hair is more yellow than Heaven's dawn; But the world's last leaves be shed. Life, where is thy youngest angel gone? Look to the west, She said. For the yellow light, O, the yellow light, Death he moweth the yellow light, The yellow light and the red. Well 'ware art Thou that these have no redress, For always in Thine eyes is all distress Of bodies that without due raiment be; But are there Souls in winter garmentless, Be with them, God!
Not for the hungry has my spirit care, Whether their bodies shall befilledor no, With whom the world her bounty will not share, Wherefore they move on feeble feet and slow, Feeling dear Death within their bodies grow: Thou knowest these at pain beyond confess, For sorrow never may Thy ears transgress, Though lips be locked and pain shall hold the key; But are there Souls whom hunger doth oppress.
Be with them, God! It is considered his first masterwork, and it remains the best known and most recorded of his works. At the end of the French Third Republic , the Far East was in fashion in France, particularly in certain artistic circles. According to Philippe Rodriguez, the trip allowed the young composer to "reduce as much as possible an inferiority complex" [b] he suffered from, despite ecouragement from Maurice Ravel , thanks to "the authenticity of an exoticism drawn from the source".
Delage likely had a piano, as he felt himself unable to compose without a keyboard [8] He first made a version for soprano and piano [9] and then magnified it with a rich harmonic instrumentation.
The technique of the instruments, all solo, is so exact that the harmonic instrumentation seems to have been specified very early. The instrumental formation is reduced effectively to chamber music , in which the piano is excluded. It was a great success for Delage, who was still largely unknown. So much poetry and freshness, so much fine sensibility in a harmonic vocabulary of a taste so exquisite that even the listeners least sympathetic to this kind sport were wont to comptemplate a second time the lone fir tree 'Lahore'. The Heine poem,subtly ironic in its parallel of the fir numbed with cold and the palm under the burning sun, allows Delage to evoke the Far East with luxurious arpeggios on the harp.
This novel effect stunned its first audiences. The instrumental accompaniment is of great refinement.
According to Vuillermoz, "Mr. Delage is a veritable child of the 20th century, with the instinctive ease of his delectable handling of dissonance, his curiosity with rare timbres, his desire to push back sonic boundaries, his skillful annexation of neighbouring lands in the unexplored domains of noise. His impatience with the yoke in the presence of the imperfections of our musical material is characteristic; he loosens the bow of his viola to B he invents a pizzicato-glissando which pulls from the string an almost human sob, he demands closed-mouth vocalizations from the female voice, and sometimes imposes on it a veiled nasal tone of an invisible mute, and all without a laborious strangeness, without bias, and virtually without searching.
Delage learned music by playing and improvising on his viola. I will not dwell on these pieces, which are short but still too long for meagre musical interest they offer. Liens vers cet article Envoyer par e-mail BlogThis! Hedy Lamarr , actrice et inventrice. Ravissante, sans doute, blonde, pas vraiment, et idiote, pas du tout. Les relations entre Marilyn Monroe et la Fox, dont elle est l'une des vedettes, sont alors tendues.
Sous le titre Marilyn "Wows 'Em" in Korea! Le couple divorce en Un pur moment de bonheur. The Prince and the Showgirl. Un tournage difficile pour ce film Le Prince et la danseuse coproduit par la star.