solaciolum: King of Night Vision, King of Insight (Default)
Time Traveler Extraordinaire

November 2014

1617 1819202122

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
solaciolum: Yoshitaka Amano Tarot: The Fool (fool)
Friday, April 22nd, 2011 09:52 pm
Well, it's sort of an annual tradition now, isn't it? I spent the whole day baking (carrot cake, pryaniki, strawberry galette) so this feels particularly appropriate, even if I didn't actually make braided bread. I meant to do other things, but doing things has been difficult lately, and baking is always a comfort.

Revised a little bit from last year, though not too noticeably.

good friday )
solaciolum: Fuck youuuuuuuuuu (kefka)
Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011 11:19 pm
Sometimes the only appropriate way to express myself is through pretentious iambic pentameter. And so:

solaciolum: A tree, a mountain, snow; blessed art thou, amen. (benedicta tu)
Wednesday, November 24th, 2010 02:02 pm
Purgatory Is Nearer in November
by Josephine Jacobsen

November is beautiful as the word sounds, is gray, is bare,
Is compact of wind, of leaves blown and the thin, tall rain;
Brought back to our care are the dead in November,
and the air of these days is charged with their pain.

For these are not the free dead, not the remote, bright crowd
Of our picture-book, or our image of nebulous heaven:
These are caught, tangled in a web comfortless as a shroud--
These have not familiar place, nor flight, nor oblivion, even.

They have not escaped yet-they are close in the clouds massing together;
At the cold first drop you will stare on the dark ground and remember.
They are the accent of autumn, they are the source of the tone of this weather.
The heart is reached by the waiting dead, in their month, in November.

(This month always catches up to me in weird ways; everything is fine, but I'm very tired.)
solaciolum: And suddenly, it's 2005 all over again, with the leaves and the rain forever, amen. (autumn)
Wednesday, August 25th, 2010 07:34 pm
I can't remember when I bought Wiktor Woroszylsk's The Life of Mayakovsky- I found it at a used bookstore (probably The Strand, but I've honestly no idea), and it has sat on my bookshelf for quite some time, looking intimidating and mysterious in a way that is particularly appropriate for a biography of Vladimir Mayakovsky.

a bit of pointless, conclusionless nattering )
solaciolum: when night falls on the land, all will understand (walking on the wind)
Sunday, May 9th, 2010 07:08 pm
(Still in a poetry sort of mood. My brain is very tired right now.)

The Wise Word, The Good Word
by April Bernard

Intolerable tumult in the corridor;
storm drains wad up with melon rinds while
heavy gritty drops hurl judgment
on the men who sit and sell trash.
Maple keys, reaped, are tossed to cement,
as if in Persian carpeting, while the bodega cats
adjust their own postures, so.
So the news of the rain's passing.

Many are the other places we own
yet somehow do not hold title to;
broad and cool are their polished stone floors.
Something said is snappy, something drained down the throat
cool and thin in its coursing.

Somewhere else the sky clears like an opened eye.
Color admits and then form, as ever, and a pleasing line.
It is not as if these places could not be taken by force.
Be we are contemplating a different way to speak
upon the ground that wounds so easily at the foot's passage:
Sweep, sweep the edge of your cape in the silver and green
of the unborn maple trees.
solaciolum: Edward and Anna perform The Invention of Love, with added Spooniness (spoony bard)
Wednesday, May 5th, 2010 11:26 pm
Dreamwidth, honey, I had a post. I submitted that post. Where did my post go? ;_;

*sigh* Fine. I'll just...rewrite it. Later. Anyway! I went to the Paradise City Craft Fair in Philadelphia over the weekend, and artist Vitek Kruta- who creates these incredible, magical three dimensional multimedia paintings he calls "Inscapes"- was displaying a piece based on this poem. Here is a picture of it, but the photo doesn't do the piece justice in the slightest.

You Who Never Arrived
by Reiner Maria Rilke
translation from the German by Stephen Mitchell

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs would please you )
solaciolum: King of Night Vision, King of Insight (galileo)
Friday, April 30th, 2010 11:08 pm
End of the month! I should have posted more, but eh.

These are both things that I have posted elsewhere, in various forms, but they are both things that are vital to me in some way or another.  Someday, I will get tattoos of these poems- the Mayakovsky in the original Russian, on my back, and the Pound on my ribcage, framing my right breast.

excerpt from "A Cloud in Trousers"
by Vladimir Mayakovsky

я знаю -
солнце померкло б, увидев
нашизх душ золотые россыпи!

I know-
the sun itself would dim, if it could see
the gold fields of our souls!

Notes from Canto CXX
by Ezra Pound

I have tried to write Paradise.

Do not move.
          Let the wind speak.
                   That is paradise.

Let the Gods forgive what I
          have made

Let those I love try to forgive
          what I have made.
solaciolum: Watching the river roll... (get up jonah)
Saturday, April 17th, 2010 10:12 pm
Poem Written by the Sea
by Hu'u Thinh

When you're far away
The moon too is alone,
The sun alone,
The sea, proud of its vastness,
Is quick to be lonely
                          when briefly without sails.

The wind is not a whip, but still erodes the mountainsides.
You are not an evening, but dye me violet.

A wave goes nowhere
                            if it isn't bringing you back.

Even so,
It staggers me
Because of you.

Translation from Vietnamese by George Evans and Nguyen Qui Duc

solaciolum: Six String Samurai, the Four Guitarists of the Apocalypse, "Nice Shoes" (nice shoes)
Monday, April 12th, 2010 10:12 am
I'm doing that thing that I do where I look at my gmail tab in firefox and then very surreptitiously hide it under my thumb and pretend it isn't there. This is not productive in any way, except for the way that it gets fingerprints on my screen. >_< Going to try to rectify this and respond to email soon, but I figure a heads up is in order.

I also feel like it is time for some Chesterton. And so:

The Last Hero
by G.K. Chesterton

The wind blew out from Bergen from the dawning to the day,
There was a wreck of trees and fall of towers a score of miles away,
And drifted like a livid leaf I go before its tide,
Spewed out of house and stable, beggared of flag and bride.
The heavens are bowed about my head, shouting like seraph wars,
With rains that might put out the sun and clean the sky of stars,
Rains like the fall of ruined seas from secret worlds above,
The roaring of the rains of God none but the lonely love.
Feast in my hall, O foemen, and eat and drink and drain,
You never loved the sun in heaven as I have loved the rain.

The chance of battle changes -- so may all battle be;
I stole my lady bride from them, they stole her back from me.
I rent her from her red-roofed hall, I rode and saw arise,
More lovely than the living flowers the hatred in her eyes.
She never loved me, never bent, never was less divine;
The sunset never loved me, the wind was never mine.
Was it all nothing that she stood imperial in duresse?
Silence itself made softer with the sweeping of her dress.

The wind blew out from Bergen to the dawning of the day )
solaciolum: Watching the river roll... (get up jonah)
Wednesday, April 7th, 2010 06:25 pm
Meditation on the Word Need
by Linda Rodriguez

The problem with words of emotion
is how easily meaning drains
from their fiddle-sweet sounds
and they become empty instruments.
I can say love
and mean desire to give—
open-handed, open-hearted—
or I am drawn to the light
shining from your soul—
or my life is empty without you—
or I want to run my hands
and mouth down the length of you—
or all of these at once.

Need, now, is a plain word.
I need a nail to hang this picture.
I need money to pay my bills.
I need air and light,
water and food,
shelter from storm and sun and cold.
To be healthy,
to be sane,
to survive,
I need you.
solaciolum: Edward and Anna perform The Invention of Love, with added Spooniness (spoony bard)
Friday, April 2nd, 2010 10:39 pm
First, because it's appropriate and Eliot will always be my favorite: East Coker by T.S. Eliot.

Second, because I'm in a mildly exhibitionist sort of mood:

(still more or less untitled)

take this bread that once was dough )
solaciolum: Yoshitaka Amano Tarot: The Fool (fool)
Thursday, April 1st, 2010 01:17 am
Our Lady Peace
by Mark van Doren

How far is it to peace, the piper sighed,
The solitary, sweating as he paused.
Asphalt the noon; the ravens, terrified,
Fled carrion thunder that percussion caused.

The envelope of earth was powder loud;
The taut wings shivered, driven at the sun.
The piper put his pipe away and bowed.
Not here, he said. I hunt the love-cool one,

The dancer with the clipped hair. Where is she?
We shook our heads, parting for him to pass.
Our lady was of no such trim degree,
And none of us had seen her face, alas.

She was the very ridges that we must scale,
Securing the rough top. And how she smiled
Was how our strength would issue. Not to fail
Was having her, gigantic, undefiled,

For homely goddess, big as the world that burned,
Grandmother and taskmistress, frild and town.
We let the stranger go; but when we turned
Our lady lived, fierce in each other's frown.

(This is not, actually, the Mark van Doren poem with which I wanted to start National Poetry Month- sadly, I don't have "Another Music" immediately on hand.)