tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post8545207164125722345..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: EphemeralStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-71221541300439714402020-03-17T21:18:56.499-07:002020-03-17T21:18:56.499-07:00tristan: Thank you. I hope that's the case. ...tristan: Thank you. I hope that's the case. We need beauty now, don't we? Thanks to Horace (via Housman), Mahon, Yang-ti (via Waley), and the three painters, we have it. <br /><br />Thank you very much for stopping by again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-55155375990824275182020-03-17T03:22:07.830-07:002020-03-17T03:22:07.830-07:00Hurrah ! Another welcome dose of medicinal beauty....Hurrah ! Another welcome dose of medicinal beauty.tristanhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13268216095376583052noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-29659926645444520072020-03-16T21:30:50.025-07:002020-03-16T21:30:50.025-07:00Nikki: That's a lovely thought. As I believe...Nikki: That's a lovely thought. As I believe I have mentioned before, the paintings that appear here are worlds that I would like to walk into, that I daydream about walking into. But your comment makes me wonder: am I daydreaming about perfect worlds, or am I recalling, as you say, "familiar scenes from some part of my soul," from "a forgotten world"? (Or, all of the above?) Again, a lovely thought. Thank you very much for sharing it. And, as ever, thank you for visiting.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-80331645332104998172020-03-16T14:27:13.581-07:002020-03-16T14:27:13.581-07:00Many of the wonderful paintings you feature are li...Many of the wonderful paintings you feature are like windows onto a forgotten world. They are mostly new to me and yet familiar scenes from some part of my soul.Nikkihttp://www.fridaville.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-15557274680087759622020-03-15T21:05:43.942-07:002020-03-15T21:05:43.942-07:00Anonymous: Thank you very much for sharing Dickin...Anonymous: Thank you very much for sharing Dickinson's poem, and for your lovely introduction to it.<br /><br />You and Dickinson provide a needed reminder of the sometimes mixed blessing of birdsong: "The saddest noise, the sweetest noise . . ." I recently quoted Auden's "Their Lonely Betters" in responding to a comment, but this time his "Bird-Language" (which I'm sure you know) comes to mind. After acknowledging that he may at times hear "fear," "rage, bravado, lust" in "the words/Uttered on all sides by birds," he ultimately concludes: "All other notes that birds employ/Sound like synonyms for joy." That seems like a reasonable conclusion to me when it comes to robins in spring. ("Between the March and April line": that's a fine phrase!)<br /><br />Thank you again for the reminder of the "ambivalence" that accompanies spring. Falling petals and evocative birdsong.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-86282003770077058182020-03-14T10:30:21.981-07:002020-03-14T10:30:21.981-07:00Yes, between "the March and April line,"...Yes, between "the March and April line," which is right now as I write--the dogwoods down the lane in bloom--is that time of year when the birds return and fill the air with their song, and this great burst of life, this surging vitality full of promise, an augury of summer, rivets and stitches us with ambivalence. It's too obvious, perhaps a cliche, that the renewal of the earth always reminds us that what we have lost is irrevocably lost--so much so that we stand on antipodes: the sweet melody of the birds cheers us by telling us the earth is coming alive and yet, at the same time, it reminds us of voices we once loved are now stilled forever. <br /><br /><br />The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,<br /> The maddest noise that grows,—<br />The birds, they make it in the spring,<br /> At night’s delicious close.<br /><br />Between the March and April line—<br /> That magical frontier<br />Beyond which summer hesitates,<br /> Almost too heavenly near.<br /><br />It makes us think of all the dead<br /> That sauntered with us here,<br />By separation’s sorcery<br /> Made cruelly more dear.<br /><br />It makes us think of what we had,<br /> And what we now deplore.<br />We almost wish those siren throats<br /> Would go and sing no more.<br /><br />An ear can break a human heart<br /> As quickly as a spear,<br />We wish the ear had not a heart<br /> So dangerously nearAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com