"...the lewd perfume that laughs along innocent limbs"

The Dawn of Love, William Etty, 1828

O maternal love,
heartbreaking for the gold
of bodies suffused
with the secret of wombs.

And beloved unconscious
attitudes of the lewd
perfume that laughs

along innocent limbs.

~ Pier Paolo Pasolini, from "Flesh and Sky"
translated by David Stivender and J.D. McClatchy

Lizard

Girl with a lizard, Gustave Jacquet (1846-1909)

A lizard does not make a sound,

it has no song,

it does not share my love affairs

with flannel sheets,

bearded men, interlocking

silver rings, the moon, 

the sea, or ink.

~ from "A Lizard in Spanish Valley" by Wendy Videlock 

Wendy Videlock's blog

"We are solitary"

We are solitary. We can delude ourselves about this and act as if it were not true. That is all. But how much better it is to recognize that we are alone; yes, even to begin from this realization. It will, of course, make us dizzy; for all points that our eyes used to rest on are taken away from us, there is no longer anything near us, and everything far away is infinitely far. A man taken out of his room and, almost without preparation or transition, placed on the heights of a great mountain range, would feel something like that: an unequalled insecurity, an abandonment to the nameless, would almost annihilate him. He would feel he was falling or think he was being catapulted out into space or exploded into a thousand pieces: what a colossal lie his brain would have to invent in order to catch up with and explain the situation of his senses. That is how all distances, all measures, change for the person who becomes solitary; many of these changes occur suddenly and then, as with the man on the mountaintop, unusual fantasies and strange feelings arise, which seem to grow out beyond all that is bearable. But it is necessary for us to experience that too. We must accept our reality as vastly as we possibly can; everything, even the unprecedented, must be possible within it. This is in the end the only kind of courage that is required of us: the courage to face the strangest, most unusual, most inexplicable experiences that can meet us. 

~ Rainer Maria Rilke, from Letters to a Young Poet 

Nu, Jean Metzinger, 1911

Judith and Holofernes

Judith by Franz Stuck (1928)

Then, the barons quickly brought her to his bed,
that wise maiden. The stouthearted warriors went
to tell their high lord that the holy lady
was brought to his pavilion. The famous prince
became blissful then; he thought of the bright maid,
to defile with impurity and disgrace.

The Almighty Lord God would not allow that,
and so, the Ruler of Heaven restrained him.
Then that fiercest warrior, wanton and fiendish,
left to go to lie where he would lose his life,
with a crowd of men, where he'd meet his cruel end,
an end as he had always striven after,
that dire prince of men, while he dwelled in this world
’neath roof of clouds. There that ruler fell so drunk
onto his mattress, that he might know nothing.

His warriors, sated with sweet wine, went from there,
out of that tall tent, quickly turning away,
the troop of men, who had led the troth-breaker,
that hostile persecutor, that earthly prince,
to his large bed for the last time. The lady,
the strong servant of the Savior, was mindful
of how she most easily might make attempt
to take old age from that most terrible one,
to deprive him, that dark lord, of a long life,
ere that wicked man awoke.

Then the wise maid, with silken hair,
sought a sharp sword from its sheath
to hew hard blows, and drew it with her right hand.
Then she called on the Creator of Heaven,
Savior of all Earth-dwellers, and said these words:
"I do pray to you, Lord Prince of Creation,
Holy Son of Heaven and Spirit of Hope,
for mercy, Mighty Majesty, in my need.

Truly, I am greatly troubled with sorrows,
my soul is now inflamed and my mind made sad.
Great Guardian of the Heavens, give to me
triumph and true faith, so I might take this sword
and deal death to this dispenser of murder.

Grant to me my welfare, Great Father of Men.
I never have had more need of your mercy.
Avenge me, Almighty Lord, give me anger
in my heart, heat in my mind." Then the High Judge
filled her completely with courage, as he does
for all who look for his loving help with faith.

Her heart was unbound, trust in Holy God reborn.
Then she grabbed that heathen man hard by his hair,
dragged him toward her with her hands, drew him nearer,
took him shamefully, and placed that sinful man
so she easily had control over him.

Then, she struck her enemy with shining sword,
swung that sharp blade straight down upon his stiff neck,
his trusted weapon falling toward his bare throat,
so that she notched halfway through his naked neck;
he lie there in a swoon, still breathing softly,
drunk and sorely wounded. He was not yet dead,
completely lifeless. Then courageous lady
earnestly struck that heathen hound one more time
so that his head rolled forth to the floor below.

The body stayed behind, as his baleful soul
wandered under the wide abyss, wrapped with pain.
The spirit now roamed elsewhere and it survived
and there below was bound tight with base torments,
surrounded by serpents, sought out for tortures,
damned and detained in hell-fire after death.

He need not hope, enveloped in that hot night,
that he might go forth from the burning furnace,
from that serpents’ hall, but he should stay trapped there,
always remain, forever and evermore,
in that dreary homestead, with deepest despair.

Then Judith, wise maid, did win worldwide renown
in battle, as granted by Bountiful God,
the Sovereign of Heaven, who gave her success.
That holy widow put the dead warrior’s head,
so bloody, into the bag in which her maid,
a lady with light skin, well-mannered servant,
had brought thither some baked bread for them both,
tightly wrapped up the trophy inside the pouch;
then, Judith gave it, so gory, to the girl,
back again to the same young, thoughtful servant
to bear it home.

Then both ladies hurried forth,
went directly from that place, bold and daring,
until the triumphant, brave maids traveled
away from the army’s camp, so they clearly
could see Bethulia’s brightly shining walls.
Then, radiant, adorned with rings, they hurried
and continued forth on the familiar course
away from the sleeping Assyrian force
until the rampart gate they joyfully gained.*

Judith with the Head of Holofernes by Cristofano Allori (1613)

*From Mary Savelli's translation of Judith, the Old English poem (with apologies for reformatting).

You can read another translation of Judith here. To read various versions of The Book of Judith, go here.  Another dozen or so depictions of Judith and Holofernes can be found here. 

A woman for our time

I volunteered to participate in one of those Facebook art memes, and my good friend Jennifer (an awesome fiddler) assigned me the work of Paolo Uccello. I dutifully spent part of my afternoon googling around for a suitable choice from his oeuvre, but for some reason I just wasn't feeling it. Late Gothic portraits and religious subjects do not speak to my present mood.

But I kept googling and—after dipping briefly into many wonderful rabbit holes—was rewarded with the image above: Lady Godiva by Remedios Varo, 1959. It really hits the spot, and no wonder. Our girl looks exceptionally badass, riding along on her own hair, breasts on full display, making like Diogenes with that lamp perched in front of her. There's not an honest man in sight, but notice that Peeping Tom is lurking in the window. I'm not sure what that fish is doing down there at her feet. Perhaps it's a bit of Christian symbolism, along with the cross LG is holding. And the crescent-moon morphing of her face? Your guess is as good as mine. But all interpretation aside, Varo's Lady speaks to me in all her ferocious, vulnerable, sexually-charged weirdness. She's an ideal woman for this menacing, surreal time.

*Read about Remedios Varo here, and reacquaint yourself with the legend of Lady Godiva here.

"love occuring..."

Just as the birds above our heads

circling

are singing,

knowing

that, in what lies before them,

the always unknown passage,

wind, water, air,

the failing light

the failing night

the blinding sun

they must get the journey done.

Listen.

They have wings and voices

are making choices

are using what they have.

They are aware

that, on long journeys,

each bears the other,

whirring,

stirring

love occuring

in the middle of the terrifying air.

From "Munich, Winter 1973 (for Y.S.)" by James Baldwin

Symbolic Dance, Jan Ciągliński, 1897-98

"A divine nimbus..."

This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear’d of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh’d day.

~ From "I Sing the Body Electric" by Walt Whitman


Nude, Vitaly Gavrilovitch Tikhov, c.1920

In the spirit of the day...

"The heart is only for giving away with a tear and a song, my love." ~ Tagore

 Casal em vermelho

 Desejo de amor

 Figura com cubos

 Namorados

 Untitled

 Namorados

Surealista

All paintings by Ismail Nery (1900-1934)

Read about Nery here. 

Quotation from Tagore's The Gardener 27

"...all the eyes of hope shall stare"

Blind go the days, but joy will see

Agreements of music; they will wind

The shaking of your dance; no more

Will the ambiguous arm-waves spell

Confusion of the blessing given.

Only and finally declare

Among the purest shapes of grace

The waking of the face of fire,

The body of waking and the skill

To make your body such a shape

That all the eyes of hope shall stare.

~ Muriel Rukeyser, from "Song"

The complete poem is here.


Circe, Robert Auer, 1942

"Go pleas’d where’er she goes, tho’ long the way"

Yield prompt compliance to the maid’s desires;

A prompt compliance fans the lover’s fires:

Go pleas’d where’er she goes, tho’ long the way,

Tho’ the fierce Dog-star dart his sultry ray;

Tho’ painted Iris gird the bluish sky,

And sure portends, that rattling storms are nigh:

Or, if the fair one pant for sylvan fame,

Gay drag the meshes, and provoke the game:

Nay, should she choose to risk the driving gale;

Or steer, or row, or agile hand the sail:

No toil, tho’ weak, tho’ fearful, thou forbear;

No toils should tire you, and no dangers scare:

Occasion smiles, then snatch an ardent kiss;

The coy may struggle, but will grant the bliss:

The bliss obtain’d, the fictious struggle past,

Unbid, they’ll clasp you in their arms at last.

~ Tibullus, from Elegies

translated by James Grainger

Higuera del Himalaya (Poema de la Tierra), Néstor Martín-Fernández de la Torre, c.1934-1936

"Three lovely notes he whistled..."

The Unknown Bird

Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard
If others sang; but others never sang
In the great beech-wood all that May and June.
No one saw him: I alone could hear him
Though many listened. Was it but four years
Ago? or five? He never came again.

Oftenest when I heard him I was alone,
Nor could I ever make another hear.
La-la-la! he called, seeming far-off—
As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world,
As if the bird or I were in a dream.
Yet that he travelled through the trees and sometimes
Neared me, was plain, though somehow distant still
He sounded. All the proof is—I told men
What I had heard.

                                   I never knew a voice,
Man, beast, or bird, better than this. I told
The naturalists; but neither had they heard
Anything like the notes that did so haunt me,
I had them clear by heart and have them still.
Four years, or five, have made no difference. Then
As now that La-la-la! was bodiless sweet:
Sad more than joyful it was, if I must say
That it was one or other, but if sad
'Twas sad only with joy too, too far off
For me to taste it. But I cannot tell
If truly never anything but fair
The days were when he sang, as now they seem.
This surely I know, that I who listened then,
Happy sometimes, sometimes suffering
A heavy body and a heavy heart,
Now straightway, if I think of it, become
Light as that bird wandering beyond my shore.

~ Edward Thomas (1878-1917)


Seated Nude, Vojtěch Hynais (1854 – 1925)


Image found at La Conchiglia di Venere

To sweeten the day...

"The world is filled with music, and in between the music, silence.."*



Sonho místico (Mystic Dream), Eliseu Visconti, 1897

*from James Schuyler's "Hymn to Life"

"I had love once..."

I had love once in the palm of my hand.

See the lines there.

                                      How we played

its game, are playing now

in the bounds of white and heartless fields.

Fall down on my head, love,

drench my flesh in the streams

                                of fine sprays. Like

                                       French perfume

so that I light up as

                                     mountain glorys

and I am showered by the scent

                          of the finished line.

~ From "A Poem for Painters" by John Wieners

Untitled, Ismael Nery (1900-1934)

"to kiss you with kisses of so great a number..."

You ask, how many kisses of yours, Lesbia, may be enough and to spare for me. As the countless Libyan sands which strew asafoetida-bearing Cyrene between the oracle of sweltering Jove and the sacred tomb of ancient Battus, or as the many stars, when night is silent, look upon the furtive loves of mortals; to kiss you with kisses of so great a number is enough and to spare for passion-driven Catullus: so many that prying eyes may not avail to number, nor ill tongues to bewitch.

Poem 7 from The Carmina of Gaius Valerius Catullus, translation by Leonard C. Smithers, 1894.

Drawing by Mihály Zichy (1827–1906)

"Listening with the whole body..."

No longer speaking

Listening with the whole body

And with every drop of blood

Overtaken by silence

But this same silence is become speech

With the speed of darkness.

~ Muriel Rukeyser, from "The Speed of Darkness"

The Embrace, Egon Schiele, 1917

"To be good..."

"To be good, according to the vulgar standard of goodness, is obviously quite easy. It merely requires a certain amount of sordid terror, a certain lack of imaginative thought, and a certain low passion for middle-class respectability." 

~ Oscar Wilde*



*From The Critic as Artist

Nudes, Paul Delvaux, 1946

Here's to flaming summer

Flaming summer

charms the earth with its own fluting

~ Sappho*

* From "Cicada", translated by Willis Barnstone.

Archipelago Flower, Anders Zorn, 1916

One Sentence Perfume Review: Most Precious, Evyan (vintage)

A pampered child at the moment she discovers her lady toy

Notes from The Perfumed Court: Tarragon, heliotrope, anise oil, lemon, lily of the valley, ylang ylang, jasmine, orange flower, gardenia, rose, tonka, coumarin


Danae, Alexandre Jacques Chantron, 1891

The story of Danae

Just FYI: Feministing's Pocket Guide to Vaginal Euphemisms

"A flower blooms there"

Press my breasts,
Part the veil of mystery,
A flower blooms there,
Crimson and fragrant.

~Yosano Akiko

from Love Poems from the Japanese


Katsushika Hokusai, c.1814

"In the sunny Spring of March and April..."

In the sunny Spring of March and April,
When water and grass are the same color,
I met a young man dallying along the road,
I'm sorry I didn't meet him earlier.

In the sunny Spring of March and April
When water and grass are the same color,
I reach up and pick the flowers from the vines.
Their perfume is like my lover's breath.

Four, now five years, I have expected you.
During this long wait my love
Has turned to sorrow.
I wish we could go away, back to some lonely place,
Where I could give my body
Completely to your embraces.

~ Mêng Chu, 3rd century
translated by Kenneth Rexroth


Black Aphrodite with Landscape Painting, James Van Der Zee, 1936