A purely personal post

Today is the sixth anniversary of my father's death. That's him in the photo, taken circa 1950. He was a complicated man: very smart, self-indulgent, contrary, cruel and soft-hearted by turns. He liked Pink Floyd, Johnny Walker, Alison Krauss, hot weather, Bloody Marys, rare beef, and butter pecan ice cream--not necessarily in that order. He knew his way around a pool table, and his best friend for the last years of his life was an awesomely fat golden retriever named Rufus. I'm tempted to say I remember him the way Irving Feldman remembers his father, but in reality I have a lot more in common with Sharon Olds. And honestly, I like it that way. Sweet sentiments have their place, but when it comes to memories I prefer mine messy and complicated. Makes life more interesting. My father taught me that.

"...honey sweating through the pores of oak"

 

The golden age was first; when Man yet new,
No rule but uncorrupted reason knew:
And, with a native bent, did good pursue.
Unforc'd by punishment, un-aw'd by fear,
His words were simple, and his soul sincere;
Needless was written law, where none opprest:
The law of Man was written in his breast:
No suppliant crowds before the judge appear'd,
No court erected yet, nor cause was heard:
But all was safe, for conscience was their guard.
The mountain-trees in distant prospect please,
E're yet the pine descended to the seas:
E're sails were spread, new oceans to explore:
And happy mortals, unconcern'd for more,
Confin'd their wishes to their native shore.
No walls were yet; nor fence, nor mote, nor mound,
Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound:
Nor swords were forg'd; but void of care and crime,
The soft creation slept away their time.
The teeming Earth, yet guiltless of the plough,
And unprovok'd, did fruitful stores allow:
Content with food, which Nature freely bred,
On wildings and on strawberries they fed;
Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest,
And falling acorns furnish'd out a feast.
The flow'rs unsown, in fields and meadows reign'd:
And Western winds immortal spring maintain'd.
In following years, the bearded corn ensu'd
From Earth unask'd, nor was that Earth renew'd.
From veins of vallies, milk and nectar broke;
And honey sweating through the pores of oak.


From Metamorphoses (Garth translation), Book I

The Discovery of Honey, Piero di Cosimo, 1505-10 (Click on the image to enlarge it.)

Aftelier Pink Lotus

All my longtime perfume pals know that I am a great fan of lotus fragrances. You can read tributes to a couple of my favorites here and here. So naturally when Mandy Aftel asked me which Aftelier perfumes I'd be interested in reviewing, I was quick to mention Pink Lotus. The association with Madonna made me a little wary, but I was completely wowed by Cepes and Tuberose and I was curious to know what miracle Mandy might have worked with another floral note I dearly love.

Well, I guess I do have at least one thing in common with Madonna, because Pink Lotus is definitely designed for someone who adores the flower. Mandy's creation is a powerful dose of pure, vibrant lotus, with just the right amount of smooth sandalwood for support. What makes the fragrance of the lotus blossom so compelling is its marriage of a tart, watery element with smooth, fleshy sweetness. The ideal lotus note, for me, is a perfectly balanced negotiation between those disparate qualities. Aftelier Pink Lotus comes as close to my ideal as anything I've ever sampled. Sniffing it, I feel as if I'm nestled in the flower itself, enveloped in its moist, rich olfactory aura.

Natural lotus scents occasionally have a faint whiff of muddy pond about them--something I actually enjoy as long as it doesn't become overwhelming. Pink Lotus, most of you will be happy to hear, has absolutely no hint of pond scum whatsoever. The fleshy aspect, however, does develop considerably on the skin, at least it did on mine. The late drydown of Pink Lotus is gorgeous and sexy in way that would be perfect for a hot date, maybe not so perfect for the office. And when I say "late" drydown, I do mean late--this stuff has terrific lasting power for a simple floral. I got four hours from a tiny dab.


Photo of a lotus blossom at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden by Sage Ross, via Wikimedia Commons.

You can read some interesting observations about the different varieties of lotus here.

"The vast onion of the actual"

The vast onion of the actual:
The universe, the galaxy,
The solar system, and the earth,
And life, and human life, and men’s
Relationships, and men, and each man ...
History seeping from capsule
To capsule, from periphery
To center, and outward again ...
The sparkling quanta of events,
The pulsing wave motion of value ...


From "The Phoenix and the Tortoise," The Collected Longer Poems of Kenneth Rexroth, New Directions, 1970, 77-78. Excerpts from this poem are online at Bureau of Public Secrets.

Scenography of the Copernican world system from the Harmonia Macrocosmica of Andreas Cellarius, 1660.

Things are very interesting around here...

It's shaping up to be a wild week, so I'm not sure I'll be blogging every day. I do hope I'll find time to review at least of couple of the gorgeous Aftelier perfumes I've been lucky enough to sample, and I may manage a book review as well. We'll see.

Hairy Harry, Mad Peter and Tiny Amon, Agostino Carracci, c.1600 (You can read a discussion of Carracci and some observations about this painting here.)

Tracking

 

It’s not terribly cold here, but it’s gloomy and there’s been snow on the ground for days. I haven’t had much company on my hikes. On Thursday morning I listened to a long concert from a pair of coyotes who were very riled up about something, and Saturday morning a great blue heron flew over the lake....more

"The most ethereally beautiful music of the twentieth century..."

In the course of an online conversation about Olivier Messiaen, friend of the blog Stella P introduced me to a wonderful essay by Alex Ross about Messiaen's Quartet for the End of Time. That in turn sent me hunting for the music online so I could share it with you. This clip contains the fifth movement, "Louange à l'éternité de Jésus." It is indeed ethereal music and needs an attentive listener to work its transcendent magic. If you're not familiar with the work, I suggest at least skimming the essay first so you'll have an idea what you're getting into. If you want to hear more, the recording Ross mentions is available for download at Amazon.

Something sweet for Valentine's Day

And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul’s desire.

From "Love and Sleep" by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Idylle, Léon Bonnat, 1890

Stray bird

That I exist is a perpetual surprise which is life.

Stray Birds, 22, Rabindranath Tagore

Male nude, Pierre-Paul Prud'hon (1758–1823)

"It preserves language..."

"It preserves language, and it can only do it in one way—through pleasure, because we want to remember those phrases. That's the only way language can be preserved, because we want it. Because we continue to want it. Even if we don't know what it means anymore, we still want it."

That's Kay Ryan, U.S. poet laureate, talking about poetry in an interview I did with her for Chapter 16. She had a lot of fascinating things to say, which you can read here. It's a big week for dialogue at the site--in addition to the Q&A with Ryan, there are interviews with Eric Schlosser and Juan Williams. Go to the home page to see it all.

The Reading Lesson, Emile Munier (1840-95)