The loveliest lady that ever lived in a set of rare photos by Bob Willoughby (which I found out about via The English Muse)
This one's my favorite of the set, though there are many close contenders.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Einstein's Expanding Darkness
"As our circle of knowledge expands, so does the circumference of darkness surrounding it." -- Albert Einstein
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
"...the pauses between the notes—ah, that is where the art resides."
“The notes I handle no better than many pianists. But the pauses between the notes—ah, that is where the art resides.”--Artur Schnabel, Austrian classical pianist.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
You Who Never Arrived by Rainer Maria Rilke
another stolen poem. Great posting by Brian Fellows at Poem of the Week
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...
--Translated by Stephen Mitchell
You Who Never Arrived
You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.
You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...
--Translated by Stephen Mitchell
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