Showing posts with label Famous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Famous. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Musée des Beaux Arts

(Breughel's Fall of Icarus)

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.

In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

by W.H. Auden

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Lovely love.

I will always picture you in my mind as a happy boy in love, who is now loving despite having loved and lost.

Alfred Lord Tennyson's poem In Memoriam:27, 1850:

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

One Art by Elizabeth Bishop (1911 - 1979)



The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

The good morrow.


THE GOOD-MORROW.
by John Donne

I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear ;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

A Woman's Last Words by Robert Browning





I.

Let's contend no more, Love,
Strive nor weep:
All be as before, Love,
—Only sleep!

II.

What so wild as words are?
I and thou
In debate, as birds are,
Hawk on bough!





III.

See the creature stalking
While we speak!
Hush and hide the talking,
Cheek on cheek!

IV.

What so false as truth is,
False to thee?
Where the serpent's tooth is
Shun the tree—

V.

Where the apple reddens
Never pry—
Lest we lose our Edens,
Eve and I.

VI.

Be a god and hold me
With a charm!
Be a man and fold me
With thine arm!

VII.

Teach me, only teach, Love
As I ought
I will speak thy speech, Love,
Think thy thought—

VIII.

Meet, if thou require it,
Both demands,
Laying flesh and spirit
In thy hands.

IX.

That shall be to-morrow
Not to-night:
I must bury sorrow
Out of sight:

X.

—Must a little weep, Love,
(Foolish me!)
And so fall asleep, Love,
Loved by thee.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Vegetarians and Nothing




I walked in on my Dad when he was watching The Prestige with Christian Bale. Being the stalker that I am, I decided to look him up on wikipedia. It said that he fights for animals rights. That got my heart beating fast! So, I checked it on Google... he's veg!! OMG I'm in love all over again! I'm so surprised because I hadn't realized that many other famous people are also veg...for example, Albert Einstein, Leonardo Da Vinci, Mark Twain, Isaac Newton, Vincent Van Gogh, Johnny Cash, Bob Barker, Brad Pitt, Robert Redford and of course, Christian Bale. I'm so happy!


I've been doing absolutely nothing for the past week, alternating between flipping through channels, playing final fantasy, watching weird movies and checking my blog, I cannot find that one thing that will engage this constant need to do something. It's as if I'm being chased and I can't do one thing for long or I'll be caught. Is that what school does to you? I guess it' s designed to be a good thing. No more lazy children. Always thinking that they should be doing something productive. The thing is, I never want to get a fucking job. Sure, it'll be fine for the first month, but after that, I'll be stressed and pissed at "the Man." It's like I can't see my future. I have no dreams. Not anymore. I'm just sitting, I'm alone, the way I made myself, with this annoying voice screaming in my ear, telling me that I have to do something with my life. Telling me, that no matter what I do, I will fail. I'm going to vomit. My heads is pounding, blood trying to escape this disaster waiting to happen. The pressure is getting to me. Pressure from where? I'm asking, but who will answer? Questions are so fucking easy. So easy to ask. But, why ask questions when you don't expect an answer? I'm trapped in this shit, in this steaming pile of shit the world is made of. God, what the hell am I talking about. My life is awesome. Life is beautiful. Do I really believe that? Questions. questions, questions. And more god damned questions. I'm laughing at myself. Are you laughing at me. You can lie if you want. It's OK. I can't hear you. A least you'll be doing something. Filling your life with something. Mine echo. My empty laughs. I'm empty. Emptiness is only comforting when you know that someday it will be filled.