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Dragonrouge's Journal


Dragonrouge's Journal

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7 entries this month
 

Quote

09:24 Mar 19 2012
Times Read: 788


These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.



Tis not where we lie, but whence we fell; the loss of heaven's the greatest pain in hell





Pedro Calderon de la Barca


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The Angel

12:24 Mar 14 2012
Times Read: 796


The Angel



by Michael Lermontov



1831





Photobucket Pictures, Images and Photos




At midnight an angel was crossing the sky,

And quietly he sang;

The moon and the stars and the concourse of clouds

Paid heed to his heavenly song.

He sang of the bliss of the innocent souls

In heavenly gardens above;

Of almighty God he sang out, and his praise

Was pure and sincere.

He bore in his arms a young soul

To our valley of sorrow and tears;

The young soul remembered the heavenly song

So vivid and yet without words.

And long did it struggle on earth,

With wondrous desire imbued;

But none of the tedious songs of our earth

Could rival celestial song.









~~~~~~~~~~~~



the image: Demon and Angel with Tamara's Soul by Vroubel (1891)

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:*

11:20 Mar 14 2012
Times Read: 799


"Te iubesc, dragul meu. Iartă-mi astă iubire. Ca o pasăre ce şi-a pierdut cărarea m-ai prins în umbra aripilor tale, că vălul sufletului meu săgetat de puterea ta căzu. Acoperă-l cu mila ta, dragul meu drag, şi iartă-mi astă iubire.



Şi dacă nu mă poţi iubi, dragul meu, iartă-mi astă durere. Nu-mi zvârli priviri răutăcioase din depărtarea zărilor. Mă voi strecura în colţul meu şi înmărmurită voi rămâne în puterea îngândurată a nopţii. Cu amândouă mâinile acoperi-voi ruşinea ochilor mei. Întoarce-ţi faţa de la mine, dragul meu drag, şi iartă-mi astă durere.



Şi dacă mă iubeşti, dragul meu, iartă-mi astă bucurie. Când sufletul meu e scăldat de valurile fericirii, nu râde de rătăcirea mea învolburată de primejdii. Când înălţată pe soclul puterii te conduc cu tirania dragostei mele, şi când, ca o zeiţă, îmi închin ţie darurile mele, primeşte-mi mândria, dragul meu, şi iartă-mi fericirea."



(R. Tagore)


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The International Woman Day

09:24 Mar 08 2012
Times Read: 816


Photobucket



She who ever had remained in the depth of my being,

in the twilight of gleams and of glimpses;

she who never opened her veils in the morning light,

will be my last gift to thee, my God, folded in my final song.



Words have wooed yet failed to win her;

persuasion has stretched to her its eager arms in vain.



I have roamed from country to country keeping her in the core of my heart,

and around her have risen and fallen the growth and decay of my life.



Over my thoughts and actions, my slumbers and dreams,

she reigned yet dwell alone and apart.



Many a man knocked at my door and asked for her

and turned away in despair.



There was none in the world who ever saw her face to face,

and she remained in her loneliness waiting for thy recognition.



(Tagore)







A little occasion to show my appreciation and pure love to all the ladies I know and especially to my beloved goddess of the heavens Bendis.

Be blessed!

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Bendis
Bendis
10:34 Mar 14 2012

Wow! What a wonderful picture and lyrics!!! Thank you my love and be blessed too!

Iata raspunsul meu:



* * *



M-am trezit şi am găsit mesajul tău o dată cu dimineaţa.

Nu ştiu ce-mi aduce, pentru că încă nu am învăţat să citesc.

Voi lăsa savantul neştiitor al cărţilor sale şi n-am să-l întreb:

ştiu eu dacă ar putea el să-l înţeleagă?



Mi-am atins fruntea cu scrisoarea ta, am apăsat-o pe inima mea,

iar când noaptea va veni mută şi stele se vor arăta

una câte una, am s-o deschid pe genunchii mei şi voi sta tăcut.



Frunzele murmuitoare mi-o vor citi cu glas tare;

râul grăbit mi-o va fredona şi cele şapte stele

ale cunoaşterii mi-o vor cânta în ceruri.



Nu pot găsi ceea ce caut; ceea ce aş vrea să învăţ nu înţeleg,

dar această veste pe care n-am izbutit s-o desluşesc

mi-a ridicat povara, şi gândurile mele s-au preschimbat în melodii.



(R. Tagore)





Dragonrouge
Dragonrouge
11:16 Mar 14 2012

Superb! Thank you! I love the poem!





 

Andy Paciorek / art of the beautiful-grotesque

17:28 Mar 02 2012
Times Read: 826


Andy Paciorek is a graphic artist, poet and writer, drawn mainly to the worlds of myth, folklore, symbolism, decadence, curiosa, anomaly, dark romanticism, hypnagogia and otherworldly experience. He is fascinated both by the beautiful and the grotesque and the twilight threshold consciousness where these boundaries blur. The mist-gates, edges and liminal zones where nature borders supernature and daydreams and nightmares cross paths are of great inspiration.



Art of the Beautiful~Grotesque ~A virtual gallery dedicated to the 'Other' in Art, Writing, Media, Thought and Experience.

Unconstrained by movement, era or particular creed but united by a sense of the strange.









URL:



http://beautiful-grotesque.posterous.com/


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Baudelaire`s Dream

17:08 Mar 02 2012
Times Read: 829


The artist Paul Rumsey--who you may remember from this recent post--just sent along a wonderful new work (see above) based on a circa 1856 dream of the symbolist poet Charles Baudelaire.



The artwork is entitled "Baudelaires Dream" Rumsey's descriptions of the work, and the dream, follow:



Baudelaire wrote a letter to a friend telling him about his dream. He dreams that he goes to a brothel, which is like a gallery, and finds that part of it is a medical museum. There are pictures on the wall of fetuses that the women in the brothel have given birth to. One fetus is alive and has lived there for years, it spends all day sitting on a plinth, as part of the medical exhibition. It has a rubbery appendage growing from the top of its head which it has wrapped around its body. Baudelaire has a conversation with it, then wakes up and finds that he was sleeping in the same position as the creature on its plinth.



"Baudelaires Dream" is now on view in a solo show of Rumsey's work at the Galerie Beatrice Soulie in Paris until January 15th, stumbling distance from the incredible Musée Dupuytren.







Watch the art and the article here:



http://morbidanatomy.blogspot.com/2010/12/baudelaires-dream-paul-rumsey-21st.html


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Alonzo the Brave and Fair Imogine

15:26 Mar 02 2012
Times Read: 831


a poem by Matthew Gregory Lewis



(1894)











A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright

Conversed, as they sat on the green;

They gazed on each other with tender delight:

Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight,

The maid’s was the Fair Imogine.



— “And, oh!” said the youth, “since to-morrow I go

“To fight in a far-distant land,

“Your tears for my absence soon leaving to flow,

“Some other will court you, and you will bestow

“On a wealthier suitor your hand.”—



— “Oh! hush these suspicions,” Fair Imogine said,

“Offensive to love and to me!

“For, if you be living, or if you be dead,

“I swear by the Virgin, that none in your stead

“Shall husband of Imogine be.



“And if e’er for another my heart should decide,

“Forgetting Alonzo the Brave,

“God grant, that, to punish my falsehood and pride,

“Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side,

“May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,

“And bear me away to the grave!”—



To Palestine hasten’d the hero so bold;

His love she lamented him sore:

But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when behold,

A Baron all cover’d with jewels and gold

Arrived at Fair Imogine’s door.



His treasure, his presents, his spacious domain,

Soon made her untrue to her vows:

He dazzled her eyes; he bewilder’d her brain;

He caught her affections so light and so vain,

And carried her home as his spouse.



And now had the marriage been bless’d by the priest;

The revelry now was begun:

The tables they groan’d with the weight of the feast;

Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased,

When the bell of the castle toll’d— “one!”



Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found

That a stranger was placed by her side:

His air was terrific; he utter’d no sound;

He spoke not, he moved not, he look’d not around,

But earnestly gazed on the bride.



His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height;

His armour was sable to view:

All pleasure and laughter were hush’d at his sight;

The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back in affright;

The lights in the chamber burnt blue!



His presence all bosoms appear’d to dismay;

The guests sat in silence and fear:

At length spoke the bride, while she trembled:— “I pray,

“Sir Knight, that your helmet aside you would lay,

“And deign to partake of our cheer.”—



The lady is silent: the stranger complies,

His vizor he slowly unclosed:

Oh! then what a sight met Fair Imogine’s eyes!

What words can express her dismay and surprise,

When a skeleton’s head was exposed!



All present then utter’d a terrified shout;

All turn’d with disgust from the scene.

The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out,

And sported his eyes and his temples about,

While the spectre address’d Imogine:



“Behold me, thou false one! behold me!” he cried;

“Remember Alonzo the Brave!

“God grants, that, to punish thy falsehood and pride,

“My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side,

“Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride,

“And bear thee away to the grave!”



Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound,

While loudly she shriek’d in dismay;

Then sank with his prey through the wide-yawning ground:

Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found,

Or the spectre who bore her away.



Not long lived the Baron: and none since that time

To inhabit the castle presume;

For chronicles tell, that, by order sublime,

There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,

And mourns her deplorable doom.



At midnight four times in each year does her sprite,

When mortals in slumber are bound,

Array’d in her bridal apparel of white,

Appear in the hall with the skeleton-knight,

And shriek as he whirls her around.



While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,

Dancing round them pale spectres are seen:

Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave

They howl: — “To the health of Alonzo the Brave,

And his consort, the False Imogine!”—











***

This was first published in the Third Volume of Ambrosio, or the Monk.


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