The Lovers’ Chronicle 17 May – dreams, reprise no. three – art by Botticelli, Georgette Agutte & A. J. Casson – verse by Jacint Verdaguer – Día das Letras Galegas

Dear Z,  Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag to his Muse.  Do you live your dreams, or dream your life?  Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

had to go with a song by one of my favorites;
“And in the end
On dreams we will depend
'Cause that's what love is made of”
the Sammy version of Van Halen, “Dreams”
“Only surprised when you don’t choose a VH song”
this one fits well since we rode our dreams
through the broken times, into solitude
and then to each other
“They sustained and delivered us,
and now we live them”
on this we will depend 

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a second home, if not primary, so much time spent, readin’ at a young age opened the door, a function of growin’ up with limited options, as an adult, still made frequent trips there, just could not git livin’ ‘em right, then got stuck in some sad ‘ol situations and they became an escape, a survival tool, managed to escape those and found myself in solitude content to write and dream my life away, i had no idea i would finally live ‘em with you

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Guy wrote and sang it best;
“Well he’s one of those who knows
that life is just a leap of faith
Spread your arms and hold you breath
And always trust your cape”

actin’ out desires
no longer confined
to dreams

more than imagined,
a smile, then, you

cara mia, come,
spread your arms

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Pale Love, Pale Rider

yes more please

comfort here
now that we are all done
with that damn foolishness

whatever possessed, ah well,
just gonna leave it lie, no point
in gettin’ wound up, but
this could lead to my new
favorite thing to write
about and hell, might
even be profound;

the absurdity appalls

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i miss your songs

today, pourin’ this verse
tryin’ to fill in the gaps
need direction for this
so of course, turn to you

who could from dawn
till dusk, inspire all of this

so much has been said
so much remains

for the one that sings to me
wave on wave feel it comin’

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who could at dawn come

“I miss your songs.”

today, inside the verse
amidst wild flowers
on the plains
or in the moonlight,

everything since,
there on the steps
the one who yesterday
sang to you, who today
would give and give to return

more than imagined,
a smile, then, will you

have we not been
through enough

wave on wave
cara mia, come,
towards the day

***

i mean,
i made it half way
some never
make it that far

is that not
good enough

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helluva dream…

fine sense of humor…
you get sent
on this amazin’ trip
a trip from which
you will never return

and along the way
you discover the purpose
of the journey
to find the one
you cannot be without

but (here is where
the humor comes in),
you keep choosin’
the wrong damn one

and then (here is where
humor sticks the knife
in and twists),
you meet the most
incredible woman
ever
but she is completely
beyond your reach

and you complete
the journey
without

helluva life

………

“But you’ll be alone.”
i have been alone before
and i will be fine

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When the hour is
darkest, escape
into words. There
is no other
way to survive.

Cry Havoc! And let slip the madness!

Once more unto the madness dear friends.

You want answers!?
“I want the madness!”
YOU CANNOT HANDLE THE MADNESS!!!

Keep your friends close and the madness closer.

Ever make love to madness in the pale moonlight?

It is not personal, it is just madness.

Hell, I even thought I was dead. Then I realized it was just that I was in madness!

Go ahead! Make my madness!

Madness is as madness does.

I love the smell of madness in the mornin’.

Show me the madness!

You had me at madness.

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Dreams and Desires

So much has been said
So little has been said
So much remains to be said
Or does it

Which is better
To act out one’s desires
Or keep them to oneself
Hidden in one’s dreams

How to know
Which desires, when acted on,
Will bring more pleasure than pain
More good than grief

How to know
Which desires should be kept
Safely tucked away
Deep inside dreams

Desires versus dreams
Dreams and/or desires
That is the challenge
To balance the two
To live in the sunshine
To limit the what ifs
To limit the regrets
To live a life one can believe in

***

She did not love me
for who I was;
she loved me for who
she wanted me to be.

© copyright 2012 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Today is the death day of Sandro Botticelli (Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi; Florence c. 1445 – May 17, 1510 Florence); painter of the Early Renaissance. Botticelli’s posthumous reputation suffered until the late 19th century, when he was rediscovered by the Pre-Raphaelites who stimulated a reappraisal of his work. Since then, his paintings have been seen to represent the linear grace of late Italian Gothic and some Early Renaissance painting, even though they date from the latter half of the Italian Renaissance period.

In addition to the mythological subjects for which he is best known today, Botticelli painted a wide range of religious subjects (including dozens of renditions of the Madonna and Child, many in the round tondo shape) and also some portraits. His best-known works are The Birth of Venus and Primavera, both in the Uffizi in Florence, which holds many of Botticelli’s works. Botticelli lived all his life in the same neighbourhood of Florence; his only significant times elsewhere were the months he spent painting in Pisa in 1474 and the Sistine Chapel in Rome in 1481–82.

Only one of Botticelli’s paintings, the Mystic Nativity (National Gallery, London) is inscribed with a date (1501), but others can be dated with varying degrees of certainty on the basis of archival records, so the development of his style can be traced with some confidence. He was an independent master for all the 1470s, which saw his reputation soar. The 1480s were his most successful decade, the one in which his large mythological paintings were completed along with many of his most famous Madonnas. By the 1490s, his style became more personal and to some extent mannered. His last works show him moving in a direction opposite to that of Leonardo da Vinci (seven years his junior) and the new generation of painters creating the High Renaissance style, and instead returning to a style that many have described as more Gothic or “archaic”.

Botticelli never married, and apparently expressed a strong dislike of the idea of marriage. An anecdote records that his patron Tommaso Soderini, who died in 1485, suggested he marry, to which Botticelli replied that a few days before he had dreamed that he had married, woke up “struck with grief”, and for the rest of the night walked the streets to avoid the dream resuming if he slept again. The story concludes cryptically that Soderini understood “that he was not fit ground for planting vines”.

He might have had a close relationship with Simonetta Vespucci (1453–1476), who has been claimed, especially by John Ruskin, to be portrayed in several of his works and to have served as the inspiration for many of the female figures in the artist’s paintings. It is possible that he was at least platonically in love with Simonetta, given his request to have himself buried at the foot of her tomb in the Ognissanti – the church of the Vespucci – in Florence, although this was also Botticelli’s church, where he had been baptized. When he died in 1510, his remains were placed as he requested.

Gallery

Today is the birthday of Jacint Verdaguer (Jacint Verdaguer i Santaló; Folgueroles, Spain; May 17, 1845 – June 10, 1902 Vallvidrera, Barcelona); writer, regarded as one of the greatest poets of Catalan literature and a prominent literary figure of the Renaixença, a cultural revival movement of the late Romantic era.  The bishop Josep Torras i Bages, one of the main figures of Catalan nationalism, called him the “Prince of Catalan poets”.  He was also known as mossèn (Father) Cinto Verdaguer, because of his career as a priest, and informally also simply “mossèn Cinto” (with Cinto being a short form of Jacint).

Niuada de calàndries, poetes de ma terra;
jo enyoro vostres càntics d’amor dintre la mar;
avui, que el maig aboca ses flors pel pla i la serra,
ai!, qui pogués a l’hora de l’alba refilar!

A Montserrat tot plora,
tot plora d’ahir ençà,
que allí a l’escolania
s’és mort un escolà.
L’escolania, oh Verge,
n’és vostre colomar:
a aquell que ahir us cantava,
qui avui no el plorarà?

Més si jo et tinc, per què m’enyoro?;
si tu em somrius, doncs, de què ploro?
Lo cor de l’home és una mar,
tot l’univers no l’ompliria;
Griselda mia,
deixa’m plorar!

Ja hi he navegat prou
per les mars de la terra,
de golfos de neguit,
d’onades de tristesa.
Barqueta mia, anem,
anem-se’n, barca meva,
cap a la mar del cel
avui que està serena.

On this day in 1863 – Rosalía de Castro publishes Cantares Gallegos, her first collection of poetry and the first book in the Galician language.  This day is commemorated every year as the Día das Letras Galegas (“Galician Literature Day”), an official holiday of the Autonomous Community of Galicia. For more on de Castro click here

28.

Bosques, casa, sepulturas,
Campanarios e campanas
Con sons vagos de doçuras
Que despertan ¡ai! ternuras
Qu’ en jamais podran ser vanas!

Risas, cantos, armonia,
Brandas músicas, contento,
Festas, dansas, alegria,
Se trocou na triste e fria,
Xorda vós do forte vento.

—Cantares gallegos

Today is the birthday oh Georgette Agutte (Calais 17 May 1867 – 5 September 1922 Chamonix); painter.

Agutte was a non-conformist and the only woman to attend the École nationale supérieure des Beaux-Arts. She was a member of the Fauvist movement and a sculptor. Her studio was in Bonnières-sur-Seine.

In 1888, she married the critic Paul Flat. After divorcing in 1894, she married socialist politician and art collector Marcel Sembat in 1897.

From 1904 on, she exhibited at the Salon des Indépendants and participated in the Salon d’Automne.

After her husband’s death from a cerebral hemorrhage, she wrote on a note: “Voilà douze heures qu’il est parti. Je suis en retard” (He left 12 hours ago, I’m late) and died by suicide with a broken wine bottle. Knowing the importance of their art collection, the conservator of the Musee de Grenoble, Andry-Farcy, made every effort to obtain it. The museum holds most of her works and presented a retrospective at the end of December 2003.

A street is named after her in the 18th arrondissement of Paris, and a boulevard jointly for her and Sembat in Grenoble.

Gallery

And today is the birthday of A. J. Casson (Alfred Joseph Casson; Toronto; May 17, 1898 – February 20, 1992 Toronto); member of the Canadian group of artists known as the Group of Seven. He joined the group in 1926 at the invitation of Franklin Carmichael, replacing Frank Johnston. Casson is best known for his depictions in his signature limited palette of southern Ontario, and for being the youngest member of the Group of Seven.

In 1924, Casson married Margaret Petry. His father died shortly after his marriage, and he had to take care of and support his widowed mother. After the end of the Group of Seven in 1932, he helped found the Canadian Group of Painters in 1933, along with several members of the Group of Seven who also became members of the Canadian Group of Painters, including Lawren Harris, Arthur Lismer, A. Y. Jackson and Franklin Carmichael.

Casson died three months short of his 94th birthday, and is buried on the grounds of the McMichael Canadian Art Collection, along with six other Group of Seven members.

Gallery

The Song of the Day is “Dreams” by Taken By Trees

thanks for stoppin’ by y’all

Mac Tag

And so it seems I must always write you letters here that I can never send. – Sylvia Plath

Women are never disarmed by compliments. Men always are. – Oscar Wilde

There is a unique rightness and beauty to life which can be shared with a fellow human being who believes in the same basic principles.  Sylvia Plath

Live in the sunshine, swim in the sea, drink the wild air. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense. – Ralph Waldo Emerson

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