The Lovers’ Chronicle 12 October – from afar – art by Henry Thomas Alken – verse by Eugenio Montale – photography by William Claxton

Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

dream from…
from here to where, no not eternity,
that has been done, wait, where are we,
ooh, first, music please, que Van Halen III
ok, now need the lovely redhead, if i reach out…
Hello my dear
hey beautiful
What kind of dream is this
tyin’ to figure that out, seems directionless,
the song that is playin’ is ‘’From Afar’’
Perhaps a reminder that this, bein’ together,
was somethin’ we only knew from afar
could be my love, you know, there is another
song on that album that would go down good now;
’’And you’re the one I want (The only one I want)
The only one I want (The one I want)’’

© copyright 2024 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

from a Van Halen song
you do not know
“Ok”
about a guy who is not
near the one he loves thus
to have her, to love her,
he only has his imagination
“I kind of figured that”
i have been writin’ about
how there were many things
i could only enjoy from afar
but not this,
not you

a mantra, a way of life for years, partly a function of geography, of heritage, we were in the middle of nowhere so we grew up accustomed to makin’ do, or doin’ without, found there was no limit to what could be experienced from afar; it was a fine place to be before you

come, to me
now desire will be
in waitin’, intensified

you ask if everything
is this way, in this vision
whether in the hour at hand,
or in the sighs that follow,
all will be fulfilled

yes, let us spend in time;
you, my words, ensure
we will see and feel
all we will need

Pale Love, Pale Rider

absence not felt, able
to leave that be, routine
helps, and some absinthe,
gotta put a movie on,
have to git these words
out and orderly across
the page, connectin’
this story to the ones
before, see which way
She wants to go next
will it be her again, her
red hair shinin’ in the sun
of course, from afar
where this belongs

because it is poetry

in the night i dream of bein’
the vision is thick around us

the moonlight lays on the ground
a blanket on which we walk, the sand
clings to our feet and no more no one
is to blame, and away we are into what
will be, leavin’ farewell, from afar, as it is

from afar
i am with you

because it is
in the dream night
turn around
there you are

snuggle close
this bed is so cold

the candlelight
in your hair

warmth at last
as sleep comes

last thoughts
with you

for you
when you awake

if you ain’t livin’
by candlelight,
you ain’t doin’ it right

from here on the High Plains,
not the middle of nowhere
but we can git there quick,
the distance grows
and objects in the rear view,
gittin’ further away

gainin’ perspective, able
to understand better
the fails, wrong turns
even some of the
what-the-hell moments

as for the absence of life
outside of here, keep that shit
far away, but i will have
another absinthe

***

Saw pretty horses today
Was gonna get a photo
But the light was awful
Cain’t force good verse
Cain’t force good light

for Sara

The totem spins;
We are back in Belize
At that remote waterfall
Our horses graze nearby
You are resplendent
I am amazed
We fall…

My only purpose
this moment; these words
You are not alone
They are here for you
Can you feel them. Voi,
mie parole

The Golden Hour
When the just right
light permeates
When timelessness
seems possible
And whenever
I look at you

My only purpose
this moment; Your hair,
tossed by the wind. Your
skin, soakin’ up the
sun. Closest I will
git to timelessness

***

What possesses
someone to want
to play god with
other people’s
lives? What the hell?

I know I am
goin’ to hell,
so I can write
this: She is so
bat shit crazy
she wants somethin’
bad to happen

The iron is in me
I am the iron
We are one
We have the same pain
We are inseparable

for Kelli

Knowin’ that which
Is wanted, but
Never had. A
Lifetime waitin’
For this moment
Makin’ sure that
She wants no more
She waits no more

’’With a little aural stimulation
my oral fixation
will whet your appetite
and augurs well
your fleshy auger will get wet’’

Today is the birthday of Henry Thomas Alken (Soho, Westminster 12 October 1785 – 7 April 1851 London); painter and engraver chiefly known as a caricaturist and illustrator of sporting subjects and coaching scenes. His most prolific period of painting and drawing occurred between 1816 and 1831.

Portrait of Alken as Ben Talley O (published in Animal painters of England from the year 1650 by Walter Gilbey)

Alken married Maria Gordon on 14 October 1809 at St Clement’s Church, Ipswich. On 22 August of the following year later the couple’s first son was baptised. Alken went on to father five children, of whom two were artists, Samuel Henry, also a sporting artist, known as Henry Alken junior, and Sefferien junior.

Gallery

À pair, Illustration of Modern Prophecy, or Novelty for the Year 1829 – B1985.36.162 – Yale Center for British Art

Exhibition Somerset House Tom and Bob

Up and Down, or the Endeavor to Discover Which Way Your Horse is Inclined to Come Down, Backwards or Forwards

A pair: Illustration of Modern Prophecy, or Novelty for the Year 1829

“Qualified Horses and Unqualified Riders-” ‘Topping a Flight of Rails ‘ – B2001.2.532 – Yale Center for British Art

Five Steeplechasers, with a River in the Middle Distance and a Red Flag on the Horizon; Harris Museum & Art Gallery

January 1, 1827: A Steeple Chase. “Plate 5…” of 6

Today is the birthday of Eugenio Montale (Genoa; 12 October 1896 – 12 September 1981 Milan); poet, prose writer, editor and translator, and recipient of the 1975 Nobel Prize in Literature. In my opinion, the greatest Italian lyric poet since Giacomo Leopardi.

Montale married Drusilla Tanzi in 1958; they had been living together and married after the death of her first husband, the art historian Matteo Marangoni.

Tanzi was nicknamed “Mosca” (fly) because of her thick glasses to correct a strong myopia.

She has been called a “muse of Montale” who dedicated two sections of his 1971 poetry collection Satura to her. According to photographer and writer, John Ahern, writing about Montale:

In 1927 the 30-year-old poet fell in love with Drusilla Tanzi, the wife of an eminent Italian art critic. Myopic, not beautiful, overbearing, she remained the central woman of his life until her death.

The two met after Montale moved to Florence to pursue his poetry and he moved into the home she shared with her husband. Tanzi and the poet soon became lovers and moved in together on via Duca di Genova. Montale featured her in many of his works using her Mosca nickname, but he kept her true identity secret for many years

Versi

Amo l’atletica perché è poesia | se la notte sogno, | sogno di essere un maratoneta.
Folta la nuvola bianca delle falene impazzite | turbina intorno agli scialbi fanali e sulle spallette, | stende a terra una coltre su cui scricchia | come su zucchero il piede […] | e l’acqua seguita a rodere | le sponde e più nessuno è incolpevole. (da La primavera hitleriana, in La bufera e altro)
Il genio purtroppo non parla | per bocca sua. | Il genio lascia qualche traccia di zampetta | come la lepre sulla neve. (da Il genio, in Satura)

Le occasioni

Lontano, ero con te quando tuo padre | entrò nell’ombra e ti lasciò il suo addio. (da Lontano, ero con te)
Non so come stremata tu resisti | in questo lago | d’indifferenza ch’è il tuo cuore; forse | ti salva un amuleto che tu tieni | vicino alla matita delle labbra, | al piumino, alla lima: un topo bianco, | d’avorio; e così esisti! (da Dora Markus, 1928-1939)
Dalla Torre cade un suono di bronzo: | la sfilata prosegue fra tamburi che ribattono | a gloria di contrade. (da Palio)
Tu non ricordi la casa dei doganieri | sul rialzo a strapiombo sulla scogliera: | desolata t’attende dalla sera | in cui v’entrò lo sciame dei tuoi pensieri | e vi sostò irrequieto. (da La Casa Dei Doganieri)
Occorrono troppe vite per farne una. (da L’estate)

Ossi di seppia

Torna l’avvenimento | del sole e le diffuse | voci, i consueti strepiti non porta. (da Quasi una fantasia)
Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato: | era il rivo strozzato che gorgoglia, | era l’incartocciarsi della foglia | riarsa, era il cavallo stramazzato. (da Spesso il male di vivere ho incontrato)
Ascoltami, i poeti laureati | si muovono soltanto fra le piante | dai nomi poco usati. (da I limoni)
Riviere, | bastano pochi stocchi d’erbaspada | penduli da un ciglione | sul delirio del mare. (da Riviere)
Non chiederci la parola che squadri da ogni lato | l’animo nostro informe, e a lettere di fuoco | lo dichiari e risplenda come un croco | perduto in mezzo a un polveroso prato. | Ah l’uomo che se na va sicuro, | agli altri ed a se stesso amico, | e l’ombra sua non cura che la canicola | stampa sopra a uno scalcinato muro! (da Non chiederci la parola, 1925)
Felicità raggiunta, si cammina | per te sul fil di lama. | Agli occhi sei barlume che vacilla, | al piede, teso ghiaccio che s’incrina; | e dunque non ti tocchi chi più t’ama. (da Felicità raggiunta, 1925)
Forse un mattino andando in un’aria di vetro, | arida, rivolgendomi, vedrò compirsi il miracolo: | il nulla alle mie spalle, il vuoto dietro | di me, con un terrore di ubriaco. (da Forse un mattino andando, 1925)
Va’, per te l’ho pregato, – ora la sete | mi sarà lieve, meno acre la ruggine […] (da In limine, 1920-1927)
Ma in attendere è gioia più compita. (da Gloria del disteso mezzogiorno)
Tu chiedi se così tutto vanisce | in questa poca nebbia di memorie; | se nell’ora che torpe o nel sospiro | del frangente si compie ogni destino. | Vorrei dirti di no, che ti s’appressa | l’ora che passerai di la dal tempo; | forse solo chi vuole s’infinita, | e questo tu potrai, chissà, non io. (da Casa sul mare)
Voi, mie parole, tradite invano il morso | secreto, il vento nel cuore soffia. | La più vera ragione è di chi tace. (da So l’ora)
Upupa, ilare uccello calunniato | dai poeti, che roti la tua cresta | sopra l’aereo stollo del pollaio | e come un finto gallo giri al vento; | nunzio primaverile, upupa, come | per te il tempo s’arresta, | non muore più il Febbraio, | come tutto di fuori si protende | al muover del tuo capo, | aligero folletto, e tu lo ignori. (da Upupa, ilare uccello calunniato)

Xenia II

Ho sceso, dandoti il braccio almeno un milione di scale | e ora che non ci sei è il vuoto ad ogni gradino. (da Ho sceso, 1967)
Il mio dura tuttora, né più mi occorrono | le coincidenze, le prenotazioni, | le trappole, gli scorni di chi crede | che la realtà sia quella che si vede. (da Ho sceso, 1967)

And today is the birthday of William Claxton (William James Claxton; Pasadena, California; October 12, 1927 – October 11, 2008 Los Angeles); photographer and author.

Claxton’s works included a book of photographs of Steve McQueen, and Jazzlife, a book of photographs depicting jazz artists in the 1960s. Perhaps best known for his photography of jazz musicians including Chet Baker. Claxton also photographed celebrities and models.

In 1967, he created the film Basic Black, a work that is credited as the first “fashion video” and is in the collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The music for the film, using a Moog synthesizer, was composed by award-winning artist David Lucas.

He married model Peggy Moffitt in 1960. Claxton died of complications from congestive heart failure, one day before his 81st birthday.

Gallery

Chet Baker and Lili
Hollywood, 1955

Halema Alli & Chet Baker

Neile Adams et Steve McQueen

Peggy Moffitt modeling the topless swimsuit designed by Rudi Gernreich, 1964

Peggy Moffitt

Ursula Andress, Sherman Oaks, California, 1962

Natalie Wood in New York (1961)

Natalie wood 1961

Mac Tag

thanks for stoppin’ by y’all