Dear Zazie, Here is today’s Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag dedicated to his muse. Do you have it covered? Rhett
The Lovers’ Chronicle
Dear Muse,
dream cover…
‘’i carry your heart with me(i carry it in…’’
Is that cummings reading, asks the pretty redhead
‘’i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done’’
yes, fabulous way to start a dream, his influence
on my writin’ is hard to miss
‘’and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant’’
I noticed, and it’s a nice tribute on his birthday
‘’and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart’’
one of the purposes here, celebratin’ poets and verse
‘’since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things’’
Oh one of my favorites;
absolutely, to wholly kiss, we like
‘’we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph’’
Another of our preferred pastimes;
i hope he has one more comin’
‘’i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.’’
that is the one i wanted
‘’of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which I will
again and again and again’’
That’s one of the best parts, shall we
‘’and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new’’
everytime with us like the first
© copyright 2024 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
up for more cummings
“I thought we did”
you mean are
“Who you calling mean”
oh sorry, not takin’ calls
“As long as we take the time”
of course, safest way to travel
“And we will, Manhattan next”
but not like Leonard meant
“No a little too dramatic”
no mamas or purpose
“You sure we got this”
babe, got it covered
© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
oh yes, have that, as long as you are talkin’ about music or words, or a warm blanket, as the temp turns cooler and we can leave the windows open; in sunshine outside on a clear fall day, the sun warm on our skin, the wind in your red hair, in life together, we have this covered
© copyright 2022.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
time we mention cummings
the hard to miss influence
on the way i write
the passion in his poems,
particular favorites
as in, i like my body
especially next to yours
or, in carryin’ your heart
since feelin’s can now
come first (feelin’s now
coverin’ us together
the deepest secret
we know)
© copyright 2021.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
Pale Love, Pale Rider
or if it be your wish to open me, yes, i
and my routine will acquiesce, willin’ly
as the heart of the matter flowers
the touch carefully over each other;
all we now perceive in this world comes,
the intensity, whose texture compels us
with the colour of where we can only be
© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
for whatever we lost
it is ourselves we found
wholly to be
the pulse
quickens,
and approves,
these kisses
are the best reason
thicker than forgotten
and more, it cannot fade
measureless, livin’ complete
it is fate, on now we stand
this is the whole
and more than all
© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
it was late when we got home
and you were sleepin’ soundly
so i decided to carry you to bed
i shushed your mild protest
when you woke and realized
what i was doin’
i helped you undress
and get into bed
and then i quickly
undressed and climbed
in beside you
i kissed you
and held you close
and told you,
over and over,
how much you mean
to me until i fell asl……
“I woke to see,
that snow had come
in the night
and covered the ground.
I know how the ground feels,
as you had done the same
for me last night;
covering me first
with the blanket,
then your arm,
then with your kisses,
and with promises.
You have me covered,
in compassion and love,
as completely as the snow
covers the ground.
I pray, it never melts.”
© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
yes, we are
(by we of course i mean me
it is just me here)
in words, in visions
in memories and would be’s
by a down comforter,
now that freezin’
temps are back
in notes
from the music of the day
in sweat
after the daily workout
certainly not by anyone else
no need to cover anymore regret
© copyright 2017.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved
dull, dark, soundless day
clouds hangin’ low
passin’ alone, on horseback,
found myself, as evenin’ drew on,
within view of melancholy
with me,
not a purpose
but a passion
held in reverence
do nothin’, you and i,
but lie under the big sky
and watch the cloud-sails
move along the mesas,
and dream and dream
***
for Gina
From this moment,
I am hooked
Our eyes lock
I walk up
And say hello
I know not much
Only this;
You are a rare one
The totem spins…
We are in Madrid
We drink too much
We have amazin’ sex
We go back to the cafes
And drink more wine
© copyright 2016 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved
When she would sometimes cry,
no solace in soothin’ hugs
nor in whispered words,
we would sit under the silence
of pulsin’ stars and wait
© copyright 2015 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved
for Marci
Reciprocal
Thoughts? Well that would
Be nice, but what
Matters; Knowin’
That she is there
To listen or
To make me smile
And that she cares
© copyright 2014 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved
A correspondence with a Muse, 2010…
Dear J,
Two poems for you by e e cummings. I hope you enjoy!
i carry your heart with me
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)
……
since feeling is first
since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;
wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world
my blood approves,
and kisses are better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don’t cry
—the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says
we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis
my dearest M,
again, you leave me speechless (which is like the Cheshire Cat being without stripes or smiles) thank you! J
Dear J,
I love the second one, “since feeling is first”. It is my new all-time favorite poem. I may have to commit it to memory. How great is the part, “we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life’s not a paragraph” I know I am gonna commit that to memory. I have another cumming’s poem in my repertoire that is very sensual. It took my breath away. Think you might be up for that? M
M,
am i up for having my breath taken away? pu-lease! bring it :). J
Dear J,
Well that is what I thought; forgive me askin’. Next time I will go with my instincts. The lady’s wish……
i like my body
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which I will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh…And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you quite so new
until next time, dear J – M
Today is the birthday of Adolphe Monticelli (Adolphe Joseph Thomas Monticelli; Marseille; October 14, 1824 – June 29, 1886 Marseille); painter of the generation preceding the Impressionists.
He developed an individual Romantic style of painting, in which richly colored, dappled, textured and glazed surfaces produce a scintillating effect. He painted courtly subjects, still lifes, portraits, and Orientalist subjects.
After 1870 he lived in Marseille in poverty despite a prolific output, selling his paintings for small sums. An unworldly man, he dedicated himself single-mindedly to his art.
Monticelli experimented briefly around 1870 with a treatment of light reflecting the discoveries of the Impressionists, he found the objectivity of this approach uncongenial.
Confronted with criticism of his style of painting Monticelli remarked, “I paint for thirty years from now”. His work reached its greatest spontaneity in the decade before his death in 1886.
Gallery
Jeune femme dénudée en Automne
Trois femmes se baignent
Jeune femme avec un ventilateur
Leda
Les femmes se baignent
Fete Champetre – The Phillips Collection
Assemblée dans un parc (1870), Liverpool, Walker Art Gallery
Femme au Paon
Portrait of Madame Rosenthal
dames élégantes dans une clairière forestière
Portrait de Madame Pascal, 1871
Today is the birthday of Albert Maignan (Albert Pierre René Maignan; Beaumont-sur-Sarthe, France 14 October 1845 – 29 September 1908 Saint-prix, France); history painter and illustrator.
by Pierre Petit
In 1889, he won a gold medal at the Exposition Universelle and received the Medal of Honor at the Salon in 1892. Three years later, he was named a Knight in the Légion d’honneur.
Most of his work is devoted to history painting, although he also produced many portraits. His Spanish and Orientalist paintings show the influence of Henri Regnault. After 1889, he also drew illustrations and painted decorative murals, including some at the Salon des Lettres at the Hôtel de Ville and the Chamber of Commerce and Industry in Saint-Étienne. Branching out, from 1895 to 1899 he created a series of tapestries for the Salle des Conférences at the Palais du Luxembourg.
He was also part of a group of painters who decorated the foyer at the Opéra-Comique and was one of several who were given commissions to decorate “Le Train Bleu”, a famous restaurant in the Gare de Lyon, in 1900.
Gallery
La Muse verte (depicting a poet being overcome by absinthe)
Apothéose du sculpteur Carpeaux
Poster for Jules Massenet’s opera Ariane (1906)
Today is the birthday of Katherine Mansfield (Kathleen Mansfield Murry née Beauchamp; Wellington, New Zealand 14 October 1888 – 9 January 1923 Fontainebleau, France); modernist writer. She wrote short stories and poetry. Mansfield was diagnosed with pulmonary tuberculosis in 1917 and she died aged 34. She was the daughter of a successful businessman who sent her away to school in England. At 18, her parents brought her back to New Zealand, and she found that she no longer had anything in common with her family.
She became one of the wildest bohemians in New Zealand. She had affairs with men and women, lived with Aborigines, and published scandalous stories. She moved back to London and lived in the bohemian scene there. she became a friend of D. H. Lawrence, Virginia Woolf, Lady Ottoline Morrell and others in the orbit of the Bloomsbury Group. At one point, she married a man she barely knew and left him before the wedding night was over because she couldn’t stand the pink bedspread.
She didn’t begin to write the stories that made her famous until her younger brother came to see her in 1915. They had long talks, reminiscing about growing up in New Zealand. He left that fall for World War I and was killed two months later. She was devastated by his death, and she wrote a series of short stories about her childhood, including “The Garden Party,” which many consider to be her masterpiece.
Quotes
Why be given a body if you have to keep it shut up in a case like a rare fiddle?
[I have] a rapacious appetite for everything and principles as light as my purse.
If only one could tell true love from false love as one can tell mushrooms from toadstools. With mushrooms it is so simple — you salt them well, put them aside and have patience. But with love, you have no sooner lighted on anything that bears even the remotest resemblance to it than you are perfectly certain it is not only a genuine specimen, but perhaps the only genuine mushroom ungathered.
- “Love and Mushrooms,” journal entry (1917), published in More Extracts from a Journal, ed. J. Middleton Murry, in The Adelphi (1923), p. 1068
And today is the birthday of Edward Estlin Cummings (Cambridge, Massachusetts; October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962 Madison, New Hampshire), often stylized as e e cummings (in the style of some of his poems); poet, painter, essayist, author, and playwright. His body of work encompassed approximately 2,900 poems; two autobiographical novels; four plays; and several essays, as well as numerous drawings and paintings. He is remembered as an eminent voice of 20th-century English literature.
in 1953
Cummings was married briefly twice, first to Elaine Orr, then to Anne Minnerly Barton. His longest relationship lasted more than three decades, a common-law marriage to Marion Morehouse.
Cummings’s first marriage began as a love affair in 1918 while Orr was still married to Scofield Thayer, one of Cummings’s friends from Harvard. During this time he wrote a good deal of his erotic poetry. After divorcing Thayer, Elaine married Cummings on March 19, 1924. However, the couple separated after only two months of marriage and divorced less than nine months later.
Cummings married his second wife, Barton, on May 1, 1929. They separated three years later in 1932. That same year, Anne obtained a Mexican divorce; it was not officially recognized in the United States until August 1934.
In 1934, after his separation from his second wife, Cummings met Morehouse, a fashion model and photographer. Although it is not clear whether the two were ever formally married, Morehouse lived with Cummings in a common-law marriage until his death.
Verse
- All in green went my love riding
on a great horse of gold
into the silver dawn.- Tulips and Chimneys (1923) IV
- somewhere i have never travelled,
- gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence.
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near - your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you always open petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) - her first rose
- or if it be your wish to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly
as the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending; - nothing we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries
rendering death and forever with each breathing- W [ViVa] (1931) LVII
- (i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands- W [ViVa] (1931) LVII
For exactly the same reason I breathe.
That’s not an answer.
There isn’t any answer.
How long hasn’t there been any answer?
As long as I can remember.
And how long have you written?
As long as I can remember.
I mean poetry.
So do I.- “Forward to an Exhibit: II” (1945)
- (i do not know what it is about you that closes
- Your poems are rather hard to understand, whereas your paintings are so easy.
Easy?
Of course—you paint flowers and girls and sunsets; things that everybody understands.
I never met him.
Who?
Everybody.
Did you ever hear of nonrepresentational painting?
I am.
Pardon me?
I am a painter, and painting is nonrepresentational.
Not all painting.
No: housepainting is representational.
And what does a housepainter represent?
Ten dollars an hour.
In other words, you don’t want to be serious—
It takes two to be serious.- “Forward to an Exhibit: II” (1945)
whose rays five languid fingers were;and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:andmay came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alonefor whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea- “maggie and milly and molly and may” in Complete Poems: 1904-1962
while Spring is in the worldmy blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom- Four VII
- Your poems are rather hard to understand, whereas your paintings are so easy.
- life’s not a paragraph
And death i think is no parenthesis- Four VII
- Women and men (both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain…
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep- 29
through sames of am through haves of give
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height- 34
—i say though hate were why men breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all- 34
- 38
…it is more sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky- 42
whose doom is beauty and its fate to grow- 50
- 50
- out of the mountain of his soul
comes a keen pure silence- 19
all the earth has turned to sky
…and i am you are i am we- 32
Love only has ever been,is,and will ever be,So- 33
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes- 65 – This poem was used by Eric Whitacre for an a capella SATB chorus titled “i thank you God”.
and this is the sun’s birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth- 65
breathing any — lifted from the no
of all nothing — human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?- 65
now the eyes of my eyes are opened- 65
that love are in we, that love are in we- 66
be beautiful- 68
alive than every world can understand
and now you are and i am now and we’re
a mystery that will never happen again, a miracle which has never happened before—
and shining this our now must come to then- 69
- seeker of truth
follow no path
all paths lead where
truth is here- 3
…love was and shall be this only truth (a dream of a deed, born not to die)- 4
…makes you feel
…for once
(imag
-ine) You- 7
thingSdare to do people- 10
man
is
gone.Tall as the truth was who; and
wore his
… life
like a …
sky.- 14
though the stars in their silence
say Be.- 29
… they live for until
though the sun in his heaven
says Now- 29
and they bow to a must
though the earth in her splendor
says May- 29
whatever(first and last)most people fear most:
a mystery for which iv’e
no word except alive- 30
screaming for international
measures that render hell rational—i thank heaven somebody’s crazy
enough to give me a daisy- 30
- 31
- 31
…
and all talking’s to oneself alone
but the very song of(as mountains
feel and lovers)singing is silence- 32
incalculable than a single kiss- 37
i or any somebody or you
can begin to begin to imagine)something which nobody may keep.- 44
—love- 73
- life’s not a paragraph
mac tag
thanks for stoppin’ by y’all
follow us on the socials @cowboycoleridge @mactagvisualart
The Lovers’ Chronicle 
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