The Lovers’ Chronicle 8 December – pleasure – birth of Horace & Jim Morrison – art by Adolph von Menzel, Camille Claudel & Diego Rivera

Dear Zazie Lee,  Here is the latest edition of The Lovers’ Chronicle from Mac Tag.  Where do you find pleasure? Rhett

The Lovers’ Chronicle

Dear Muse,

there is a Queen song that fits the category;
“So let’s make the best of the rest of our years
Ooh, ooh, pain is so close to pleasure, I told you so”
“Any Queen song, anything Freddie sang”
yes, and i like the concept of the two
bein’ related, one often followin’ the other
perhaps like a seesaw goin’ up and down,
one minute up in pleasure,
the next down in pain
“But since we met the balance has tipped
far in the favor of pleasure”
lets keep it that way

© copyright 2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

another take on what this trail could be about; dichotomy of pain and pleasure, how they go together sometimes, hurts so good you know, does one enhance the other, can one be appreciated without the other, i know this, i have a high tolerance for the first, and only began to understand my tolerance for the latter with you

© copyright 2022.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

a principle i suppose
never gave it much thought for years
responsibilities and obligations
had to be carried and they were
could not shy away from them
personal needs were left for
if there was time, which rarely
there was and that was ok

such a turnabout since you
makin’ pleasure a priority

© copyright 2021.2023 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Pale Love, Pale Rider

i can believe
turnin’ towards
do you dare
kindness
forgiveness
in the strengthenin’
whispers, becomes
here we are
watchin’
we are aware
this is it
we know
we exist
we have not forgotten
soft driven, slow and mad
wanderin’ in hopeful night

i touch your thigh
and i know

© copyright 2020 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

rarely find one
who has been there,
and then retired
from it all
as if satisfied

yet here we are

came to find out
it is enough
to combine
well-chosen words
in a well-ordered life

now dream
care not

if you wish me to weep,
you must help me feel

strugglin’ to be brief
not obscure

© copyright 2019 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

best ever at fallin’
never could resist,
once struck
by the thunderbolt

an addiction
to the bearable terror

(can one ever
feel that way
about another)

but tell me

how the hell hard
can it be to find
the one just suited

and why is it
so damn easy
to find the ill suited

© copyright 2018 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

gin, straight, Hendrick’s
of course, cause wine
just will not git it done
on this cold night

havin’ trouble gittin’
this to come into focus
wood stove keeps
the flesh warm
but does nothin’
for a cold heart
or dormant
desire

© copyright 2017 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Those days; long gone
in the rearview
But I can turn
a phrase, ever
now and again
and find the right
word when needed
That oughta do

Helped, once I quit
kiddin’ myself
Those days; long gone
in the rearview

What far planet was that
chasin’ the moon
in the predawn sky
What foolish man is this
chasin’ the words
and this dream across the page

© copyright 2015 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

She danced at a
Club in Houston
We were both built
For the short haul
Her lower back
Tat said, “It is
What it is”. It
Was what it was.

If you lie to
It, cheat it, steal
It, abuse it,
Ignore it, take
It for granted
And abandon
It, you do not
Deserve it. It
Is what it is.

Dreamed last night, I
Kissed this woman
I know. Not the
One I want to
Be kissin’ but
I will take it
The only kiss
Goin’ on here.

for Sara

That afternoon
In Belize. We
Made love under
The waterfall
That feelin’ there
With you, felt like
Time was standin’
Still for us. That.

Not sure why I
Thought this would be
So hard: Rather
Simple after
All; happiness
Is not meant for
Everyone as
Simple as that

Just deal with it.

Each day passes
And hope recedes
Further in the
Rearview. Just keep
Puttin’ one poem
In front of the
Other. Not sure
What else to do.

Note to self: Change
Bio to; One
Who seeks beauty
And pain. Beauty
For hope, and pain
For a mirror
Of my sadness.

Beauty and pain,
Pain and beauty
Like a tennis
Ball, constantly
Bein’ whacked back
And forth, from one
To the other

© copyright 2014 mac tag/cowboy coleridge all rights reserved

Legends, Elegies, Pleasures and Norma Jean

The man who wrote Legends of the Fall wrote;
‘Don’t fall in love as if fallin’ off a dock at night’
But when you are struck by the thunderbolt
How do you not fall

The man who wrote the Duino Elegies
Wrote; ‘Beauty is only the start of bearable terror’
But to be without beauty
Is unbearable

The woman once known as Norma Jean
Wrote; ‘I know from life one cannot love another’
I know what she meant, but to love you
How can I not

The man who wrote The Pleasures of Hope
Wrote; ‘How hard it is to find the one just suited to our mind! ‘
But it is just a little too easy to find one
Who is ill suited

Legends, Elegies, Pleasures and Norma Jean
What they wrote is unforgettable
And that is what you are, though near or far
In every way

© copyright 2012 mac tag/cowboy Coleridge all rights reserved

Today is the birthday of Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus; Venusia, Roman Republic; December 8, 65 BC – November 27, 8 BC Rome); lyric poet during the time of Augustus (also known as Octavian). The rhetorician Quintilian regarded his Odes as just about the only Latin lyrics worth reading. Horace also crafted elegant hexameter verses (Satires and Epistles) and caustic iambic poetry (Epodes).

His career coincided with Rome’s momentous change from a republic to an empire. An officer in the republican army defeated at the Battle of Philippi in 42 BC, he was befriended by Octavian’s right-hand man in civil affairs, Maecenas, and became a spokesman for the new regime.

Inde fit ut raro, qui se vixisse beatum
dicat et exacto contentus tempore vita
cedat uti conviva satur, reperire queamus.

(we rarely find anyone
who can say he has lived
a happy life, and who,
content with his life,
can retire from it all
like a satisfied guest)

Non satis est puris versum perscribere verbis.

• it is not enough to combine
  well-chosen words in a well-ordered line

Nunc vino pellite curas.

• Now drown care in wine.

Si vis me flere, dolendum est
primum ipsi tibi.

• If you wish me to weep, you yourself
  Must first feel grief.

Brevis esse laboro,
obscurus fio.

• Struggling to be brief I become obscure.

Today is the birthday of Adolph von Menzel (Adolph Friedrich Erdmann von Menzel; Breslau, Silesia, Prussia; December 8, 1815 – February 9, 1905 Berlin); realist artist noted for drawings, etchings, and paintings. In my opinion, he is one of the most prominent German artists of the 19th century, and the most successful artist of his era in Germany. First known as Adolph Menzel, he was knighted in 1898 and changed his name to Adolph von Menzel.

Gallery

Camille Claudel

Today is the birthday of Camille Claudel (Fère-en-Tardenois, Aisne, Second French Empire, 8 December 1864 – 19 October 1943 Montdevergues, Vaucluse, Vichy France); sculptor and graphic artist.  She died in relative obscurity, but subsequently gained recognition for the originality of her work.  She was the elder sister of the poet and diplomat Paul Claudel. 

As a young woman she studied at the Académie Colarossi, one of the few places open to female students, with sculptor Alfred Boucher.  In 1882, Claudel rented a workshop with other young women, mostly English, including Jessie Lipscomb.  Alfred Boucher became her mentor.  Claudel was depicted in “Camille Claudel lisant” by Boucher and later she herself sculpted a bust of Boucher.  Before moving to Florence and after having taught Claudel and others for over three years, Boucher asked Auguste Rodin to take over the instruction of his pupils.  This is how Rodin and Claudel met and their tumultuous and passionate relationship started.

Around 1884, she started working in Rodin’s workshop.  Claudel became a source of inspiration, his model, his confidante and lover.  She never lived with Rodin, who was reluctant to end his 20-year relationship with Rose Beuret.  In 1892, after an abortion, Claudel ended the intimate aspect of her relationship with Rodin, although they saw each other regularly until 1898.

After 1905 Claudel appeared to be mentally ill.  She destroyed many of her statues, disappeared for long periods of time, and exhibited signs of paranoia and was diagnosed as having schizophrenia.  She accused Rodin of stealing her ideas and of leading a conspiracy to kill her.  After the wedding of her brother in 1906 and his return to China, she lived secluded in her workshop.  On 10 March 1913 at the initiative of her brother, she was admitted to the psychiatric hospital of Ville-Évrard in Neuilly-sur-Marne.  On 7 September 1914 Camille was transferred with a number of other women, to the Montdevergues Asylum, at Montfavet, six kilometres from Avignon.  Camille Claudel died after having lived 30 years in the asylum at Montfavet (known then as the Asile de Montdevergues, now the modern psychiatric hospital Centre hospitalier de Montfavet).

Gallery

Diego Rivera

Today is the birthday of Diego Rivera (Diego María de la Concepción Juan Nepomuceno Estanislao de la Rivera y Barrientos Acosta y Rodríguez; Guanajuato; December 8, 1886 – November 24, 1957 Mexico City); painter.  His large frescoes helped establish the Mexican Mural Movement in Mexican art.  Between 1922 and 1953, Rivera painted murals among others in Mexico City, Chapingo, Cuernavaca, San Francisco, Detroit, and New York City. 

Rivera married Angelina Beloff in 1911.  Rivera had a child with Maria Vorobieff-Stebelska.  He married his second wife, Guadalupe Marín, in June 1922.  He was still married when he met art student Frida Kahlo.  They married on August 21, 1929 when he was 42 and she was 22.  Their mutual infidelities and his temper led to divorce in 1939, but they remarried December 8, 1940 in San Francisco.  Rivera later married Emma Hurtado, his agent since 1946, on July 29, 1955, one year after Kahlo’s death.

Gallery

Jim Morrison

And today is the birthday of The Lizard King, Mr. Mojo Risin’, Jim Morrison (born James Douglas Morrison; Melbourne, Florida; December 8, 1943 – July 3, 1971 Paris); singer, songwriter, and poet, best remembered as the lead singer of The Doors.  As a result of his lyrics, wild personality, performances, and the dramatic circumstances surrounding his life and death, Morrison is regarded by critics and fans as one of the most iconic and influential frontmen in rock music history.  He was also well known for improvising spoken word poetry passages while the band played live.  Morrison developed an alcohol dependency during the 1960s, which at times affected his performances on stage.  He died at the age of 27 in Paris, possibly from an accidental heroin overdose.  As no autopsy was performed, the exact cause of Morrison’s death is still disputed.  Morrison is interred at Père Lachaise Cemetery in eastern Paris.

Lyrics/Poetry

 You know the day destroys the night,
Night divides the day,
Tried to run —
Tried to hide —
Break on through to the other side!

• “Break on Through (To The Other Side)” from The Doors (1967)
• We chased our pleasures here,
  Dug our treasures there,
  But can you still recall
  The time we cried?
  Break on through to the other side!
  • “Break on Through (To The Other Side)” from The Doors
• It hurts to set you free, but you’ll never follow me.
  • “The End” from The Doors (1967)
• People are strange when you’re a stranger
  Faces look ugly when you’re alone
  Women seem wicked when you’re unwanted
  Streets are uneven when you’re down.
  • “People Are Strange” on the album Strange Days (1967)
• When you’re strange
  Faces come out of the rain
  When you’re strange
  No one remembers your name
  When you’re strange.
  • “People Are Strange” on the album Strange Days (1967)
• Five to one, baby
  One in five
  No one here gets out alive, now
  You get yours, baby
  I’ll get mine
  Gonna make it, baby
  If we try.
  • “Five to One” on the album Waiting for the Sun (1968)
• The old get older
  And the young get stronger
  May take a week
  And it may take longer
  They got the guns
  But we got the numbers
  Gonna win, yeah
  We’re takin’ over
  Come on!
  • “Five to One” on the album Waiting for the Sun (1968)
• Take an Indian home to lunch.
  • When asked how the USA should celebrate the Bicentennial, as quoted in Avant Garde magazine (March 1968)
• At first flash of Eden, We race down to the sea.
  Standing there on Freedom’s shore.
  Waiting for the sun…
  • “Waiting for the Sun” on the album Morrison Hotel (1970)
• This is the strangest life I’ve ever known.
  • “Waiting for the Sun” on the album Morrison Hotel (1970)
• Killer on the road
  His brain is squirming like a toad.
  • “Riders on the Storm” from the album L.A. Woman (1971).
• Listen to this, and I’ll tell you ’bout the heartache
  I’ll tell you ’bout the heartache and the loss of God.
  • “The Wasp (Texas Radio And The Big Beat)” on the albums L. A. Woman (1971) and An American Prayer (1978)
• I’ll tell you this —
  No eternal reward will forgive us now for wasting the dawn.
  • “The Wasp (Texas Radio And The Big Beat)” on the albums L. A. Woman (1971) and An American Prayer (1978)
• Mute nostril agony.
  • “Horse Latitudes”
• Don’t let me die in an automobile
  I wanna lie in an open field
  Want the snakes to suck my skin
  Want the worms to be my friends
  Want the birds to eat my eyes
  As here I lie
  The clouds fly by
  • “The End; Live in New York” (1970), “The End; Live at The Hollywood Bowl” (1968)

The Lords and the New Creatures: Poems (1969)

• Yoga powers.
  To make oneself invisible or small.
  To become gigantic and reach to the farthest things.
  To change the course of nature.
  To place oneself anywhere in space or time.
  To summon the dead.
  To exalt senses and perceive inaccessible images, of events on other worlds,
  in one’s deepest inner mind, or in the minds of others.
• (Windows work two ways, mirrors one way.)
  You never walk through mirrors or swim through windows.
• The world becomes an apparently infinite,
  yet possibly finite, card game.
  Image combinations,
  permutations,
  comprise the world game.

The New Creatures

• I can’t believe this is happening
  I can’t believe all these people
  are sniffing each other
  & backing away
  teeth grinning
  hair raised, growling, here in
  the slaughtered wind
• Do you dare
  deny my
  potency
  my kindness
  or forgiveness?
• Camel caravans bear
  witness guns to Caesar.
  Hordes crawl and seep inside
  the walls. The streets
  flow stone. Life goes
  on absorbing war. Violence
  kills the temple of no sex.

• Cool pools
  from a tired land
  sink now
  in the peace of evening
  Clouds weaken
  and die.
  The sun, an orange skull,
  whispers quietly, becomes an
  island, & is gone.
• There they are
  watching
  us everything
  will be dark.
  The light changed.
  We were aware
  knee-deep in the fluttering air
  as the ships move on
  trains in their wake.
• This is it
  no more fun
  the death of all joy
  has come.

An American Prayer (1978)

• Indians scattered on dawn’s highway bleeding
  Ghosts crowd the young child’s fragile eggshell mind.
• Me and my mother and father, and a grandmother and a grandfather. were driving through the desert, at dawn, and a truck load of Indian workers had either hit another car, or just — I don’t know what happened — but there were Indians scattered all over the highway, bleeding to death.
  So the car pulls up and stops. That was the first time I tasted fear. I musta’ been about four — like a child is like a flower, his head is just floating in the breeze, man. The reaction I get now thinking about it, looking back — is that the souls of the ghosts of those dead Indians… maybe one or two of ’em… were just running around freaking out, and just leaped into my soul. And they’re still there.
• Do you know the warm progress under the stars?
  Do you know we exist?
  Have you forgotten the keys to the kingdom?
  Have you been born yet
  & are you alive?
• Let’s reinvent the gods, all the myths of the ages
  Celebrate symbols from deep elder forests
• Now listen to this…
  Ill tell you about texas radio and the big beat
  Soft driven, slow and mad Like some new language
  Reaching your head with the cold, sudden fury of a divine messenger
  Let me tell you about heartache and the loss of god
  Wandering, wandering in hopeless night
  Out here in the perimeter there are no stars…
  Out here we is stoned…
  Immaculate.

• O great creator of being
  grant us one more hour to
  perform our art
  and perfect our lives
• The moths & atheists are doubly divine
  & dying
  We live, we die
  and death not ends it
• I touched her thigh
  and death smiled
• We have assembled inside this ancient
  & insane theatre
  To propagate our lust for life
  & flee the swarming wisdom
  of the streets
• Resident mockery
  give us an hour for magic
• I’m sick of dour faces
  Staring at me from the T.V.
  Tower.
  I want roses in
  my garden bower; dig?
• Death makes angels of us all
  and gives us wings
  where we had shoulders
  smooth as raven’s
  claws
• I will not go
  Prefer a
  feast of Friends
  To the Giant family
• The program for this evening
  is not new. You have seen
  This entertainment through and through.
  You’ve seen your birth, your
  life and death; you might recall
  all of the rest — (did you
  have a good world when you
  died?) — enough to base
  a movie on?
• They’re making a joke of our universe
• Do you know freedom exists in a school book
  Did you know madmen are running our prisons
  Within a jail
  Within a gaol
  Within a white free protestant maelstrom
  We’re perched headlong on the edge of boredom
  We’re reaching for death on the end of a candle
  We’re trying for something that’s already found us.
• Always a playground instructor, never a Killer
• Her cunt gripped him like a warm friendly hand.
• Indian, Indian what did you die for?
  Indian says, nothing at all.
• Lying on stained wretched sheets with the bleeding virgin,
  we could plan a murder…or start a religion.

thanks for stoppin’ by y’all

Mac Tag