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Poetry of Art

Poetry of art or art of poetry, that is the question...

TOGETHER IN OUR ENDLESS SOLITUDE ~ PAUL ELUARD

in Poetry of Art by
Nuchs and Paul Eluard by Man Ray

 A poem by Paul Eluard

“I cannot be known
Better than you know me

Your eyes in which we sleep
We together
Have made for my man’s gleam
A better fate than for the common nights

Your eyes in which I travel
Have given to signs along the roads
A meaning alien to the earth

In your eyes who reveal to us
Our endless solitude

Are no longer what they thought themselves to be

You cannot be known
Better than I know you.”

― Paul Éluard

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CHRISTINA ROSSETTI ~ OCTOBER

in Poetry of Art by
monique

OCTOBER

Crack your first nut and light your first fire;
Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar;
Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher,
Logs are cheery as sun or as star,
Logs we can find wherever we are.
Spring one soft day will open the leaves,
Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers;
Never fancy my whistling wind grieves,
Never fancy I’ve tears in my showers;
Dance, nights and days! And dance on, my hours!
Christina Rossetti,
from The Months: A Pageant.
Painting: Autumn Leaves
Sir John Everett Millais – 1855-1856

DOROTHY PARKER ~ MIDNIGHT

in Poetry of Art by
blog

Midnight
The stars are soft as flowers, and as near; 
The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun; 
No separate leaf or single blade is here- 
All blend to one.
No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light 
Rolls lazily. and slips again to rest. 
There is no edged thing in all this night, 
Save in my breast.
Dorothy Parker

Summer Night

Stanislav Zhukovsky – 1912

ANNA AKHMATOVA

in Poetry of Art by
anablog

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.”
― Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

ALFRED TENNYSON ~ MEMORIES

in Poetry of Art by
blog

“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depths of some devine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy autumn fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.”
― Alfred Tennyson

Memories
John White Alexander – circa 1903

JORGE LUIS BORGES ~ MIRRORS

in Poetry of Art by
blog

“Mirrors in metal, and the masked
Mirror of mahogany that in its mist
Of a red twilight hazes
The face that is gazed on as it gazes”
― Jorge Luis Borges

The Little Round Mirror
Edward Steichen – 1901

HOPE AND MEMORY

in Poetry of Art by
monique

“Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.”

― W.B. Yeats

Hope and memory
Kenyon Cox – 1900

TOLKIEN ~ REMEMBERING PAST SEASONS

in Poetry of Art by
monique

I sit beside the fire and think
Of all that I have seen
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people that will see a world
That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

Vasilevskoë – Autumn

Wassily Kandinsky – 1903

E.E. CUMMINGS ~ YOU ARE…

in Poetry of Art by
monique

“Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”
― E.E. Cummings

Christian Rohlfs,
Dancing around the Ball of the Sun, 1916

RAINER MARIA RILKE ~ EVENING

in Poetry of Art by
evening

Evening

Slowly the evening puts on the garments
held for it by a rim of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands divide from you,
one going heavenward, one that falls;

and leave you, to neither quite belonging,
not quite so dark as the house sunk in silence,
not quite so surely pledging the eternal
as that which grows star each night and climbs-

and leave you (inexpressibly to untangle)
your life afraid and huge and ripening,
so that it, now bound in and now embracing,
grows alternately stone in you and star.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~

Claude Monet – 1840-1926 – The sunken road in the cliff at Varangeville – 1882

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