they often long for what could render all questions useless, or so they seem to believe: a single, perfect - because beyond any naming, untouched by the notion of presence - flower.
at other times, though, they find themselves longing for neither the flower nor the skin against which it rests. they seem to yearn for precisely that which only a word could bring into presence, the contrast between the dark of the petal and the ivory shimmer of skin. a single word, which could, then, redeem their lives, even if for just one moment, the perfect moment when the shadow of the black calla merges with the warmth of flesh.
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"they often long for what could render all questions useless, or so they seem to believe: a single, perfect - because beyond any naming, untouched by the notion of presence - flower."
ReplyDeleteHow beautifully serendipitous this seems!
"word, which could, then, redeem their lives"
nue caresse instant secret , très délicat envelopper en un noir et blanc éternel.
ReplyDeleteMa belle je ne t'oublie pas j'espère que tu va bien heureuse. Ton ami Allan
in the first picture it looks like a snake!
ReplyDeleteintotdeauna m-am gandit la cale cu grija si cu un fel de reverenta,ca fata de ceva de care ma voi apropia doar intr-o buna si nestiuta zi-si,vazand contopirea lor cu ivoriul si caldura trupului,aici,simtpasi pe care nu simt ca i-am facut,ci au existat acolo,chemandu-ma,ca niste zimti in carnea mea tremuranda.
ReplyDeletepoate e una dintre asociatiile irationale ale momentului,ale rememorarii,insa postarea aceasta m-a facut sa ma gandesc la Bourdeillette:
"this peony is an empty house
in which each of us recaptures night".
hello my beautiful friend,ah another example of a masterpeice, your beautiful timeless sensitivity
ReplyDeleteet le moment exalté par la beauté de les fleurs noirs les callas de nos pensées qui expriment l'essentiel de nos esprits ces bouquets qui ne saignent pas, ces bouquets pour couronner l'esprit sacré pour couronner le moment attrapé qui s'en vole et ne peux pas etre attraper parceque comment est-ce que on peut attraper des millions d'années de lumière.
je fesais a un temps beaucoup des méditations du ciel, en prenant les notes de ma recherche haha,un peu ironique cette salle de classe- non? et cette magnifique poste me donne l'envie de recommencer...chercher meme un mot de sagesse qui couronne l'esprit un mot de la rédemption meme juste du moment...
bises sensibles mon amie précieuse
He spoke to her about ballast and the way it is used to distribute the load from railway ties; she spoke of her niggling inability to find a suitable word that rhymes with orange. He saw a blue jay in an old oak tree; she saw a vivid streak of flame, and then felt as though her neck had been touched by an invisible hand. In winter he drove past avenues of hoarfrosted pines and sulky ravines of white down, and she knew that she had delicately merged herself with another being, but only for a brief moment, for such is the impossible beauty life.
ReplyDeletep.s. Is that really a black calla? My calla is a cultivar called "Green Goddess." This nomenclature is teeming with Jungian possibilities. i expect to have an essay about it on my desk tomorrow morning. i should also tell you that i am a tough grader. That's why my students hate me.
beauty of life
ReplyDeletegremlins!
The embracing of one thing by a thing it is not. Lovely, yearning.
ReplyDeleteI was reminded of Dylan Thomas. A sense of oneness with what one is not.
"The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever."
I am reminded that nothing is solid, that everything perceived as form, as much as one may be enthralled with form, is energy and light. I also get the same sense as Myth wrote about, " A sense of oneness with what one is not." These absolutely shimmer!
ReplyDeleteYou break my heart with the clarity of your vision, the purity of your poetry, your work like waves comes crashing over me, tumbling, drowning, gasping for breath. Fusion of flowers in fingers, forever.
ReplyDeleteThe black calla being held in the shimmering white hand appears as a snake being held to the breast. What other perfect moment, what other perfect word, than that one sweet moment of Death?
ReplyDeletei cannot visit often, but when I do, I'm always fed, centered and content.
ReplyDeletemts,
ReplyDeletei love the word 'serendipitous', it is unique to english, i think, at least i can't think of any similar words in any of the languages i know.
Alain,
moi non plus! je me rejouis chaque fois que tu passes me voir, et je sais que tu aimes ce genre d'instants noir&blanc pleins de delicatesse.
je t'embrasse!
anonymous,
i suppose that we all get to see what we deserve to see! :-P
Cerasela,
ReplyDeletece frumoase aceste versuri despre bujor, va trebui să le păstrez pentru timpul lor, să vedem dacă voi reuşi o imagine care să le facă cinste :-)
şi mie mi se par la fel calele, şi mă fascinează, şi este foarte greu să le faci fotografii, asta este adevărat pentru orice floare, dar pentru ele şi mai mult... nu puteam rezista în faţa acestei combinaţii unice, tu ştii, negrul lor purpuriu peste ivoriu, aceste cuvinte, doar ele, şi mă îmbată deja :-)
ah Madeleine,
si mes photos inspirent tes contemplations du ciel, tes meditations sur la lumiere, alors je suis plus qu'heureuse! :-)
je savais que tu allais aimer la finesse de cette rencontre entre le clair et le sombre, les petales et la chair, ta sensibilite va aussi dans cette direction!
je t'embrasse, chere amie, et je t'envoies les premiers bisous printaniers de cette annees :-)
Prospero,
ReplyDeleteit is impossible that your students hate you more than they hate me! and something tells me you are not at all a tough grader, just a hunch and forgive my hybris !
do you mean to tell me that my post has inspired you all these visions?!! i would be thrilled, but i fear this is not due to my artistic accomplishments, but to the poison of the black calla! :-)
ps. she is called Zantedeschia 'Black Star'.
myth, Dylan Thomas is beyond wonderful, and indeed i love these lines, they are as close to perfect as poetry can get...
ReplyDeleteStickup,
you sum up centuries of philosophy and aesthetics in this comment, indeed, what is 'form' and how revealing for our nature is our constant fascination with form, and yet the longing to go beyond it... thank you!
Owen,
ReplyDeletei am very moved by your words... and you even added a lovely alliteration 'Fusion of flowers in fingers, forever' to overwhelm me :-)
Lynne,
you expressed clearly what was only implied in my post, a kind of longing for that moment of extinction, the 'sweet moment of Death', you call it - the Germans have (as always) the most wonderful word to tell this, Todessehnsucht (yearning for death).
thank you, Dianne, for coming here and for your kind words...
Ah, Roxana, good fortune grant your gaze sweep South-East, beyond the lands whose expansion your countryman once forfended, and listen to tales once told there, far-seeing, of another land yet farther South, further East. Mayhap your wanderings will bring you to an Isle of Tigers and of Elephants: therein one may find old tales of serendipity. Strangely, fortuitously, my family once owned much of the place. Cryptically, me,
ReplyDeleteExquisite, Roxana.
ReplyDeleteIl est sublime ce post Roxana...
ReplyDeletej'ai ressenti une forte emotion,tres pure a la vision de tes images ,quelle harmonie entre la fleur et la chair...Bravo , c'est a ton image ,delicat ,sensible,mysterieux...bref ,c'est que du bonheur..
bises encore et encore..:))