Mnemosyne/November, 1967

"A previously unseen work by Dante Gabriel Rossetti is to go on show at the Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery next year." BBC

&

Dr. Zhivago was playing at the Paramount
Theater in St. Cloud. That afternoon,
we went into Russia,

and when we came out, the snow
was falling—the same snow
that fell in Moscow.

The sky had turned black velvet.
We'd been through the Revolution
and the frozen winters.--rest of November, 1967

If I seem overly-reliant on the BBC website lately--what can I say? Guilty. That it's about Mnemosyne (Memory) makes it even better. Here's a link to the Delaware Museum of Art's Pre-Raphaelite Collection where the Rossetti painting is currently on view. (It's in a private collection.) I would love to see the new exhibit in January titled The Poetry of Drawing. (Here's the Birmingham Pre-Raphaelite Collection link.)

The poem because no less than 4 people emailed to ask, did you hear/read that poem on Writer's Almanac? (It was a few days ago.)

That's not a photo of Mnemosyne. It appears to be Tim Walker's take on Ophelia. I like the pearlized gray folds in the gown. (I most certainly do not identify with Ophelia, so let's nip that one in the bud.)

(photograph via Vogue Italia)

Night Lights

Each day concludes in a huge splurge of vermilions/... And night arrives in one gigantic step.--from Two Campers in Cloud Country (Rock Lake, Canada)*, S. Plath

I've always wanted to see the northern lights (aurora borealis). Canadians & Americans in the north will see them tonight. (Maybe.) Cool NASA link. Goodness. Meanwhile, off to the bath. I'm looking at bath posts for ideas & as always, Tina Tarnoff has something inspiring on Thought Patterns. Ready for a Bath? from August 2009.

Good night you lucky, lucky people up north.

*the poem is not about death, no matter what lunatics write; it's about sleep. And vacations, holidays. And how beautiful Ontario was on a camping trip. The End.

[bath & tree bed via Verhext tumblr]

Week's End - For Daphne on the Beach

...who got away & did not turn into a laurel tree, after all.

A toe touched the tip of North Africa & I took off, ran, ran, ran along the beach,* shouting over loud waves, too loud for the Med, really, about finally getting to the continent. Possibly I was shouting in my head. Only recently 18, one would've thought I'd journeyed that long to get there. I knew it would be a long haul to get from there to the rest-of-there. Must always remind people, "Africa is a continent, the largest."

Three companions & the beach caretaker (who became a self-appointed guardian & two-week Arabic tutor), maybe they were rolling their eyes. It was the far end of dusk, so I didn't see & for once I didn't care what anyone thought about my exuberance.

*I love these photographs by Rengim Mutevellioglu. They remind me of the eastern Mediterranean shore (the top one is marked as 'Beirut' here, but not on RM's CV, nor on Kropp Creative Database). Definitely check out Rengim's portfolio - a 19-year-old Russian living in Paris.

NB: re pix & labels. I know Lebanon is not in Africa, people, but I was near Carthage & that means something to me, if no to one else. Additionally, that first NA trip coincided with the beginning of the Lebanese civil war...the story of begging an unaccountably smitten young English diplomat in Tunis to get me, g-damn it, on a plane to Beirut or Damascus is for another time. (I've possibly said too much already & have to check.) I conflate those two places because they conflated & collided simultaneously in my life & in other people's lives, many whom I'd yet to meet.

Bayou in Black & White

[Photograph by Rodney Smith, via SEBASTIAN]

The Nereid of the Seashore

That would be AKTAIE in ancient Greek. This is where I'd like to be this morning. Alas, I will be out in 90+ degree heat attending to other, non-marine, matters. [image from liquid sunny day/deviantART via we heart it]

Friday Update: I'll be back with some pix before midnight. Have received emails asking about Julie. The asthma is pretty bad; the meds are worse; the cost for everything is..well, I'm gonna have to write a disgusting (true) memoir about my family or something. You know, sell out to make money for the bills. I'm serious. J. now hates me & is fighting the medications. She was uncharacteristically freaked out by the trip there & back. Usually, she's like a dog, eager to take a ride, especially with her pal Maria Caterina who took us there (no taxi necessary, it turns out thank goodness). Thanks to MCat for putting up with huge drama yesterday.

Signorina Destiny

"Painted in 1900. This picture was given to the Artists War Fund, in support of British casualties of the Boer War. The girl is drinking a toast to the departing warriors, whose ships can be seen in a mirror in the background. Once again the painter produces a highly attractive female, and moreover one of real flesh and blood, in contrast to the more stylised figures of Edward Burne-Jones, with whom his work is so often compared. The Italian origins of the painter’s art are also apparent."* Painting by John William Waterhouse.

No matter the foregoing, Signorina Destiny has always evoked Venice for me. And curiously, or not, The Wings of the Dove (Henry James). Yes, I'm distracted (slightly) as I wend around & wade through heaps of reading & research; but wanted to post it as it's so very pretty.

[*Image of 'Destiny' & text in italics via a lovely website jwwaterhouse.com, maintained by Mr. Alan Do.]