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10/28/11
10/27/11
Another Poem by Frederick Seidel
Green Dress, 1999
You want
To change your name to be new
For the
Millenium so do.
The trumpet sounds
your smile.
You soar just
Sitting still.
Flapping wings of a
Flamingo, clouds
of my angina
Blossom darkly into dawn.
Sunset follows
While they play
The songs one wants
To hear. Your
Legs made of eleven
Kinds of heaven
Leap to
Where they want to go.
But I don't know
how long I have the
Future for.
In the jungle of
The body is the beating of the
Tom-tom.
Living dot com--
How many hits on your site?
If dance is what you do, the bar
Is where you go to
Work. If what you do is drink,
You also hit the heart.
You want
To change your name to be new
For the
Millenium so do.
The trumpet sounds
your smile.
You soar just
Sitting still.
Flapping wings of a
Flamingo, clouds
of my angina
Blossom darkly into dawn.
Sunset follows
While they play
The songs one wants
To hear. Your
Legs made of eleven
Kinds of heaven
Leap to
Where they want to go.
But I don't know
how long I have the
Future for.
In the jungle of
The body is the beating of the
Tom-tom.
Living dot com--
How many hits on your site?
If dance is what you do, the bar
Is where you go to
Work. If what you do is drink,
You also hit the heart.
10/21/11
10/19/11
Excerpt from the introduction to a book on Balthus written by his son, with a painting by Balthus
"After pressing Balthus for biographical details . . . the English art critic John Russell received the following telegram:
NO BIOGRAPHICAL DETAILS. BEGIN: BALTHUS IS A PAINTER OF WHOM NOTHING IS KNOWN. NOW LET US LOOK AT THE PICTURES. REGARDS, B.
. . . The distinction between merely looking and really seeing what one is looking at seems trite, but it is one of the tragedies of modern culture that this capital nuance has been lost. One's eye, constantly distracted by the multiple solicitations of daily life, succumbs to what my father called a kind of inertis, causing a failure to see properly. Visiting exhibitions has become a component of cultural snobbery: one reads notices, one looks, one reacts, one likes, one dislikes--but at the end of the day what has one truly seen?"
NO BIOGRAPHICAL DETAILS. BEGIN: BALTHUS IS A PAINTER OF WHOM NOTHING IS KNOWN. NOW LET US LOOK AT THE PICTURES. REGARDS, B.
. . . The distinction between merely looking and really seeing what one is looking at seems trite, but it is one of the tragedies of modern culture that this capital nuance has been lost. One's eye, constantly distracted by the multiple solicitations of daily life, succumbs to what my father called a kind of inertis, causing a failure to see properly. Visiting exhibitions has become a component of cultural snobbery: one reads notices, one looks, one reacts, one likes, one dislikes--but at the end of the day what has one truly seen?"
 |
| La Montagne, 1937 |
10/12/11
10/11/11
10/10/11
10/8/11
Nat King Cole- On The Sidewalks Of New York (With Lyrics)
Al Smith wrote the original song. He was quite the mayor, it's worth your time to google him.
10/3/11
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