archives

art in all forms (mainly poetry and paintings), predominantly from late Victorian to midcentury. will always list authors. always feel free to ask for more information on anything.

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1970s fashion advertisements

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Pet Shop Boys — “What Have I Done to Deserve This?”

T.S. Eliot — “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”

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Car Seat Headrest — “Oh! Starving”

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Lee Harwood — His July return

feels like summer to me. happy pride month.

Transcription under cut :))

‘rushing to embrace we were

at last in each others arms

I kissed his ear

and the sun reflected in my

gold ring making it glow even more

as I gripped his wrist

I saw how much darker my hand

was than his

but with our arms round each others shoulders

there was no question of inequality

The public buildings sparkled white

and the green of the park could be touched’

When I had finished writing this, I looked at

my watch. It was 2.30 in the morning.

I decided to go to bed. The rain had

stopped and I could see, when I parted

the curtain, that the streets were completely

deserted.

Tomorrow tourists would ride in small pleasure boats

down the river. I would be at work.

But it is still worth considering what this

means to both of us, if anything,

though both our meeting and this poem

are not free from a note of triviality

I wish I had a cat

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excerpt from Lee Harwood — “Plato was right though”

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“What I want to say is that I was happy. Not always, not even mostly. But I did know real, deep joy. Maybe everyone gets a certain amount to use up over a lifetime, and I just used my lifetime’s allotment especially quickly, with [her]. But I don’t think it was a tragedy, my life. Tragedies are relentless. Nobody could ask for more than what I’ve had.”

— Martyr!, Kaveh Akbar

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JC Leyendecker, for The Voice in the Rice (1909)

Of course his magazine covers get the most attention, but I'm a large fan of the illustrations he made for novels early in his career. Of course the novels were typically not up to the standard of the illustrations made, but at least they granted us such wonders. I'm in particular extremely fond of this one, what with the way a background is somewhat suggested -- brush strokes, so precise and yet at the same time giving off almost an abstract impression. The way the dress and umbrella of the woman are drawn is just amazing.

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Gateano de Martini — The Tambourine Girl (c. late 1800s)

I was drawn in immediately by her eyes — they seem to peer directly into you, deer-like, almost. Just an utterly wonderful portrait.

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Lord Byron — When We Two Parted

My favorite poem! Wouldn’t be an overstatement to say it got me into poetry as an art form :))

Heartbreakingly poignant, all the more so since it’s from 1817 — 200 years old and yet still fully capable of capturing one of those innate human experiences, heartbreak.

Transcription under cut!

When we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow—

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame;

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me—

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well—

Long, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—

In silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?—

With silence and tears.

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Frederick Sandys — Morgan le Fey (1864)

My obsession with this painting comes in part from my obsession with the character portrayed — I’ve always been a fan of the King Arthur legends, especially with how they hold up after centuries.

Morgan le Fey has always been a standout to me, and this portrayal will always be how I picture her. The mixed fabrics, the leopard skin, everything just goes together so perfectly, even though logically they shouldn’t. Just a masterful piece.

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John Singer Sargent’s watercolors

Simplon Pass: The Lesson, 1911

The Lady With the Umbrella, 1911

Violet Sleeping, c. 1908

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Lee Harwood — The white cloud

I’ve never seen this one posted online before, so I decided it’s my duty to become an archivist, given my acquisition of New Collected Poems.

my what?

Transcription under cut --

the white cloud blinds me

passing through your blue chair

and eyes

why does the bird fly?

why is this wall so white?

why do you cry in my arms?

why these interminable questions?

my love my what?

another passing bird

rattle of typewriters

spending the afternoon

when one ray of sun

light waves

a clattering shoe

in the street below

no –

one does exist outside this town

dove love

swaying in the television masts overhead

and my love eyes studding the walls

of your room

centuries watching our ritual

paris 9 june 65

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Big moment for me specifically — I’ll transcribe the whole thing some day

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John Ashbery — On His Reluctance to Take Down the Christmas Ornaments

I was just speaking of Ashbery yesterday, and ‘tis the season and all… this one’s more post-Christmas but you can’t blame me for not wanting to wait.

Transcription TBD

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Lee Harwood — Rain journal: London: June 65

I’m a fan of his John Ashbery dedicated works, if you couldn’t tell.

I bought a collection of his poems so expect many more of these … many have never seen the great world of “online” so I’m excited.

Transcription under cut, as always.

sitting naked together

on the edge of the bed

drinking vodka

this is my first real love scene

your body so good

your eyes sad love stars

but John

now when we’re miles apart

the come-down from mountain visions

and the streets all raining

and me in the back of a shop

making free phone calls to you

what can we do?

crackling telephone wires shadow me

and this distance haunts me

and yes – I am miserable

and lost without you

whole days spent

remaking your face

the sound of your voice

the feel of your shoulder

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Lee Harwood -- For John in the Mountains

short n sweet -- love this one purely for the end note. one day i'll post a non-Harwood poem.

transcription under cut

In a mountain sun

pursued by my own phantoms

monsters lurking in the forest

in my head

an innocent forest out there

mountain flowers and meadows

the swirl of grass and pines hissing

at each open bush a terror

behind me a dark snow

darker than your eyes’

dark snow

in which some flowers

can grow into me

a night when your river

could have left its bed

a desert awakening

a maniac pyramid

settle into newness

your kiss holds such towns

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Lee Harwood & John Ashbery — Train Poem

(Transcription under cut)

They’re sort of my Roman Empire if you couldn’t tell — as Harwood wrote on the back, “Both our script — so alike: & this by chance & a real though pleasant surprise”

As promised, the context to Harwood’s Train Love Poem (written one month before!). I won’t tell you what conclusions to make so all I’ll say is read it and appreciate it :^)

(Credit to Poetry Foundation for actually having a transcript readily available — sadly uncommon with many of his works.)

dog daisies poppies metal knitting

needles snail eyes backward

and then discord the records-file

prehensile tankers and block

which way the stage perimeter OK

block again greenhill rears upward mutinous

“back!” So until January

telegraphs twitching north to so and so

and a handkerchief slowly chopping heaves

“ne nous fachons pas” so that the houses

laughing in your eyes nearer the bang

let a forest caress unlace the instant

lovecog – did you really understand what I meant by that?

the farmyards in an uproar of freed peasants’ cough drops ah

the old dogs at the window

but my love for you outgrew the shed

tools in disorderly heaps and wasps

a beam sagging into twisted visions of nowhere

and at this the small engine appeared from the siding

to inspect the phantoms and slowly disappear

paris-grenoble 11 june 65