Sun Dancer
May 18
Ansel Adams
May 09
“ Se mi ripeti che per te l’aurora
è la mia fronte e che ne le mie chiome
è l’essenza dei boschi, io tremo come
una fanciulla e m’abbandono ancora.
è la mia fronte e che ne le mie chiome
è l’essenza dei boschi, io tremo come
una fanciulla e m’abbandono ancora.
— D’Annunzio
May 08
Eisenstein | Ivan the Terrible
Apr 28
Peter Basch- Nude, 1950s
Reading Goethe on the concept of redemption (Dichtung und Wahrheit)
Apr 24
(via gacougnol)
Apr 23
Beautiful one, how this grasping hand
longs to hold you inside itself, torturing
you and I in tender embrace, and yet
leading us nowhere. Have I forgotten
to look outside? Perhaps the songbirds
will bring us a morning offering,
a melodious fluttering that helps us remember,
“The long night is over.”
Apr 21
“
Never have bread with tears consumed?
Nor weeping locked in midnight bower
in woeful nights these tears resumed?
He knows ye not, your heaven-sent powers.
Wer nie sein Brod mit Tränen ass,
Wer nie die kummervollen Nächte
Auf seinem Bette weinend sass,
Der kennt euch nicht, ihr himmlischen Mächte.
— JWG
Apr 20
(Source: morgondagg, via wingsofkynareth)
“ Von andern Seiten her vernahm ich ähnliche Klänge, nirgends wollte man zugeben, daß Wissenschaft und Poesie vereinbar seien. Man vergaß, daß Wissenschaft sich aus Poesie entwickelt habe, man bedachte nicht, daß, nach einem Umschwung von Zeiten, beide sich wieder freundlich, zu beiderseitigem Vorteil, auf höherer Stelle, gar wohl wieder begegnen könnten
— JWG
Apr 15
“ And inevitably there always crept into our discussions the figure of Whitman, that one lone figure which America has produced in the course of her brief life. In Whitman the whole American scene comes to life, her past and her future, her birth and her death. Whatever there is of value in America Whitman has expressed, and there is nothing more to be said. The future belongs to the machine, to the robots. He was the Poet of the Body and the Soul, Whitman. The first and the last poet. He is almost undecipherable today, a monument covered with rude hieroglyphs for which there is no key. It seems strange almost to mention his name over here. There is no equivalent in the languages of Europe for the spirit which he immortalized. Europe is saturated with art and her soil is full of dead bones and her museums are bursting with plundered treasures, but what Europe has never had is a free, healthy spirit, what you might call a MAN. Goethe was the nearest approach, but Goethe was a stuffed shirt, by comparison. Goethe was a respectable citizen, a pedant, a bore, a universal spirit, but stamped with the German trade-mark, with the double eagle. The serenity of Goethe, the calm, Olympian attitude, is nothing more than the drowsy stupor of a German burgeois deity. Goethe is an end of something, Whitman is a beginning.
— Henry Miller
Apr 14
Hamilton mausoleum dome and oculus. Scotland.
Apr 11
“ Es wechseln immer wieder drei Generationen. Eine findet den Gott, die zweite wölbt den engen Tempel über ihn und fesselt ihn so, und die dritte verarmt und holt Stein um Stein aus dem Gottesbau, um damit notdürftig kärgliche Hütten zu bauen. Und dann kommt eine, die den Gott wieder suchen muss.
— Rilke, Florenzer Tagesbuch
