This Date in Art History: Born 3 July 1922 – Guillaume Cornelis van Beverloo, a Belgian painter and sculptor.
Below – “Confiance à l’oiseau”; “Serenite”; “Plot 10”; “Plot 24”; “Ete souverain”; “Le grand nu bleu.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 3 July 1974 – John Crowe Ransom, an American poet, critic, and recipient of the National Book Award.
by John Crowe Ransom
Twirling your blue skirts, travelling the sward
Under the towers of your seminary,
Go listen to your teachers old and contrary
Without believing a word.
Tie the white fillets then about your hair
And think no more of what will come to pass
Than bluebirds that go walking on the grass
And chattering on the air.
Practice your beauty, blue girls, before it fail;
And I will cry with my loud lips and publish
Beauty which all our power shall never establish,
It is so frail.
For I could tell you a story which is true;
I know a woman with a terrible tongue,
Blear eyes fallen from blue,
All her perfections tarnished — yet it is not long
Since she was lovelier than any of you.
Below – “White House in the Spring”; “Field of Daisies”; “House in Meadow”; “Good Crows”; “Milkweed”; “Mailboxes.”
A Poem for Today
by Donal Heffernan
Your village sleeps near the Missouri River
With your cousin Winnebago, both children of Lakotaland.
You kept your town at two stories, as flat as the surrounding prairie.
You taught the Iliad and Odyssey in honor of your namesake poet.
Your spirit outlasted the bleached fields of the Depression, and
Bravely swam against the raging Omaha Creek floods.
On warm, wet spring Saturday nights,
You provided dark places for your young
To launch your next generation
In pickups, unlighted.
Below – Homer, Nebraska.
Contemporary Hong Kong Art – William Furness
Below (photographs) – “Oculus”; “Manhattan Contact”; “Merchandise Mart”; “Times Square Contact #1”; “Chicago Board of Trade”; “Port Authority.”
“If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans.”
Below – “Oasis”; “Bryant Woods April”; “The Storm is Lifting”; “Logjam”; “The Cloud Lifts from the Mountain”; “Summer Marsh.”
by Peter Everwine
Toward evening, as the light failed
and the pear tree at my window darkened,
I put down my book and stood at the open door,
the first raindrops gusting in the eaves,
a smell of wet clay in the wind.
Sixty years ago, lying beside my father,
half asleep, on a bed of pine boughs as rain
drummed against our tent, I heard
for the first time a loon’s sudden wail
drifting across that remote lake—
a loneliness like no other,
though what I heard as inconsolable
may have been only the sound of something
untamed and nameless
singing itself to the wilderness around it
and to us until we slept. And thinking of my father
and of good companions gone
into oblivion, I heard the steady sound of rain
and the soft lapping of water, and did not know
whether it was grief or joy or something other
that surged against my heart
and held me listening there so long and late.