Happy Mother’s Day
Below – Motoko Kamada: “Park”
This Date in Art History: Born 9 May 1928 – Ralph Goings, an American painter associated with Photorealism.
Below – “Sabrett”; “Blue Diner with Figures”; “Cones and Ices”; “Coffee Shop Still Life”; “Windows”; “Sweet and Low.”
“To My Children, Fearing For Them”
by Wendell Berry
Terrors are to come. The earth
is poisoned with narrow lives.
I think of you. What you will
live through, or perish by, eats
at my heart. What have I done? I
need better answers than there are
to the pain of coming to see
what was done in blindness,
loving what I cannot save. Nor,
your eyes turning toward me,
can I wish your lives unmade
though the pain of them is on me.
Below – Kan Srijira: “Orange Worried”
Below – ‘Houses of the red Quebec”; “Window to the countryside”; “Probable meal”; “the fluidity of blue”; “the enchantment of the desire”; “Interpretation of love.”
Some quotes from the work of Richard Adams:
“Many human beings say that they enjoy the winter, but what they really enjoy is feeling proof against it.”
“‘Animals don’t behave like men,’ he said. ‘If they have to fight, they fight; and if they have to kill they kill. But they don’t sit down and set their wits to work to devise ways of spoiling other creatures’ lives and hurting them. They have dignity and animality.’”
“Men will never rest till they’ve spoiled the earth and destroyed the animals.”
“When Marco Polo came at last to Cathay, seven hundred years ago, did he not feel–and did his heart not falter as he realized–that this great and splendid capital of an empire had had its being all the years of his life and far longer, and that he had been ignorant of it? That it was in need of nothing from him, from Venice, from Europe? That it was full of wonders beyond his understanding? That his arrival was a matter of no importance whatever? We know that he felt these things, and so has many a traveler in foreign parts who did not know what he was going to find. There is nothing that cuts you down to size like coming to some strange and marvelous place where no one even stops to notice that you stare about you.”
Contemporary Latvian Art – Katrina Gaile
Below – “forget-me-not”; “sweet dreams”; “wise geese II”; “a place”; “May love”; “sleep.”
A Poem for Today
by Sara Teasdale
They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before,–
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.
Below – Fares Micue: “Deeply in Love” (photograph)
Contemporary Russian Art – Elena Ilyina
Below – “Discernment”; “Orientation”; “Red tree”; “Victoria”; ““Everyday life”; “ Gold humming-bird.”
A Poem for Today
by Elizabeth Bishop
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
Below – Bea Jones: “Harpists on the Cliff”
Below – “Playful yellow”; “Evening light”; “Intimity”; “Cloudy Sunday”; “Couple”; “In my room.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 9 April 1921 – Mona Van Duyn, an American poet and recipient of both the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.
“Earth Tremors Felt in Missouri”
by Mona Van Duyn
The quake last night was nothing personal,
you told me this morning. I think one always wonders,
unless, of course, something is visible: tremors
that take us, private and willy-nilly, are usual.
But the earth said last night that what I feel,
you feel; what secretly moves you, moves me.
One small, sensuous catastrophe
makes inklings letters, spelled in a worldly tremble.
The earth, with others on it, turns in its course
as we turn toward each other, less than ourselves, gross,
mindless, more than we were. Pebbles, we swell
to planets, nearing the universal roll,
in our conceit even comprehending the sun,
whose bright ordeal leaves cool men woebegone.
Below – Anna Kozyreva: “In The Bed”