Archive for Carl Sandburg

Rain, Rain, go away…come again some other day.

Posted in Photography, Poetry at large with tags , , , , , , on September 7, 2011 by Mj Rains

photo: RAIN by Maozi

Much as I sometimes love rain, and rainy days, and any excuse to stay in
and read a good book, I’m just plain old getting sick of it this week. And it doesn’t seem like it will be stopping…

First winter rain
by Matsuo Basho
First winter rain–
even the monkey
seems to want a raincoat.
photo: rain lights by kateey
Horses and Men in Rain
by Carl Sandburg
LET us sit by a hissing steam radiator a winter’s day, gray wind pattering frozen raindrops on the window,
And let us talk about milk wagon drivers and grocery delivery boys.

Let us keep our feet in wool slippers and mix hot punches—and talk about mail carriers and messenger boys slipping along the icy sidewalks.
Let us write of olden, golden days and hunters of the Holy Grail and men called “knights” riding horses in the rain, in the cold frozen rain for ladies they loved.

A roustabout hunched on a coal wagon goes by, icicles drip on his hat rim, sheets of ice wrapping the hunks of coal, the caravanserai a gray blur in slant of rain.
Let us nudge the steam radiator with our wool slippers and write poems of Launcelot, the hero, and Roland, the hero, and all the olden golden men who rode horses in the rain.

photo: After the Rain by Grace-Note
When The Sun Come After Rain
by Robert Louis Stevenson
WHEN the sun comes after rain
And the bird is in the blue,
The girls go down the lane
Two by two.When the sun comes after shadow
And the singing of the showers,
The girls go up the meadow,
Fair as flowers.

When the eve comes dusky red
And the moon succeeds the sun,
The girls go home to bed
One by one.

And when life draws to its even
And the day of man is past,
They shall all go home to heaven,
Home at last.

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The wind? I am the wind…

Posted in Celestial Objects with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 8, 2010 by Mj Rains

Isadora Duncan is considered to be the creator of modern dance. She was born in the U.S. but lived most of her life in Europe and the Soviet Union. Isadora died in one of the most freakish auto accidents I’ve ever heard of, her fondness for long scarves being the cause, and giving rise to the mordant remark by Gertrude Stein that “affectations can be dangerous.”

On the night of September 14, 1921, Duncan was a passenger in the automobile of handsome French-Italian mechanic Benoit Falchetto. Before getting into the car, she reportedly said to Mary Desti and her friends, “Adieu, mes amis. Je vais a la gloire!” (Good-bye, my friends. I am off to glory!) or she may have said, “Je vais a lamour.” (I am off to love).  Who really knows?

Either way, when they drove off, Duncan’s long, long scarf, a gift from Mary Desti, and wrapped around Isadora’s neck, became entangled around one of the vehicle’s open-spoked wheels and rear axle.

New York Times obit quote: “Isadora Duncan, the American Dancer, tonight met a tragic death at Nice on the Riviera. According to dispatches from Nice, Miss Duncan was hurled in an extraordinary manner from an open automobile in which she was riding and instantly killed by the force of her fall to the stone pavement.”  Other sources describe her death as resulting from strangulation, noting that she was almost decapitated by the sudden tightening of the scarf around her neck.

Which leads this Wit to wonder: How the hell long was that scarf?

She is buried at Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. Carl Sandburg in his poem Isadora Duncan wrote:

“The wind?  I am the wind.

The sea and the moon? I am the sea and the moon.

Tears, pain, love, bird-flights?

I am all of them.

I dance what I am.

Sin, prayer, flight,

the light that never was on land or sea?

I dance what I am.”

Story source: Wikipedia

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