tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post6491584754263020029..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Marguerite Yourcenar: Zeno's Ending, from The AbyssUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger8125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-53171107775126122012-10-31T10:44:42.342-07:002012-10-31T10:44:42.342-07:00In Finland, I lost my mind. Strange, thin trees. ...In Finland, I lost my mind. Strange, thin trees. Nothing central to the landscape. Except the lake. Its shore, its clicks. Where we took the rugs down that summer in a little cart, a brush, a cake of goat fat soap. I saw pictures from the war. Saw her dressed in white, surrounded by the soldiers. They wouldn’t let me take it with me. Thought it strange how I was fascinated by her glow. We danced with the others in the small pavilion to old timey music that had an accordion. My Finnish father was “Father” and my Finnish mother was “Mother.” I racked my brain all summer long to try to figure out inventive things to say to them. They prized the language of physical labor above all else. Their own daughter was a little spoiled and sick of the farm. I lost myself in it and began to see the magic of the clean, ordinary lines up there where it sounded like pick-up sticks when people spoke.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-5488557886986034362012-10-30T16:53:19.357-07:002012-10-30T16:53:19.357-07:00Wow, this is amazing. Wow, this is amazing. Nin Andrewshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12643167108589844026noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-77891858061556724532012-10-30T10:34:06.191-07:002012-10-30T10:34:06.191-07:00So light at night. Words
being what they are.
Bri...So light at night. Words<br />being what they are.<br />Bright fires that change.<br />This cannot explain it.<br />The poet warned of this.<br />But still to fall<br />in love with the light--<br />there isn't enough.<br />Then, I'd rather watch<br />you watching.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-84192508842001032012012-10-30T10:22:02.797-07:002012-10-30T10:22:02.797-07:00How astoundingly beautiful, that first photo espec...How astoundingly beautiful, that first photo especially. The sky, our constant companion. I’m looking around for a copy of The Abyss . . . while riding out the worst of a three-day blow.Hazenhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13417573435195561519noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-73470639067581532352012-10-30T10:07:03.642-07:002012-10-30T10:07:03.642-07:00This is a very fine introduction to an author I...This is a very fine introduction to an author I'd not read at all. This will be remedied soon. Thanks for this. I do love a fluid hand with prose. Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-56134541320424213092012-10-30T10:05:38.652-07:002012-10-30T10:05:38.652-07:00Beautiful. I see she was travelling speedily.Beautiful. I see she was travelling speedily.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-14052464298927333812012-10-30T09:10:04.276-07:002012-10-30T09:10:04.276-07:00Many thanks Steve.
This morning's plane or bl...Many thanks Steve.<br /><br />This morning's plane or bloc of fog, over here, was the densest I've seen in many a year, contained a light rain at 6 a.m., and, suffused by the lucent haze over the freeway feeder, made the relentless commute headlights appear as faint beams carved through a red blizzard.<br /><br />For those who may be unfamiliar with the author here today...<br /><br />The remarkable Marguerite Yourcenar, a brave revenant of the classic attitude, left us with many sentences to ponder in awe.<br /><br />No modern writer has done more to revive and reshape the philosophical spirit of the historical novel.<br /><br />The Abyss is a narrative of the struggles of a freethinking intellectual wanderer in a sixteenth century Europe torn by war, plague and religious and social upheaval.<br /><br />This novel was her second masterpiece. She recounts the experience of composing the first, Memoirs of Hadrian (1951, translated 1955) -- aboard a Santa Fe Zephyr (of all places) -- at the bottom of this post:<br /><br /><a href="http://tomclarkblog.blogspot.com/2009/03/animula-vagula-blandula.html" rel="nofollow">Animula Blandula, Vagula</a>TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-26796548104972276342012-10-30T08:43:26.664-07:002012-10-30T08:43:26.664-07:00Tom,
Polar mesospheric cloud (bright noctilucent ...Tom,<br /><br />Polar mesospheric cloud (bright noctilucent cloud) <br /><br />"from the very absence of color: black turned to livid green, and then to pure white; that pure, pale white was transmuted into a red gold, although the original blackness remained"<br /><br />10.30<br /><br />light coming into sky above still black<br />ridge, plane of fog moving to the right<br />in foreground, wave sounding in channel<br /><br /> above all in thinking ahead<br /> brings it, such a way<br /><br /> another picture painted and,<br /> without a frame, here<br /><br />grey white fog against invisible ridge,<br />whiteness of gull disappearing into it<br />STEPHEN RATCLIFFEhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12339481653546188412noreply@blogger.com