Clair De Lune

MoonClair_de_lune_Debussymoon2blackcrownwhiteowl

 Clair de Lune

Debussy was one of the most prominent figures associated with Impressionist music, though he himself intensely disliked the term when applied to his compositions. In France, he was made Chevalier of the Legion of Honour in 1903. Debussy was among the most influential composers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, and his use of non-traditional scales and chromaticism influenced many composers who followed. Debussy’s music is noted for its sensory content and frequent eschewing of tonality. The French literary style of his period was known as Symbolism, and this movement directly inspired Debussy both as a composer and as an active cultural participant.

Best of Debussy

Carnal Apple, Woman Filled, Burning Moon

1796641_10201225209863416_52134982_n

Music

Carnal apple, Woman filled, burning moon,
dark smell of seaweed, crush of mud and light,
what secret knowledge is clasped between your pillars?
What primal night does Man touch with his senses?
Ay, Love is a journey through waters and stars,
through suffocating air, sharp tempests of grain:
Love is a war of lightning,
and two bodies ruined by a single sweetness.
Kiss by kiss I cover your tiny infinity,
your margins, your rivers, your diminutive villages,
and a genital fire, transformed by delight,
slips through the narrow channels of blood
to precipitate a nocturnal carnation,
to be, and be nothing but light in the dark.

Pablo Neruda

In Each Other

degas_combing_hair1

The minute I heard my first love story,

I started looking for you, not knowing

how blind that was.

Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere,

they’re in each other all along.

From Essential Rumi

by Coleman Barks

.¸¸*¨`*..¸ƸӜƷ ✫❀

Painting

Edgar Degas

(I am uncertain if this is Degas or a study by another artist?)

Enter This House My Love

woman-with-a-towel-1898_jpg!Blog

I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

In every moment I shape an idol.

But then, in front of you, I melt them down

I can rouse a hundred forms

and fill them with spirit,

but when I look into your face,

I want to throw them in the fire.

My souls spills into yours and is blended.

Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,

I cherish it.

Every drop of blood I spill

informs the earth,

I merge with my Beloved

when I participate in love.

In this house of mud and water,

my heart has fallen to ruins.

Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.

Rumi

.¸¸*¨`*..¸ƸӜƷ ✫❀

Dedicated to My Love~

Music

Painting

Degas

.¸¸*¨`*..¸ƸӜƷ ✫❀

My lover is my muse~

 

 

House Of Your Beloved

afterbathdegas

I am only the house of your beloved,

not the beloved herself:

true love is for the treasure,

not for the coffer that contains it.”

The real beloved is that one who is unique,

who is your beginning and your end.

When you find that one,

you’ll no longer expect anything else:

that is both the manifest and the mystery.

That one is the lord of states of feeling,

dependent on none;

month and year are slaves to that moon.

When he bids the “state,”

it does His bidding;

when that one wills, bodies become spirit.

Rumi

.¸¸*¨`*..¸ƸӜƷ ✫❀

Painting

Degas

Listen to the music

Flora

Waterhouse Flora and the Zephyrs

Flora and the Zephyr; takes its subject from Ovid’s Fasti, which is a verse chronicle of the Roman calendar, and which incorporates the mythologies and historical legends of Rome where they can he associated with specific times of the year. Fasti V, vv.195-375, spoken by Flora herself, tells the story of her abduction and marriage to Zephyr, god of the wind:’I who now am called Flora was formerly Chloris … a nymph of the happy fields where, as you have heard, dwelt fortunate men of old. Modesty shrinks from describing my figure; but it procured the hand of a god for my mother’s daughter. ‘Twas spring, and I was roaming; Zephyr caught sight of me; I retired; he pursued and I fled; but he was the stronger, and Boreas had given his brother full right of rape by daring to carry off the prize from the house of Erechtheus. However, he made amends for his violence by giving me the name of bride, and in my marriage-bed I have naught to complain of. I enjoy perpetual spring; most buxom is the year ever; ever the tree is clothed with leaves, the ground with pasture. In the fields that are my dower, I have a fruitful garden, fanned by the breeze and watered by a spring of running water. This garden my husband filled with noble flowers and said, “Goddess, be queen of flowers.” Oft did I wish to count the colors in the

beds, but could not; the number was past counting.’ (Translated from the Latin by James George Frazer, 1951) Flora goes on to describe the different flowers she gave to the world, born from the wounds of gods and mortals, and of her power to propagate and inseminate. She speaks also of her command over the harvest and the vintage, and her gift of honey to the world. Her story ends when she is asked the question: “‘Why, instead of Lybyan lionesses, are unwarlike roes and shy hares pent in thy nets?” She replied that her province was not woods, but gardens and field, where no fierce beast may come.’

Waterhouse’s painting shows the moment when Zephyr first set eyes upon and fell in love with Flora, as she gathered flowers in the fields with her maidens and children. He flies down to her, accompanied by his winged companions. and captures her by casting a garland of white flowers around her.

Flora and the Zephyr

London, Royal Academy, 1898. no.64;
London. Royal Academy. Minter Eichibithm. 1909, no.66.

 

Painting

John William Waterhouse

.¸¸*¨`*..¸ƸӜƷ ✫❀

Sindy

Some Kiss We Want

h2_29_100_58

There is some kiss we want with

our whole lives, the touch of

spirit on the body. Seawater

begs the pearl to break its shell.

And the lily, how passionately

it needs some wild darling! At

night, I open the window and ask

the moon to come and press its

face against mine. Breathe into

me. Close the language- door and

open the love window. The moon

won’t use the door, only the window.

From Soul of Rumi

by Coleman Barks

~~~~~~~~~

The Source, 1862

Gustave Courbet

Thief Of Sleep

 

800px-1866_Gustave_Courbet_-_Woman_with_a_Parrot

Suddenly the drunken sweetheart appeared out of my door.

She drank a cup of ruby wine and sat by my side.

Seeing and holding the lockets of her hair

My face became all eyes, and my eyes all hands

Rumi

From Thief of Sleep

by Shahram Shiva

.¸¸*¨`*..¸ƸӜƷ ✫❀

Woman with a Parrot, 1866
Gustave Courbet (French, 1819–1877)