Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Fri May 07, 2021 1:28 am

Meno_ wrote:Those who do not want to imitate anything, produce nothing.



Sorrows of young. Were me no There would have been phd
philos. Shhhhhh!

So? Big fuxxxxg deal.






Salvador Dali
& meno
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Fri May 07, 2021 3:29 am

The Sage

War

Lock & shy

Lock

How got here & she
Using tremendous energy & doesen't know her

Out of sorrow and of the well of loneliness
And out the strangeness
Of the sheltering sky


meno
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Fri May 07, 2021 4:04 am

Charles Baudelaire's
Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil


Les Métamorphoses du vampire
La femme cependant, de sa bouche de fraise,
En se tordant ainsi qu'un serpent sur la braise,
Et pétrissant ses seins sur le fer de son busc,
Laissait couler ces mots tout imprégnés de musc:
— «Moi, j'ai la lèvre humide, et je sais la science
De perdre au fond d'un lit l'antique conscience.
Je sèche tous les pleurs sur mes seins triomphants,
Et fais rire les vieux du rire des enfants.
Je remplace, pour qui me voit nue et sans voiles,
La lune, le soleil, le ciel et les étoiles!
Je suis, mon cher savant, si docte aux voluptés,
Lorsque j'étouffe un homme en mes bras redoutés,
Ou lorsque j'abandonne aux morsures mon buste,
Timide et libertine, et fragile et robuste,
Que sur ces matelas qui se pâment d'émoi,
Les anges impuissants se damneraient pour moi!»
Quand elle eut de mes os sucé toute la moelle,
Et que languissamment je me tournai vers elle
Pour lui rendre un baiser d'amour, je ne vis plus
Qu'une outre aux flancs gluants, toute pleine de pus!
Je fermai les deux yeux, dans ma froide épouvante,
Et quand je les rouvris à la clarté vivante,
À mes côtés, au lieu du mannequin puissant
Qui semblait avoir fait provision de sang,
Tremblaient confusément des débris de squelette,
Qui d'eux-mêmes rendaient le cri d'une girouette
Ou d'une enseigne, au bout d'une tringle de fer,
Que balance le vent pendant les nuits d'hiver.

— Charles Baudelaire


The Vampire's Metamorphoses
The woman meanwhile, twisting like a snake
On hot coals and kneading her breasts against the steel
Of her corset, from her mouth red as strawberries
Let flow these words impregnated with musk:
— "I, I have moist lips, and I know the art
Of losing old Conscience in the depths of a bed.
I dry all tears on my triumphant breasts
And make old men laugh with the laughter of children.
I replace, for him who sees me nude, without veils,
The moon, the sun, the stars and the heavens!
I am, my dear scholar, so learned in pleasure
That when I smother a man in my fearful arms,
Or when, timid and licentious, frail and robust,
I yield my bosom to biting kisses
On those two soft cushions which swoon with emotion,
The powerless angels would damn themselves for me!"
When she had sucked out all the marrow from my bones
And I languidly turned toward her
To give back an amorous kiss, I saw no more
Than a wine-skin with gluey sides, all full of pus!
Frozen with terror, I closed both my eyes,
And when I opened them to the bright light,
At my side, instead of the robust manikin
Who seemed to have laid in a store of blood,
There quivered confusedly a heap of old bones,
Which of themselves gave forth the cry of a weather-cock
Or of a sign on the end of an iron rod
That the wind swings to and fro on a winter night.

The Metamorphoses of the Vampire

The crimson-fruited mouth that I desired —
While, like a snake on coals, she twinged and twired,
Kneading her breasts against her creaking busk —
Let fall those words impregnated with musk,
— "My lips are humid: by my learned science,
All conscience, in my bed, becomes compliance.
My breasts, triumphant, staunch all tears; for me
Old men, like little children, laugh with glee.
For those who see me naked, I replace
Sun, moon, the sky, and all the stars in space.
I am so skilled, dear sage, in arts of pleasure,
That, when with man my deadly arms I measure,
Or to his teeth and kisses yield my bust,
Timid yet lustful, fragile, yet robust,
On sheets that swoon with passion — you might see
Impotent angels damn themselves for me."
When of my marrow she had sucked each bone
And, languishing, I turned with loving moan
To kiss her in return, with overplus,
She seemed a swollen wineskin, full of pus.
I shut my eyes with horror at the sight,
But when I opened them, in the clear light,
I saw, instead of the great swollen doll
That, bloated with my lifeblood, used to loll,
The debris of a skeleton, assembling
With shrill squawks of a weathercock, lie trembling,
Or sounds, with which the howling winds commingle,
Of an old Inn-sign on a rusty tringle.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

Metamorphoses of the Vampire
Meanwhile from her red mouth the woman, in husky tones,
Twisting her body like a serpent upon hot stones
And straining her white breasts from their imprisonment,
Let fall these words, as potent as a heavy scent:
"My lips are moist and yielding, and I know the way
To keep the antique demon of remorse at bay.
All sorrows die upon my bosom. I can make
Old men laugh happily as children for my sake.
For him who sees me naked in my tresses, I
Replace the sun, the moon, and all the stars of the sky!
Believe me, learnèd sir, I am so deeply skilled
That when I wind a lover in my soft arms, and yield
My breasts like two ripe fruits for his devouring — both
Shy and voluptuous, insatiable and loath —
Upon this bed that groans and sighs luxuriously
Even the impotent angels would be damned for me!"
When she had drained me of my very marrow, and cold
And weak, I turned to give her one more kiss — behold,
There at my side was nothing but a hideous
Putrescent thing, all faceless and exuding pus.
I closed my eyes and mercifully swooned till day:
And when I looked at morning for that beast of prey
Who seemed to have replenished her arteries from my own,
The wan, disjointed fragments of a skeleton
Wagged up and down in a lewd posture where she had lain,
Rattling with each convulsion like a weathervane
Or an old sign that creaks upon its bracket, right
Mournfully in the wind upon a winter's night.

— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

Metamorphoses of a Vampire
Meanwhile the woman, writhing like a snake
On fiery coals, kneaded her breasts to make
Them hug their steely corset; and she said,
Her lips redder than strawberries are red:
"Behold, my mouth is moist, and on my deep
Couch I can lull grim Conscience fast asleep,
I dry all tears on my triumphant breasts,
Where old men laugh like boys at boyish jests.
For him who sees me naked, I comprise
All moons and suns and stars and clouds and skies!
I am so skilled, fond scholar, in love's charms
That when I hug you in my ruthless arms,
Or, shy and lustful, frail and forceful, when
I yield taut nipples to the teeth of men,
My bosom's pillows, palpitant, would doom
Angels to ruin for coveting my womb..."
When she had sucked my marrow dry, I turned,
Languid, to give her back the kiss she earned,
Only to view, I fond and amorous,
A viscid wineskin, nidorous with pus...
Frozen with fear, I shut my eyelids tight,
Then, opening them against the garish light,
I saw no solid puppet by my side
Whose lusts my blood, drained dry, had satisfied,
But a debris of quavering bone on bone,
Moaning as only weathervanes can moan,
And creaking as a rusty signpost might
Lashed by the furies of a winter night.

— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)

The Metamorphoses of the Vampire
Then the woman with the strawberry mouth,
Squirming like a snake upon the coals,
Kneading her breasts against the iron of her corset,
Let flow these words scented with musk:
— "I have wet lips, and I know the art
Of losing old conscience in the depths of a bed.
I dry all tears on my triumphing breasts
And I make old men laugh with the laughter of children.
For those who see me naked, without any covering,
I am the moon and the sun and the sky and the stars!
I am so dexterous in voluptuous love, my dear, my wise one,
When I strangle a man in my dreadful arms,
Or abandon my breast to his biting,
So shy and lascivious, so frail and vigorous,
That on these cushions that swoon with passion
The powerless angels damn their souls for me!"
When she had sucked the pith from my bones
And, drooping, I turned towards her
To give her the kiss of love, I saw only
An old leather bottle with sticky sides and full of pus!
I shut both eyes in cold dismay
And when I opened them both to clear reality,
By my side, instead of that powerful puppet
Which seemed to have taken some lease of blood,
There shook vaguely the remains of a skeleton,
Which itself gave the cry of a weathercock
Or of a sign-board, at the end of a rod of iron,
Which the wind swings in winter nights.


Baudelaire



Sorry. for triplicate.
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Tue May 11, 2021 4:19 pm

Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sat May 15, 2021 5:41 pm

"It was late in December, the sky turned to snow
All round the day was going down slow
Night like a river beginning to flow
I felt the beat of my mind go
Drifting into time passages
Years go falling in the fading light
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
Time passages
There's something back here that you left behind
Oh time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight

Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn
Don't know why you should feel
That there's something to learn
It's just a game that you play"



Al Stewart
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sun May 23, 2021 5:12 pm

"Hell is of this world and there are men who are unhappy escapees from hell, escapees destined ETERNALLY to reenact their escape."


"All true language is incomprehensible, like the chatter of a beggar's teeth"

Antonyn Artaud
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sun Jun 06, 2021 4:02 pm

"A man must dream a long time in order to act with grandeur, and dreaming is nursed in darkness.

To achieve harmony in bad taste is the height of elegance.

Worse than not realizing the dreams of your youth, would be to have been young and never dreamed at all.

Would Hamlet have felt the delicious fascination of suicide if he hadn't had an audience, and lines to speak?

Crimes of which a people is ashamed constitute its real history. The same is true of man.

Anyone who hasn't experienced the ecstasy of betrayal knows nothing about ecstasy at all.

Anyone who knows a strange fact shares in its singularity.

Power may be at the end of a gun, but sometimes it's also at the end of the shadow or the image of a gun.

I recognize in thieves, traitors and murderers, in the ruthless and the cunning, a deep beauty - a sunken beauty.

The fame of heroes owes little to the extent of their conquests and all to the success of the tributes paid to them."

Jean Genet
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sun Jun 06, 2021 10:33 pm

Life's Ironies as Alchemy for transformation





Shield not heart, mind and soul

from inherent ironic incongruities

by nurturing creative solutions

letting the tree of life

branch and blossom

directly to the light.

~ namasté, 

Leah Spence
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed Jun 09, 2021 11:37 am

Now I see this clearly. My whole life is pointed in one direction. There never has been a choice for me.


Travis Bickle

a taxi driver from the movie of the same name
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Mon Jun 14, 2021 8:39 pm

"I am a sick man ... ...

It is impossible for an intelligent man to become anything, only fools become something. ...

To be overly conscious is a sickness. ...

The pleasure lay precisely in the vivid consciousness of one's own humiliation.


Dostoevsky, ' Letters from underground'
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed Jun 23, 2021 5:39 am

You'll never know why you exist, but you'll always allow yourselves to be easily persuaded to take life seriously.” ...

“I speak only of myself since I do not wish to convince, I have no right to drag others into my river, I oblige no one to follow me and everybody practices his art in his own way."



Tristan Tzara
Meno_
breathless
 
Posts: 9056
Joined: Tue Dec 08, 2015 2:39 am
Location: Mysterium Tremendum

Previous

Return to Creative Writing



Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users