the shard of white . . . trembling with white light
with white flat sea
distant in memory
between the deluge of life
our dearest, our white youth
our white, our snow white youth
that is infinity . . .
and yet, and yet
but a moment
---Seferis (more or less)
And all the seasons were rolled into this one; all moments that could be recalled were recalled, here before us, ready to slip away again; what was missed was like a mirage of white in a black-heart; a summer-soft dream with all its dreamlike qualities passed before our eyes. Gentleness, the space opening up, a life full of reflections., which is to say distances. A Chinese landscape, the mingling of inky paint, scribbled words and fragments of poems only half remembered (not by heart), the sadness of forest-green in our lives. A picture gallery. Up close you imagine the creativity, the link between one painting and all paintings. We are in a cave, looking to find some secret, some secret that will help us leave this cave...
2 comments:
oh wonderful Cy-posts (will you write for the next one too, or just the song is enough)?
there is this amazing exhibition in london now, i would have loved to see it, did you go or do you intend to go?
hello, roxana! yes, went to see it yesterday. don't know why poussin was saddled to it though. want to see this photo exhibition at whitechapel as well. maybe later this week.
don't know if i *can* write anything on that. I'm not familiar with the marlowe poem so let's see.
Was just thinking how lucky I've been to see some wonderful galleries and exhibitions over the years: goya at the prado, el greco at the met, rothko at the tate, lucio fontana at hayward,and some russian icons at the courtland.
take care,
b.
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