Now Playing Tracks

karamazove:

Hedy Lamarr by Clarence Sinclair Bull (MGM, 1938)

Hedy Lamarr! If she were born American, instead of naturalized, this lady’s face would be on money! Own a cell phone? Then bow down! She was instrumental in inventing spread-spectrum wireless communications…when she wasn’t making movies, breaking down social barriers and taboos, and chumping the Nazis. I love this lady! Check her out at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hedy_Lamarr

[Beauty]…is not the image you would see
nor the song you would hear,
But rather an image you see though you close your eyes
and a song you hear though you shut your ears.
It is not the sap within the furrowed bark,
nor a wing attached to a claw,
But rather a garden forever in bloom
and a flock of angels for ever in flight.

People of Orphalese, beauty is life
when life unveils her holy face.
But you are life and you are the veil.
Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
But you are eternity and you are the mirror.

Kahlil Gibran

"On Beauty", from The Prophet, 1923.

I had a little Sorrow,
Born of a little Sin,
I found a room all damp with gloom
And shut us all within;
And, “Little Sorrow, weep,” said I,
“And, Little Sin, pray God to die,
And I upon the floor will lie
And think how bad I’ve been!”

Alas for pious planning–
It mattered not a whit!
As far as gloom went in that room,
The lamp might have been lit!
My Little Sorrow would not weep,
My Little Sin would go to sleep–
To save my soul I could not keep
My graceless mind on it!

So up I got in anger,
And took a book I had,
And put a ribbon on my hair
To please a passing lad.

And, “One thing there’s no getting by–
I’ve been a wicked girl,” said I;
“But if I can’t be sorry, why,
I might as well be glad!”

Edna St. Vincent Millay

"The Penitent", from A Few Figs from Thistles, 1922.

THE SPRING blew trumpets of color;
Her Green sang in my brain—
I heard a blind man groping
“Tap—tap” with his cane;

I pitied him in his blindness; 5
But can I boast, “I see”?
Perhaps there walks a spirit
Close by, who pities me,—

A spirit who hears me tapping
The five-sensed cane of mind 10
Amid such unguessed glories—
That I am worse than blind.

Harry Hibbard Kemp

"Blind", from The Second Book of Modern Verse, 1922.

FROM BLOSSOMS

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside,
succulent peaches we devour,
dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer,
dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days,
to hold the fruit in our hands,
adore it, then bite into
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Li-Young Lee, “From Blossoms”

From the collection, Rose. Copyright © 1986

To Tumblr, Love Pixel Union