One has just been sent out as a biblical dove, has found nothing green, and slips back
into the darkness of the ark -- Kafka

Sunday, January 31, 2016

Theodor Storm (1817 - 1888)

Got a few Kindle dollars for Xmas and, per usual, I was like a kid in a candy store. Loaded up on some favorites (e.g., preordered Frisch's Montauk -- release date is the end of March) and some older authors I've been planning to get to, e.g., Theodor Storm. Enjoyed his "The Rider on the White Horse" (the great story came through even with a cheap edition), and have started "Immensee" (I believe this was a freebie). Very little else available in English.

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Hans Theodor Woldsen Storm (14 September 1817 – 4 July 1888), commonly known as Theodor Storm, was a German writer.

Life

Storm was born in the small town of Husum, on the west coast of Schleswig, then a formally independent duchy ruled by the king of Denmark.[1] His parents were the lawyer Johann Casimir Storm (1790-1874) and Lucie Storm, née Woldsen (1797-1879).

Storm went to school in Husum and Lübeck and studied law in Kiel and Berlin.[1] While still a law student in Kiel he published a first volume of verse together with the brothers Tycho and Theodor Mommsen (1843).

From 1843 until his admission was revoked by Danish authorities in 1852, he worked as a lawyer in his home town of Husum. In 1853 Storm moved to Potsdam, moving on to Heiligenstadt in Thuringia in 1856. He returned to Husum in 1865 after Schleswig had come under Prussian rule and became a district magistrate ("Landvogt"). In 1880 Storm moved to Hademarschen, where he spent the last years of his life writing, and died of cancer at the age of 70.[1]

Storm was married twice, first to Konstanze Esmarch, who died in 1864, and then to Dorothea Jensen.


Work

Storm was one of the most important authors of 19th-century German Literary realism. He wrote a number of stories, poems and novellas. His two best-known works are the novellas Immensee (1849) and Der Schimmelreiter ("The Rider on the White Horse"), first published in April 1888 in the Deutsche Rundschau. Other published works include a volume of his poems (1852), the novella Pole Poppenspäler (1874) and the novella Aquis submersus (1877).


[From Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theodor_Storm]

Monday, January 18, 2016

The Art of Amy Guidry

Only met her recently -- and I met her only via her Art. She has given me permission to post a few of my faves. All of her intriguing work can be viewed at her website: www.AmyGuidry.com.

I asked her who her favorite artists are: she answered with Dali, Magritte, and also Kiki Smith and Lucian Freud (the first two seem to make sense, the last two I've got to google -- I don't know Smith and I only know Lucian via Sigmund and a trivia game I play when flying Delta).

I asked her who her favorite writers are: she answered with "I read mostly non-fiction" and "I've been reading a lot of Stephen King."

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Eleanor Norcross' "Arte Moderne"

Arte Moderne by Eleanor Norcross, c. 1920, oil on canvas - Fitchburg Art Museum - DSC08886.JPG
 

"Arte Moderne by Eleanor Norcross, c. 1920, oil on canvas - Fitchburg Art Museum - DSC08886" by Daderot - Own work. Licensed under Public Domain via Commons.


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Wasn't aware of Amy Guidry until I saw her work in/on Fourteen Hills (one of my poems is there so I have a copy of the most recent issue). Wasn't aware of Eleanor Norcross until I read Guidry's bio.

Eleanor Norcross (1854 - 1923)

Eleanor Norcross, born Ella Augusta Norcross (June 19, 1854 – 1923), was an American painter who studied under William Merritt Chase and Alfred Stevens. She lived the majority of her adult life in Paris, France as an artist and collector and spent the summers in her hometown of Fitchburg, Massachusetts. Norcross painted Impressionist portraits and still lifes, and is better known for her paintings of genteel interiors.

Her father provided her a comfortable living, under the proviso that she would not sell her paintings. With a life mission to provide people from her hometown the ability to view great works of art, Norcross collected art, made copies of paintings of Old Masters, and systematically documented decorative arts from the 12th through the 19th century. Her funding and art collection were used to establish the Fitchburg Art Museum.

In 1924, her works were shown posthumously in Paris at the Louvre and Salon d'Automne, where Norcross was the first American to have had a retrospective. Her works were also shown the following year at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

[From Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eleanor_Norcross]

Sunday, January 17, 2016

From Beckett's "Waiting for Godot"

Rereading some Beckett plays. Reading (for the first time) others.

This is Vladimir (Didi) speaking toward the end of Godot.

VLADIMIR: Was I sleeping, while the others suffered? Am I sleeping now? Tomorrow, when I wake, or think I do, what shall I say of today? That with Estragon my friend, at this place until the fall of night, I waited for Godot? That Pozzo passed, with his carrier, and that he spoke to us? Probably. But in all that what truth will there be? [ESTRAGON, having struggled with his boots in vain, is dozing off again. VLADIMIR stares at him.] He'll know nothing. He'll tell me about the blows he received and I'll give him a carrot. [Pause.] Astride of a grave and a difficult birth. Down in the hole, lingeringly, the grave-digger puts on the forceps. We have time to grow old. The air is full of our cries. [He listens.] But habit is a great deadener. [He looks again at ESTRAGON.] At me too someone is looking, of me too someone is saying, he is sleeping, he knows nothing, let him sleep on. [Pause.] I can't go on! [Pause.] What have I said?

Sunset: Harbor (1.2016)

Think it was last Monday (1/11/16) but it could've been Tuesday. Just got back to work. School. Was treated to this on the way home. Too busy to post till now.

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Saturday, January 9, 2016

Sunrise [1/9/16]

Slept in till 6:30. Woke to this. The usual trek: Bucks, Lagoon, Back.

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Friday, January 8, 2016

Rilke's Prose (via Stephen Mitchell)

Have been reading some selected prose pieces of Rilke. Thought I'd start there and then reread Duino. Anyway, don't think I've ever come across this piece before: seemingly written in response to some Christian group. Much of it is interesting; much of it nebulous (like a lot of Rilke). I suppose the part that tickled me most is the part where he compares the sexuality of an adult (centered you know where) and the sexuality of a child (according to Rilke and his friend: scattered throughout the child's body).

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An excerpt:

The terrible untruth and uncertainty of our time has its foundation in our not acknowledging the happiness of sex, in this strangely mistaken guiltiness, which continually increases, and cuts us off from all the rest of Nature, even from the child, although, as I learned during that unforgettable night, his, the child's, innocence doesn't at all consist in the fact that he, so to speak, doesn't know sex,--"on the contrary," said Pierre almost voicelessly, "that inconceivable happiness which, for us, awakens in one place deep within the fruitflesh of a closed embrace is still namelessly scattered everywhere in his whole body." To describe the peculiar situation of our sensuality, we would have to say: Once we were children everywhere, now we are children just in one place.

Walking [1/8/16]: High Water @ Colorado Lagoon

This morning I was again among coots, cormorants, and egrets. The usual circuit: Bucks, Lagoon, Home. I guess it was the recent rains (which I missed): the lagoon was exceptionally high. I don't know that I've ever seen the pontoon bridge so close to "perfectly horizontal."

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Michigan Sojourn: The Best Deal in Town




Michigan Sojourn: Skating on Thin Ice


 
 
 



Michigan Sojourn: Pond (More Cattails Than Ice)









 
 
 
 


Michigan Sojourn: St. Louis


 
 

 
 
 



Michigan Sojourn: Black and White




Michigan Sojourn: Ann Arbor

Had another week to fill and Germany wasn't enough. Besides, I wanted to see some snow. And some old friends.

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