The Photograph

Gustave Courbet
The Origin of the World

The Photograph

In this obscene photograph secretly sold
the policeman mustn't see) around the corner,
in this whorish photograph,
how did such a dream-like face
make its way; How did you get in here?

Who knows what a degrading, vulgar life you lead;
how horrible the surroundings must have been
when you posed to have the picture taken;
what a cheap soul you must have.
But in spite of all this, and even more, you remain for me
the dream-like face, the figure
shaped for and dedicated to Hellenic love—
that's how you remain for me
and how my poetry speaks of you.

~ Constantine P. Cavafy ~

Dance Figure

Robert Henri
Julianita

Robert Henri

Julianita Ready for the Dance

Dance Figure
For the Marriage in Cana of Galilee

Dark eyed,

O woman of my dreams,

Ivory sandalled,

There is none like thee among the dancers,

None with swift feet.

I have not found thee in the tents,

In the broken darkness.

I have not found thee at the well-head

Among the women with pitchers.
Thine arms are as a young sapling under the bark

Thy face as a river with lights.
White as an almond are thy shoulders;

As new almonds stripped from the husk.

They guard thee not with eunuchs;

Not with bars of copper.
Gilt turquoise and silver are in the place of thy rest.

A brown robe, with threads of gold woven in

patterns, hast thou gathered about thee,

O Nathat-Ikanaie, 'Tree-at-the-river'.
As a rillet among the sedge are thy hands upon me;

Thy fingers a frosted stream.
Thy maidens are white like pebbles;

Their music about thee!
There is none like thee among the dancers;

None with swift feet.

~ Ezra Pound ~

Your Laughter

Robert Henri

Reclining Nude (Barbara Brown)

Your Laughter

Take bread away from me, if you wish,

take air away, but

do not take from me your laughter.

Do not take away the rose,

the lanceflower that you pluck,

the water that suddenly

bursts forth in your joy,

the sudden waveof silver born you.

My struggle is harsh and I come back

with eyes tired

at times from having seen

the unchanging earth,

but when your laughter enters

it rises to the sky seeking me

and it opens for me all

the doors of life.

My love, in the darkest

hour your laughter

opens, and if suddenly

you see my blood staining

the stones of the street,

laugh, because your laughter

will be for my hands

like a fresh sword.

Next to the sea in the autumn,

your laughter must raise

its foamy cascade,

and in the spring, love

I want your laughter like

the flower I was waiting for,

the blue flower, the rose

of my echoing country.

Laugh at the night

at the day, at the moon,

laugh at the twisted

streets of the island,

laugh at the clumsy

boy who loves you,

but when I open

my eyes and close them,

when my steps go,

when my steps return,

deny me bread, air,

light, spring,

but never your laughter

for I would die.

~ Pablo Neruda ~

Could Have You

Camille Pissarro

Bather in the Woods

Could Have You

If my breath could catch you
Let my lungs burst with your air

If my eyes could sketch you
Let them close on your lines

If my mouth could drink you
Let your waters stream from my every pore

If my heart could have you
Let my blood laugh at its luck

~ Greg Moglia ~

Fannie

Frank Russell Green

Lady with a Pink Rose

Fannie

Fannie has the sweetest foot

Ever in a gaiter boot!

And the hoyden knows it,

And, of course, she shows it-

Not the knowledge, but the foot-

Yet with such a modest grace,

Never seems it out of place,

Ah, there are not many

Half so sly, or sad, or mad,

Or wickeder than Fannie.

Fannie has the blackest hair

Of any of the village girls;

It does not shower on her neck

In silken or coquettish curls.

It droops in folds around her brow,

As clouds, at night, around the moon,

Looped with lilies here and there,

In many a dangerous festoon.

And Fannie wears a gipsy hat,

Saucily-yes, all of that!

Ah, there are not many

Half so sly, or sad, or mad,

Or wickeder than Fannie.

Fannie wears an open dress-

Ah! the charming chemisette!

Half concealing, half revealing

Something far more charming yet.

Fannie draper her breast with lace,

As one would drape a costly vase

To keep away mischevious flies;

But lace can't keep away one's eyes,

For every time her bosom heaves,

Ah, it peepeth through it;

Yet Fannie looks the while as if

Never once she knew it.

Ah, there are not many

Half so sly, or sad, or mad,

Or innocent than Fannie.

Fannie lays her hand in mine;

Fannie speaks with naivete,

Fannie kisses me, she does!

In her own coquettish way.

Then softly speaks and deeply sighs,

With angels nestled in her eyes.

In the merrie month of May,

Fannie swears sincerely

She will be my own wife,

And love me dearly, dearly

Ever after all her life.

Ah, there are not many

Half so sly, or sad, or mad,

As my true-hearted Fannie.

~ Thomas Bailey Aldrich ~

Passing Remark

Amedeo Modigliani

The Red Haired Girl

Passing Remark

In scenery I like flat country.
In life I don’t like much to happen.

In personalities I like mild colorless people.
And in colors I prefer gray and brown.

My wife, a vivid girl from the mountains,
says, “Then why did you choose me?”

Mildly I lower my brown eyes—
there are so many things admirable people do not understand.

~ William Stafford ~

The face that launch'd a thousand ships

Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Helen of Troy

The face that launch'd a thousand ships

Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,

And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?

Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss.

Her lips suck forth my soul: see, where it flies!

Come, Helen, come, give me my soul again.

Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,

And all is dross that is not Helena.

I will be Paris, and for love of thee,

Instead of Troy, shall Wittenberg be sack'd;

And I will combat with weak Menelaus,

And wear thy colours on my plumed crest;

Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel,

And then return to Helen for a kiss.

O, thou art fairer than the evening air

Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars;

Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter

When he appear'd to hapless Semele;

More lovely than the monarch of the sky

In wanton Arethusa's azur'd arms;

And none but thou shalt be my paramour!

~ Christopher Marlowe ~

To Helen

Franz von Stuck
Helen

To Helen

Helen, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicean barks of yore

That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,

The weary way-worn wanderer bore

To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam,

Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,

Thy Naiad airs have brought me home

To the glory that was Greece,

And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche

How statue-like I see thee stand,

The agate lamp within my hand,

Ah! Psyche, from the regions which

Are holy land!

~ Edgar Allen Poe ~

Opus 6

Kees Van Dongen

The Corn Poppy

Opus 6

If I were only dafter
I might be making hymns
To the liquor of your laughter
And the lacquer of your limbs.
But you turn across the table
A telescope of eyes,
And it lights a Russian sable
Running circles in the skies. . .
Till I go running after,
Obeying all your whims --
For the liquor of your laughter
And the lacquer of your limbs.

~ Witter Bynner ~

writing as Emanuel Morgan

Her Eyes

John William Waterhouse

Destiny

Her Eyes

That they are brown, no man will dare to say
He knows. And yet I think that no man's look
Ever those depths of light and shade forsook,
Until their gentle pain warned him away.
Of all sweet things I know but one which may
Be likened to her eyes.
When, in deep nook
Of some green field, the water of a brook
Makes lingering, whirling eddy in its way,
Round soft drowned leaves; and in a flash of sun
They turn to gold, until the ripples run
Now brown, now yellow, changing as by some
Swift spell.
I know not with what body come
The saints. But this I know, my Paradise
Will mean the resurrection of her eyes.

~ Helen Hunt Jackson ~