it's me again
pairing with works by Fairlie Harmar and Henri Rousseau
Birthday Celebration is by British artist and viscountess, Fairlie Harmer (1876-1945). The figure there might be me in good time, though I can’t imagine who the other gentlemen would be. In a review of her work, poet Ezra Pound gave approval, but mistakenly assumed it had been done by a man. The Pink Candle below is by French painter, Henri Rousseau (1844-1910). It speaks to something a little closer to my reality somehow.
Past sixty Past sixty. How old is that? A racoon’s age, donkey’s ears, or years, the lifetime of a gnat. Regardless, the bell tolls at sunrise, dinnertime, for thee, or more particularly, me. Like Lenny, I grey, and ache in the places . . . I used to play; I stoop, too, I hold my hip, but still I dream (like Lou) sangria in the park, for maybe another perfect day! Still too, my bell, that is, my bull, ma belle, my body and muse, rings a truer age, sings the moon, mars, flings words, gestures, onto pages, into bars, touches ghosts, hearts, bodies of the earth— and with the impending knell, I’ll take it by the horn, neck, tail and ride, for what it’s worth. But now I pause, I light a candle, I say a word, to celebrate existence as I find it, and sing myself as Whitman did (never contained between my hat and boots), on this February the third, anniversary of— yes, the day the music died, and my birth. Credits: lines, words, from: Tower of Song, by Leonard Cohen Perfect Day, by Lou Reed Michelle, by Lennon-McCartney Song of Myself, by Walt Whitman American Pie, by Don McLean and, of course, John Donne
A belated happy birthday!
Love it. Any BTW I love being 60. Happy birthday to you.