Saturday, September 23, 2006
hymne a la beaute

watched to have and have not. made in 1954, i think. strongly disliked the male lead. who did he think he was, above french laws just because he was american? honestly, it's so typical of hollywood. the rest of the world isn't america's backyard, they can't just play in there, mess it up, and return to their own homes. when in rome, do as the romans do. someone should tell them that.

re-discovered hymme a la beaute. i would love to learn french. the syntax is very interesting. romantic? exotic. (and this time i know what a philtre is! haha) i should write something, sometime. it's been a long time. i've been wanting to write about a little boy drowning in a lake, crying out for his dog, while the dog lies at home on his bed, glass eyes staring ahead, unseeing, and its cloth paws remain outstretched on the covers, forever. (except it wouldn't be quite like that. i was never one for plots.) i'm just lazy to write. i'm lazy that way. to structure, to plan, to string words nicely together and pour them out of my mouth (or from my hands) like a pearl necklace with so many flaws. scattering the beads and letting others do what they will with it is so much easier, no? you have no artistry, my dear. i never claimed to have any.

been thinking about certain things more. maybe because someone brought them up. maybe because they never really left my mind. pushed to the back, struggling back to the front, it's all the same - they're always there. the ghost of a perfume lingering long after the bottle's been smashed. oh yes. there are ugly, horrifying ghosts, and there are beautiful, terrifying ghosts.

Hymn to Beauty (a literal translation from the French poem Hymne a la Beaute)

Do you come from the profound heavens or emerge from the abyss
O Beauty? your gaze, infernal and divine,
Mixes in confusion good deeds and bad,
And for that reason you can be compared to wine.
Your eye holds both sunset and dawn;
You spread scents like a stormy evening;
Your kisses are a philtre, and your mouth an amphora
Which makes a hero a coward, and a child courageous.
Do you emerge from the black chasm or come down from the stars?
Charmed Destiny follows your skirt-tails like a dog;
You haphazardly sow joy and disaster,
And you govern all and are responsible for nothing.
You walk upon dead men, Beauty, whom you mock;
Horror is not the least charming of your jewels,
And Murder, among your dearest toys,
Dances lovingly upon your proud belly.
The dazed mayfly flies towards you, candle,
Crackles, catches light, and says: Let us bless this flame!
The panting lover leant over his beauty
Looks like a dead man caressing his tomb.
Whether you come from heaven or from hell, what does it matter,
O Beauty! enormous, terrifying, innocent monster!
If your eye, your smile, your foot, open a door for me
Onto an Infinite which I love and have never known?
From Satan or from God, what does it matter? Angel or Siren,
What does it matter if you render - fairy with velvet eyes,
Rhythm, scent, glow, o my only queen!-
The universe less hideous, and the moments less heavy!

i must really find better ways to fill up my days. i think it was the puritans who said that idle hands invite the devil's work.
8:36 PM ; 0 comments