Showing posts with label Percy Bysshe Shelley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Percy Bysshe Shelley. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Love's Philosophy and Boucher

Shepherd and Shepherdess Reposing, 1761, Francois Boucher

The fountains mingle with the river
   And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
   With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
   All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
   Why not I with thine?—

Charms of Life Champetre, Boucher

See the mountains kiss high heaven
   And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
   If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
   If thou kiss not me?

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

Sunday, June 9, 2013

Ozymandias - Horace Smith & Percy Bysshe Shelley

Statue of Ramesses II,  From the Ramessum, Thebes, Egypt, 19th Dynasty, About the "Younger Memnon", About 1250 BC, The British Museum, London, UK 
The inscription on the Statue of Ramesses II was the inspiration for a competition between Horace Smith and Percy Bysshe Shelley. The inscription reads, "King of Kings am I, Osymandias. If anyone would know how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass one of my works." Shelley is addressing the inevitable decline of all leaders as all things decay and their time passes.

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.' 
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley


Ozymandias

IN Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
      Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
      The only shadow that the Desert knows:—
    "I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
      "The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
    "The wonders of my hand."— The City's gone,—
      Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
    The site of this forgotten Babylon.

    We wonder,—and some Hunter may express
    Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
      Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
    He meets some fragment huge, and stops to guess
      What powerful but unrecorded race
      Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
– Horace Smith.

Daniel in the Lions' Den, c. 1614-16, Peter Paul Rubens, Oil on Canvas, National Gallery, Washington D.C.
One of my favorite paintings is Peter Paul Rubens' Daniel in the Lions' Den' housed at the National Gallery in Washington D.C. I included it in this blog because Daniel in the Lions Den took place in Babylon, which is mentioned in Horace Smith's poem. "The ancient Middle East was the story of one empire rising, falling, and being replaced by another. In 605 B.C., the Babylonians conquered Israel, taking many of its promising young men into captivity in Babylon. One of those men was Daniel. When the lions' den event occurred, Daniel was in his 80s. Through a life of hard work and obedience to God, he had risen through the political ranks as an administrator of this pagan kingdom. In fact, Daniel was so honest and hardworking that the other government officials--who were jealous of him--could find nothing to remove him from office. So they tried to use Daniel's faith in God against him. They tricked King Darius into passing a decree that during a 30-day period, anyone who prayed to another god or man besides the king would be thrown into the lions' den." 

Friday, May 10, 2013

On the Medusa of Leonardo Da Vinci in the Florentine Gallery

The Head of Medusa, ca. 1600, Uffzi Gallery, Florence Italy


It lieth, gazing on the midnight sky, 
  Upon the cloudy mountain peak supine;  
Below, far lands are seen tremblingly; 
  Its horror and its beauty are divine. 
Upon its lips and eyelids seems to lie 
  Loveliness like a shadow, from which shrine,  
Fiery and lurid, struggling underneath,  
The agonies of anguish and of death. 

Yet it is less the horror than the grace  
  Which turns the gazer's spirit into stone;
Whereon the lineaments of that dead face  
  Are graven, till the characters be grown  
Into itself, and thought no more can trace; 
  'Tis the melodious hue of beauty thrown  
Athwart the darkness and the glare of pain,
Which humanize and harmonize the strain. 

And from its head as from one body grow, 
  As [   ] grass out of a watery rock, 
Hairs which are vipers, and they curl and flow  
  And their long tangles in each other lock,
And with unending involutions shew  
  Their mailed radiance, as it were to mock  
The torture and the death within, and saw  
The solid air with many a ragged jaw. 

And from a stone beside, a poisonous eft
  Peeps idly into those Gorgonian eyes; 
Whilst in the air a ghastly bat, bereft  
  Of sense, has flitted with a mad surprise  
Out of the cave this hideous light had cleft, 
  And he comes hastening like a moth that hies
After a taper; and the midnight sky  
Flares, a light more dread than obscurity. 

'Tis the tempestuous loveliness of terror;  
  For from the serpents gleams a brazen glare  
Kindled by that inextricable error, 35 
  Which makes a thrilling vapour of the air  
Become a [ ] and ever-shifting mirror  
  Of all the beauty and the terror there— 
A woman's countenance, with serpent locks, 
Gazing in death on heaven from those wet rocks. 

~   by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Shelly tragically drowned in 1822 during a storm long before the 20th Century debate that this painting is in fact attributed to an anonymous Florentine painter and not Leonardo Da Vinci. The Head of Medusa was attributed to Leonardo by his biographer, Luigi Lanzi based primarily on his description of the work given by Vasari in The Lives of the Artists, p. 258-261 there are two separate Medusa painting stories. The painting in the Florentine Gallery is about the the Medusa make of oils and described as being "...kept among the fine works of art in the palace of Duke Cosimo...". The first story was about a "Buckler" (essentially a shield). To read about the Medusa stories online check out the Full Text 'Stories of the Italian Artists From Vasari' starting with story 147. Shelly would have had no way of knowing this was not Leonardo's work, however as always Shelley's work is wonderful.

Two additional Medusa images which I love are below:

Medusa, 1598-99, Oil on Canvas on Mounted Wood, Caravaggio, Uffizi Gallery, Florence, Italy


Head of Medusa, c. 1617-18, Color on Canvas, Peter Paul Rubens, Kunsthistorisches Museum, Vienna, Austria 



Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Love's Philosophy

Fountain in Atlanta, 2013, Jeniffer Sams


The fountains mingle with the river   
And the rivers with the ocean,   
The winds of heaven mix for ever   
With a sweet emotion;   
Nothing in the world is single, 
All things by a law divine   
In one another's being mingle—   
Why not I with thine?   
 

Psyche ranimee par le baiser de l'Amour, Antonio Canova, Musee du Louvre, Paris


See the mountains kiss high heaven,   
And the waves clasp one another; 
No sister-flower would be forgiven   
If it disdain'd its brother;   
And the sunlight clasps the earth,   
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—   
What is all this sweet work worth 
If thou kiss not me? 

Cupid and Psyche, 1891, Annie Louisa Robinson Swynnerton


~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Indian Serenade


Lake of Longing, 2008, Veronica Atanacio

I arise from dreams of thee   
  In the first sweet sleep or night, 
When the winds are breathing low,   
  And the stars are shining bright:
I arise from dreams of thee,   
  And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me- who knows how?  
  To thy chamber-window, sweet!  

The wandering airs they faint   
  On the dark, the silent stream-
The champak odors fail   
  Like sweet thoughts in a dream; 
The nightingale's complaint,   
  It dies upon her heart-
As I must die on thine,   
  Oh, beloved as thou art!  

Oh, lift me from the grass!   
  I die! I faint! I fail! 
Let thy love in kisses rain   
  On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white, alas!   
  My heart beats loud and fast-
Oh! press it close to thine own again,   
  Where it will break at last!

~by Percy Bysshe Shelley