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And love makes you feel ten foot tall ..
listen for the ” and it sounds like this ”

Lou Reed – Love Makes You Feel

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Just heard this, had to post it for ya before I get in the bath !
Happy Noo Year To Ya with many splendid additions too numerous to leave on here

MaMuse – Glorious

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always worth repeating …/

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Thomas Campion (1567-1620)
I Care Not for These Ladies

I care not for these ladies,
That must be wooed and prayed:
Give me kind Amaryllis,
The wanton country maid.
Nature art disdaineth,
Her beauty is her own.
Her when we court and kiss,
She cries, “Forsooth, let go!”
But when we come where comfort is,
She never will say no.

If I love Amaryllis,
She gives me fruit and flowers:
But if we love these ladies,
We must give golden showers.
Give them gold, that sell love,
Give me the nut-brown lass,
Who, when we court and kiss,
She cries, “Forsooth, let go!”
But when we come where comfort is,
She never will say no.

These ladies must have pillows,
And beds by strangers wrought;
Give me a bower of willows,
Of moss and leaves unbought,
And fresh Amaryllis,
With milk and honey fed;
Who, when we court and kiss,
She cries, “Forsooth, let go!”
But when we come where comfort is,
She never will say no.

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Later tater

Tanya Davis – Potatoes

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never mind the slow start, this is a cover of a 19th century song
has redeeming bits and borrows some Van the Man’s sax
and in a cliche, grows on you ….

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Marianne Moore

Saint Nicholas,

might I if you can find it, be given
a chameleon with a tail
that curls like a watch spring; and vertical
on the body – including the face – pale
tiger-stripes, about seven;
(the melanin in the skin
having been shaded from the sun by thin
bars; the spinal dome
beaded along the ridge
as if it were platinum).

If you can find no striped chameleon,
might I have a dress or suit-
I guess you have heard of it- of qivuit* ?
and to wear with it, a taslon shirt, the drip-dry fruit
of research second to none;
sewn, I hope, by Excello;
as for buttons to keep down the collar points, no.
The shirt could be white-
and be “worn before six”,
either in daylight or at night.

But don’t give me, if I can’t have the dress,
a trip to Greenland, or grim
trip to the moon. The moon should come here. Let him
make the trip down, spread on my dark floor some dim
marvel, and if a success
that I stoop to pick up and wear,
I could ask nothing more. A thing yet more rare
though, and different,
would be this: Hans von Marees’
St. Hubert, kneeling with head bent,

form erect- in velvet, tense with restraint-
hand hanging down: the horse, free.
Not the original, of course. Give me
a postcard of the scene- huntsman and divinity-
hunt-mad Hubert startled into a saint
by a stag with a figure entined.
But why tell you what you must have divined ?
Saint Nicholas, O Santa Claus,
would it not be the most
prized gift that ever was?

~
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*qivuit —

To wear the arctic fox
you have to kill it. Wear
qivuit-the underwool of the arctic ox-
pulled off it like a sweater;
your coat is warm; your conscience, better.

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Wallace Stevens received a national book award in 1951
and spoke of the ‘modern poet’

” … we can’t compare modern poetry with the Lady of the Lake
any more than we can compare Eisenhower with Agamemnon.
A modern poet is nothing more than a person of the present,
finding his own thought and feeling in the thought and feeling
of other people – through his own thought and feeling.
What he derives from people he returns to people.”

Wallace Stevens
The Poems of Our Climate

I
Clear water in a brilliant bowl,
Pink and white carnations. The light
In the room more like a snowy air,
Reflecting snow. A newly-fallen snow
At the end of winter when afternoons return.
Pink and white carnations – one desires
So much more than that. The day itself
Is simplified: a bowl of white,
Cold, a cold porcelain, low and round,
With nothing more than the carnations there.

II
Say even that this complete simplicity
Stripped one of all one’s torments, concealed
The evilly compounded, vital I
And made it fresh in a world of white,
A world of clear water, brilliant-edged,
Still one would want more, one would need more,
More than a world of white and snowy scents.

III
There would still remain the never-resting mind,
So that one would want to escape, come back
To what had been so long composed.
The imperfect is our paradise.
Note that, in this bitterness, delight,
Since the imperfect is so hot in us,
Lies in flawed words and stubborn sounds.

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nuff said

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Her voice and the musicians she has overrides anything in the lyrics….

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Cameroon meets Cuba and Japan … Richard Bona, jazz bassist and
Roberto Fonseca jazz pianist … add a Japanese trumpet player,
Takuya Kuroda and a Cuban brass section and drums.
(Richard Bona is pronounced Bonner not Boner !)

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redeeming features of this country choon is the gittar

Brothers Osborne – Stay A Little Longer

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The Copa belongs to a miscellany of lighter verse attributed
to Virgil (70 – 19 BC) by Servius in the fourth century. His great
name gave it a kind of charmed passage. It’s closeness to the
Virgilian letter and extreme remoteness from his spirit have left
a riddle of authorship. It is so unlike Virgil he may very well have
written it. The manuscript was brought to the abbey of St Riquier
(a commune in the Somme) in 814 by Anglibert a secretary to
Charlemagne but was lost. A copy next appeared in Lombard script
that once belonged to Cardinal Bembo and the text of the first
translation below was his.

Appendix Virgiliana
Dancing Girl of Syria (The Copa)

Dancing girl of Syria, her hair caught up with a fillet;
Very subtle in swaying those quivering flanks of hers
In time to the castanet’s rattle: half-drunk in the smoky tavern,
She dances, lacivious, wanton, clashing the rhythm.
And what’s the use, if you’re tired, of being out in the dust and the heat,
When you might as well lie still and get drunk on your settle ?
Here’s tankards and cups and measures and roses and pipes and fiddles,
And a trellis arbour cool with its shade of reeds,
And somewhere somebody piping as if it were Pan’s own grotto,
On a shepherd’s flute, the way they do in the fields.
And here’s a thin little wine, just poured from a cask that is pitchy,
And a brook running by with the noise and gurgle of running water.

There’s even garlands for you, violet wreaths and saffron,
And golden melilot* twining with crimson roses,
And lilies plucked where they grow by the virgin river,
– Achelois* brings them in green willow baskets-
And little cheeses for you that they dry in baskets of rushes,
And plums that ripen in the autumn weather,
And chestnuts, and the cheerful red of apples.
In brief, here’s Ceres, Love and rowdy Bacchus
-and red-stained blackberries, and grapes in bunches,
And hanging from his withe seagreen cucumber.
And here’s the little god who keeps the arbour,
Fierce with his sickle and enormous belly.

Hither, O pilgrim ! See, the little donkey
Is tired and wistful. Spare the little donkey !
Did not a goddess love a little donkey ?

It’s very hot
Cicadae out in the trees are shrilling, ear-splitting,
The very lizard is hiding for coolness under his hedge.
If you have sense you’ll lie still and drench yourself from your wine cup,
Or maybe you prefer the look of your wine in crystal ?
Heigh ho, but it’s good to lie here under the vines,
And bind on your heavy head a garland of roses,
And reap the scarlet lips of a pretty girl.
-You be damned, you there with your Puritan eye-brows !
What thanks will cold ashes give for the sweetness of garlands ?
Or is it your mind to hang a rose wreath upon your tombstone ?
Set down the wine and the dice, and perish who thinks of to-morrow !
-Here’s Death twitching my ear, “Live” says he, “for I’m coming.”
~
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~

~
* melilot is a sweet clover

*Achelois was a minor Greek lunar goddess –
her name means “She who drives away pain.”

Latin translation and notes Helen Waddell

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La Peri by Marina Hoffman

La Peri (modeled by Anna Pavlova and Ivan Novikoff),
bronze sculpture with mottled reddish brown and
black and green patina by Malvina Hoffman, 1921;
in the collection of the Yale University Art Gallery,
New Haven, Connecticut.

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this has redeeming features, s’why you get it …
Valley Queen – Hold on You

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