Photo: nga.gov; “Le baiser à la dérobée”, Jean-Honoré Fragonard

Viens, chantons devant Dieu; chantons dans tes pensées,
Dans tes plaisirs perdus, dans tes peines passées;
Partons, dans un baiser, pour un monde inconnu,
Éveillons au hasard les échos de ta vie,
Parlons-nous de bonheur, de gloire et de folie,
Et que ce soit un rêve, et le premier venu.
Inventons quelque part des lieux où l’on oublie;
Partons, nous sommes seuls, l’univers est à nous.

Alfred de Musset, La nuit de mai (extrait)
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Au zénith aveuglant brûle un globe de flamme,
Le ciel entier frémit criblé de flèches d’or.
Immobile et ridée à peine la mer dort,
La mer dort au soleil comme une belle femme.

Albert Samain, Midi

My Daisy was sick last night, so rather than go to my boyfriend’s apartment, he came to my place and we spent the night here instead. We camped out on the floor, tumbling into the makeshift “bed” at nearly 5 o’clock. When I next opened my eyes, the clock read 10:44 and the birds were singing just outside my window. After lounging around among the pile of blankets for another hour, we finally got up, and parted ways. I’ve spent the day being gloriously lazy: padding around the house in my slippers, making tea and watching the news curled up on the sofa in my blue pyjamas, walking to the store and taking Daisy (who thankfully seems much better today) for a walk, reading the newspaper outside, under the afternoon sun, with Daisy curled up by my side… ‘Tis a lovely spring day. The only big decision before me is what to make for dinner! (Which, at the moment, looks to be a toss-up between a veggie burger and salad, or sesame ginger tofu and rice.) I suppose I could always clean house… but then, what fun would that be? I wouldn’t want to disturb the sense of coziness and tranquility I’ve fostered all day

“Le canari ne porte que ses ailes, mais ses ailes le portent.”

Wole Soyinka
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Photo: mia-farrow.com

I only caught the first hour of this film, and even then only in bits and pieces, but it was enough to make me want to rent it and watch it in full. Truly bizarre story of the strange and initially forced bond between a middle-aged prostitute whose daughter has died, and a young girl whose mother has abandoned her. Very good art direction; the use of odd camera angles furthers the feeling of madness. Also a very effective use of silence – there is virtually no dialogue in the first 15 minutes or so, and is very little talking throughout (at least the parts I saw). As I haven’t seen the ending, no spoilers, please!

Photos: ronandjoe.com

I spent part of my morning perusing old Reader’s Digest magazines that my baba had dropped off last week. There were stacks of them; most have been dumped directly into the recycling bin – save for a few from the 60s and 70s, which I set aside to read. I like flipping through old magazines – especially for the adverts! And it’s always interesting to read the bold predictions for the future that never panned out. Although almost all magazine articles from those eras are virtually identical in content and language, I’m somehow always shocked by the blatant sexism, religiosity, and Eurocentric attitude underpinning every sentence, every photograph, every cartoon.
In an issue from 1965 that I read today, there were claims that arthritis would be “cured in our generation”, and that there is no connection between cancer and heredity. There was a list (provided by a police department) entitled “How To Raise a Delinquent” (step 3: “Do not set your children on a spiritual path; wait until they’re 21 and then ‘let them decide for themselves’”) There were many adverts for weight-loss products (I guess some things don’t change). There were ads for cheap long distance rates ($4/minute to Western Europe), hotel rooms ($6/day), and many blonde hair colouring products (“Tones your hair so naturally, it even makes you feel blonde”). Perhaps the most outstanding advert was for Air Canada. A woman wearing a lovely dress, a wide smile across her face, with the caption: “Whoopee! He’s off on another business trip! (and I’m going with him)… Suddenly, you’re Alice in Wonderland – Queen of the May – Cleopatra. And Air Canada is your escape route to a holiday from apron strings – a change of scene – a kind of no limit charge account for blue skies and happy times… Get on the phone and ask your Mother to baby sit. Have your hair done… One more thing. Give your husband a hero’s welcome tonight. He deserves it.” Sheesh.
Tucked between an article entitled “Communists Never Give Up” and an advert for yet another weight-loss product (unique only for the model’s achieved goal: 147 pounds, size 14 – a body that would today be viewed with disdain) was an article (written by a woman) called “The Fun of Being a Woman” – apparently, the advanages include men (“The biggest, glossiest, most altogether delightful bonus of all is, of course, men… The company of men is better for the morale than a shot of benzedrine. I have often had the experience of meeting with a girlfriend over coffee or lunch. We may have enjoyed our chat a good deal. Or again, the conversation may have become desultory and bored. But suddenly a man – almost any man – appears unexpectedly, and the whole tempo changes. We perk up, both become prettier and more witty, and also much nicer.”), frivolity (“frivol – makeup, jewelry, pretty hairstyles, flowers, evenings out, gorgeous lingerie – is all right, the best therapy yet invented to heal the aches, the toil, the worries and the slights of life.”), flirting (“if it is not overdone”), and being complimented (“Being told one is pretty is marvelous”). Oh but there are drawbacks to being a woman, “even in these emancipated days… We can’t go hitch-hiking, or be ordained in the Church of England”. And yet, the author insists, “I think we could do worse than belong to the second sex”. Really? Phew. Thank goodness for that.

La Vie est plus ancienne que toute chose vivante, tout comme la beauté resplendissait avant que naissent sur terre des choses belles, et la vérité était vérité avant d’être exprimée.
La Vie chante dans nos silences, et les rêves dans notre sommeil. Même lorsque nous sommes défaits et accablées, la Vie triomphe. Lorsque nous pleurons, la Vie sourit au jour, et elle reste libre quand nous traînons nos chaînes.
Bien souvent, nous trouvons la Vie amère, mais seulement parce que nous sommes nous-même assombris par l’amertume; nous la jugeons vide et vaine, mais seulement dans les moments où l’âme s’en va errante, en des lieux désolés, et lorsque le coeur est enivré par un moi trop envahissant.
Profonde est la Vie, et sublime et lointaine. Votre vue la plus perçante ne peut en apercevoir que les pieds, mais elle est proche de nous. Et si le souffle de votre haleine n’atteint que son coeur, cependant, l’ombre de votre ombre passe sur son visage, et l’écho de votre plus faible appel fait naître dans sa poitrine un printemps et un automne.
La Vie est voilée, cachée même, comme est voilé et caché votre moi le plus intime. Mais quand la Vie se met à parler, tous les vents deviennent paroles, et quand elle parle davantage, le sourire de vos lèvres et les larmes de vos yeux deviennent eux aussi paroles. Quand la Vie chante, les sourds entendent et deviennent attentifs; quand elle s’approche doucement, les aveugles la voient et la suivent, frappés de stupeur et d’admiration.

Khalil Gibran, Le jardin du prophète (extrait)
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Si tu ne trouves pas d’ami sage, prêt à cheminer avec toi, résolu, constant, marche seul, comme un roi après une conquête ou un éléphant dans la forêt.

Bouddha

« Le soleil accepte bien de passer par de petites fenêtres. »

Frederik van Eeden
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Il est des jours – avez-vous remarqué? -
Où l’on se sent plus léger qu’un oiseau,
Plus jeune qu’un enfant, et, vrai! plus gai
Que la même gaieté d’un damoiseau.

Paul Verlaine, Impression de printemps

“Le monde m’est nouveau à mon reveil, chaque matin.” (Colette)

It’s 4:54 in the morning, and I’m hopelessly awake. I slept for several hours, and then suddenly, just before 4:00, I opened my eyes and was wide awake, as if I hadn’t slept at all. After lying in bed for nearly an hour, trying in vain to fall back asleep, here I sit. Perhaps it was all the delicious food eaten this weekend, or all the chocolate, keeping me awake… Perhaps my body simply needed a nap… Perhaps it was the spring breeze. The windows are all open, allowing the cool night air inside the apartment. Last night I went to bed wearing very little, just some boy shorts under a thin satin robe; it’s that time of year where it’s too hot to spend the night under the covers, yet too chilly to sleep on top of the covers. There is only one thin, lightweight blanket in this apartment, and it’s an awkward shape – a smallish square, not quite large enough to cover one body, let alone two. (And let me state here and now that in the battle of the blankets, the eternal nighttime tugs-of-war, my boyfriend is almost always the winner. This is why we actually use separate blankets… Although even then I often end up blanket-less!)
At any rate, time marches on, and as we’ve now passed 5 o’clock, I seem to have crossed over into the “morning” mental state. There is a time, different for everyone I suppose, where it ceases to be “the middle of the night” and magically becomes “morning” (even though it was technically morning all along); somewhere between 5 and 6 represents that mental barrier for me.
And what better way to start the morning than in a nice, hot bath?

Photo: foodisart.co.uk

Perhaps this would be a bit of “chocolate overload” after the Easter weekend… but still intriguing

Frère Jacques, frère Jacques,
Réveille-toi de ton sommeil d’hiver
Les fins taillis sont déjà verts
Et nous voici au temps de Pâques,
Frère Jacques.

Poème: Émile Verhaeren, A Pâques (extrait)

Photo: houseofukraine.com

There are several traditional symbols used on the eggs, each carrying its own meaning: wheat, pine needles, deer, birds are very common, as are diamonds, triangles and roses. Each signify values and wishes such as prosperity, patience, love, and good health. Because the needle of the kistka is so sharp, these very precise and detailed designs can be drawn on the egg’s surface. As long as you have a steady hand and some patience, you too can master this delicate form of artistry! (I will point out, however, that my pysanky almost never came out quite as detailed and clear as the standards used in photographs or on display in Ukrainian boutiques! Perhaps more training is yet necessary…)

Ce qui est mieux connu est mieux compris et mieux aimé. Pour peu qu’il préfère une once de chair vive à une once de chair morte, un chercheur étudiant les loups, les chevêches, les fourmis, les grenouilles ou les poulpes perd toute envie de les tuer et s’attache, au contraire, à les protéger. L’approche humaine de la faune et la flore perdrait-elle sa pertinence en s’appliquant aux hommes dénaturés par une économie de prédation?

Raoul Vaneigem
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