Aelbert Cuyp

[porphyry]

He is eveidently mentioned in Jane Eyre, which Mme. Malkhos is re-reading. here is one that is not too bad:




Although, aside from the leopards, they all look pretty tame to start with.

Comments

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

Is that Orpheus? (Well, it's NOT Adam. Who else could it possibly be?) Then, no wonder they look tame.

[petrusplancius.livejournal.com]

I'm not surprised that he should be mentioned in Jane Eyre, he was exceptionally popular in England for his moist landscapes and riverscapes, often shown bathed in a warm early evening light. One often comes across them in country mansions and there are lots in the London museums. The one that you show doesn't really do him him justice; this is a favourite of mine (partly because I have known it since I was a child), 'The Avenue At Meerdervoort' in the Wallace Collection in London:

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

Indeed, anice lanscape, but I have a weakness for orpheus. I knew you'd know all about him.

[petrusplancius.livejournal.com]

I like Orpheus too, but that painting seems to me to be lacking in magic. This one by Roelandt Savery in the National Gallery in London is rather better I think:

Ingeborg Bachmann

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

Dunkles zu sagen

Wie Orpheus spiel ich
auf den Saiten des Lebens den Tod
und in die Schönheit der Erde
und deiner Augen, die den Himmel verwalten,
weiß ich nur Dunkles zu sagen.

Vergiß nicht, daß auch du, plötzlich,
an jenem Morgen, als dein Lager
noch naß war von Tau und die Nelke
an deinem Herzen schlief,
den dunklen Fluß sahst,
der an dir vorbeizog.

Die Saite des Schweigens
gespannt auf die Welle von Blut,
griff ich dein tönendes Herz.
Verwandelt ward deine Locke
ins Schattenhaar der Nacht,
der Finsternis schwarze Flocken
beschneiten dein Antlitz.

Und ich gehör dir nicht zu.
Beide klagen wir nun.

Aber wie Orpheus weiß ich
auf der Seite des Todes das Leben
und mir blaut
dein für immer geschlossenes Aug.

And Rilke:

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

Sei allem Abschied voran, als wäre er hinter
dir, wie der Winter, der eben geht.
Denn unter Wintern ist einer so endlos Winter,
daß, überwinternd, dein Herz überhaupt übersteht.

Sei immer tot in Eurydike —, singender steige,
preisender steige zurück in den reinen Bezug.
Hier, unter Schwindenden, sei, im Reiche der Neige,
sei ein klingendes Glas, das sich im Klang schon zerschlug.

Sei — und wisse zugleich des Nicht-Seins Bedingung,
den unendlichen Grund deiner innigen Schwingung,
daß du sie völlig vollziehst dieses einzige Mal.

Zu dem gebrauchten sowohl, wie zum dumpfen und stummen
Vorrat der vollen Natur, den unsäglichen Summen,
zähle dich jubelnd hinzu und vernichte die Zahl.

Re: And Rilke:

[petrusplancius.livejournal.com]

I like the first poem, which I didn't know; are her works worth investigating as a whole?

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

She's something like the "Queen of Melancholy" of Austrian post-war poetry. I like her a lot. I guess it's safe to say that I was quite in love with her for some time. Something that's rekindled every once in a while.

So I'm really the wrong person to ask. But I agree with her, when she said that Paul Celan's poems were probably better than hers. Celan's "Corona" includes allusions to her and some of her poems (including the one I quoted above):

Aus der Hand frißt der Herbst mir sein Blatt: wir sind Freunde.
Wir schälen die Zeit aus den Nüssen und lehren sie gehn:
die Zeit kehrt zurück in die Schale.

Im Spiegel ist Sonntag,
im Traum wird geschlafen,
der Mund redet wahr.

Mein Auge steigt hinab zum Geschlecht der Geliebten:
wir sehen uns an,
wir sagen uns Dunkles,
wir lieben einander wie Mohn und Gedächtnis,
wir schlafen wie Wein in den Muscheln,
wie das Meer im Blutstrahl des Mondes.

Wir stehen umschlungen im Fenster, wir sehen uns zu von der Straße:
es ist Zeit, daß man weiß!
Es ist Zeit, daß der Stein sich zu blühen bequemt,
daß der Unrast ein Herz schlägt.
Es ist Zeit, daß es Zeit wird.

Es ist Zeit.

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

PS: Apart from her poems she's written radioplays, stories, a novel, essays, translations. She was a PhD, btw, and wrote her Dissertation against Heidegger and for Wittgenstein, which alone is a nice thing to do:-) (And a good basis to become friends with Paul Celan.) The more I think about her now, the more I want to read her again.

If you want I can copy you some CDs with her sad and shaky, but wonderfully appropriate voice reading from her works. Would you like that? Then mail me your postal address: strangefruit "at" aon.at

Re: Ingeborg Bachmann

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

All right; you've got me to admit it--I can't read German. Can you translate?

Re: Ingeborg Bachmann

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

Well I can try, but beware: this is going to be awkward:

Dark things to say

Like Orpheus I play
death on the strings of life
and to earth's beauty
and your eyes' that govern the sky
I only know dark things to say

Don't forget that you too suddenly
on that morning when your camp
was still wet with dew and the carnation
slept at your heart
saw the dark river
that passed you

The string of silence
strained on the wave of blood
I seized your sounding heart
Your curl was changed
to night's hair of shadow
the black flakes of darkness
snowed on your face

And I don't belong to you
We both lament now

But like Orpheus I know
life on the side of death
and to me it is blue
your closed for good eye

Re: Ingeborg Bachmann

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

I know that's a crazy word order (like Milton's Horace translations), but I tried to imitate the German. Two notes: [1] "life on the side of death" does not mean "life and death side by side", but: "life where death is" (quasi: "in the midst of death we are in life"). [2] "Your curl was changed", i.e. "transformed".

Re: Ingeborg Bachmann

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

There is some stunning imagery in that! I truly appreciate your translating it for me; I wouldn't know if it's awkward or not.

Re: Ingeborg Bachmann

[leopold-paula-b.livejournal.com]

Not at all. It now crossed my mind that she might be alluding to Gustav Mahler's "Lied von der Erde" (Song of the Earth). The first section of which contains the line: "Dunkel ist das Leben, ist der Tod" (Dark is life; dark is death), and the last line reads: "Allüberall und ewig blauen* licht die Fernen!" (Everywhere and forever horizons are blue and bright!)
__
*The verb "blauen" (to be blue) is a very poetical word.

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

I like the paintings. Anything depicting menageries of animals or a peaceful bucolic existence is fine with me.