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Today, it rained over the river. The grit of fog in the air. Plants on the patio dripping dismally. And so I ensconced myself in the house & fell in love. With past paramours who seem to be endlessly renewable. As one example, here’s Egon Schiele’s Lovers, Man & Woman, from 1914:  I first fell in love with Egon Schiele in about 1995. I have so many of his books of art, including his collection of Expressionist poems called “I, Eternal Child.” I even traveled to Vienna in 2007 to see his paintings in the Leopold Museum. My 1998 book of poems was completely about his life and art. And still I hadn’t seen this one. The lovers awkward, holy, terrible in their cubist agony and desire. So I am, again, struck.

Also today I’ve been listening to a lot of the doom band, St Vitus, and I became enamoured by them all over again when watching tracks from their recent tour in 2011. This is one of my favorite pieces of theirs -Born Too Late – I suppose because it expresses what so many artists feel – out of sync with their time, ill at ease, turned into black sheep by the world – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHIPLVTY17Y&feature=related – and yet, these guys are still out rocking intensely after all these years (they started as Tyrant in the late 70s) – I am besotted by that fierce endurance.

Yes, this is what the realm looked like today. There was no water way. There was only rain. But there was a poem by WS Merwin to swoon to:

“One of the Butterflies”
(from The Shadow of Sirius)

The trouble with pleasure is the timing
it can overtake me without warning
and be gone before I know it is here
it can stand facing me unrecognized
while I am remembering somewhere else
in another age or someone not seen
for years and never to be seen again
in this world and it seems that I cherish
only now a joy I was not aware of
when it was here although it remains
out of reach and will not be caught or named
or called back and if I could make it stay
as I want to it would turn to pain.