#harriet monroe

[apoemeveryday]

supernatural dialogue by harriet monroe

[haveyoureadthispoem-poll]

"Glad was the living—blessed be the dying."

Read it here | Reblog for a larger sample size!

[poleronenelhuerto]

Despedida - Harriet Monroe

¡Adiós!—no, no te aflijas porque ya se acabó, La hora perfecta; Que la alegría alada, dulce vagabundo amante de lo dulce, Revolotee en la flor.

No te aflijas– es la ley. El amor volará– Sí, el amor y todo. Alegraros los vivos, benditos los moribundos. Dejen caer las hojas.

[etawardana]

A Hunted Human Soul

The complications of a hunted human soul in these stirring days—the struggle for breath, for food and lodging, the pot-boilers, the flirtations, the teasing petty trials and interruptions—how could the poet in her survive all these, and put out fresh flowers of beauty?

- Harriet Monroe, Comment: Edna St. Vincent Millay

[violettesiren]

When roses bloom—ah, wake, sweet May! The still world hears a roundelay Athrill within the throat of spring. Awake! your brightest trophies bring And speed the winter's frown away.

For glory reigns the livelong day, And Lethean perfumes softly stray 'Mid shining bowers where dear hopes cling When roses bloom.

Ah, life, not thine deep mists of gray, Not thine black voids without a ray— The wide dawns flash, the young winds sing. My heart's bells clamorously ring, The years throng smiling crowned with bay— When roses bloom.

A Rondeau by Harriet Monroe

[ochoislas]

AHORA Valle del Yosemite

Es la mañana del mundo, corren los cursos recientes, cejos de blanco se adornan cantando al radiante sol.

La airosa selva emplumada trepa el cantil de granito, cimas con peto de yelo van marchando al festival.

Las montañas bailan juntas con testas como cimborrios; la pluma de la cascada luce en desbordado azul.

Donde sea nace infante; donde sea rinden virgen: es la mañana del mundo, y alba de la creación.

*

NOW Valley of Yosemite

It is creation’s morning—   Freshly the rivers run. The cliffs, white brows adorning,   Sing to the shining sun.

The forest, plumed and crested,   Scales the steep granite wall. The ranged peaks, glacier-breasted,   March to the festival.

The mountains dance together,   Lifting their domed heads high. The cataract’s foamy feather   Flaunts in the streaming sky.

Somewhere a babe is borning,   Somewhere a maid is won. It is creation’s morning—   Now is the world begun.

Harriet Monroe

di-versión©ochoislas

[timdales]

march 17th 2013

happy ten year anniversary :)

Like or reblog if you save!

( you can find more icons on @sn0tb0i )

[halfpastdead]

In The Flesh - S2E6, stills from the graveyard

by Des Willie

[goddesscookiefelix]

He pays for me because he can’t pray for me~ GoddessCookieFelix

[filmgifs]

MARILYN MONROE as Harriet in AS YOUNG AS YOU FEEL (1951) dir. Harmon Jones

[exhalereleased]

"Susanna and the Elders" by Adelaide Crapsey, featured in The New Poetry: An Anthology edited by Harriet Monroe and Alice Corbin Henderson

[javiddenkins]

thoughts on ed teach?

[justbusterkeaton]

“He was never more glamorous than in stills taken around 1930, when he was unhappily under contract at MGM. Even while the studio miscast Buster in films as a pathetic, nerdy shrimp, their portrait photographers immortalized his sculptured handsomeness and sex appeal weighted by hypnotic stillness. In photographs by George Hurrell, Clarence Sinclair Bull and Ruth Harriet Louise, Buster broods in tailored suits or natty, deco sport clothes, crisp shirts as perfect as Gatsby’s, even white sweaters and plus-fours. His innate physical elegance makes him incapable of an unbecoming posture. His profile is classically noble, his cheekbones high and chiseled. His huge, dark, heavy-lidded, long-lashed eyes burn with oblique intensity. Like Valentino, Garbo and Marilyn Monroe, Buster could lower his eyelids halfway and gaze out from under them, but his look is not so much come-hither as beyond reach”

Buster Keaton: The Persistence of Comedy by Imogen Sara Smith

[etawardana]

Renascence

Renascence, a poem of desperate faith, lithe as a faun in its naked search of the soul, the danger has been that life might lure her away from art.

- Harriet Monroe, Comment: Edna St. Vincent Millay

[violettesiren]

How wild, how witch-like weird that life should be! That the insensate rock dared dream of me, And take to bursting out and burgeoning— Oh, long ago—€”yo ho! And wearing green! How stark and strange a thing That life should be!

Oh mystic mad, a rigadoon of glee, That dust should rise, and leap alive, and flee Afoot, awing, and shake the deeps with cries— Oh, far away—yo hay! What moony masque, what arrogant disguise That life should be!

The Wonder of It by Harriet Monroe

[ochoislas]

EN LAS ALTURAS

Montañas mías, Dios tiene su corte... nimbados santos cantan su alabanza, conversar no precisa con vosotros: ¡sois sólo polvo en su escabel! Yo sí. ¡Habladme a mí, porque también sois mías! De mi alma derrubiáis, que os labré antaño: con vuestra sillería de granito levanté mi solaz, tendí las flores, asenté azul cumbrera, y en vuestros patios hice cantar las fuentes... ¡Dadme ahora vuestra guarda y sustento, libertad de dar asalto al cielo en vuestras torres, de escuchar el coloquio de los vientos, ver marchar las estrellas, y allanar cortil de soledad que atestan almas!

*

IN HIGH PLACES

My mountains, God has company in heaven— Crowned saints who sing to him the sun-long day. He has no need of speech with you—with you, Dust of his foot-stool! No, but I have need. Oh, speak to me, for you are mine as well— Drift of my soul. I built you long ago; I reared your granite masonry to make My house of peace, and spread your flowered carpets, And set your blue-tiled roof, and in your courts Made musical fountains play. Ah, give me now Shelter and sustenance and liberty, That I may mount your sky-assailing towers And hear the winds communing, and give heed To the large march of stars, and enter in The spirit-crowded courts of solitude.

Harriet Monroe

di-versión©ochoislas