#symbolist poetry

[exhalereleased]

Over Gerard de Neval in Aurelie, from The Symbolist Movement in Literature by Arthur Symons

[papillondusublime]

Au-dessus des étangs, au-dessus des vallées, Des montagnes, des bois, des nuages, des mers, Par delà le soleil, par delà les éthers, Par delà les confins des sphères étoilées,

Mon esprit, tu te meus avec agilité, Et, comme un bon nageur qui se pâme dans l’onde, Tu sillonnes gaiement l’immensité profonde Avec une indicible et mâle volupté.

Envole-toi bien loin de ces miasmes morbides ; Va te purifier dans l’air supérieur, Et bois, comme une pure et divine liqueur, Le feu clair qui remplit les espaces limpides.

Derrière les ennuis et les vastes chagrins Qui chargent de leur poids l’existence brumeuse, Heureux celui qui peut d’une aile vigoureuse S’élancer vers les champs lumineux et sereins ;

Celui dont les pensers, comme des alouettes, Vers les cieux le matin prennent un libre essor, – Qui plane sur la vie, et comprend sans effort Le langage des fleurs et des choses muettes !

-"Élévation", Charles Baudelaire

[gossamerangell]

“we’re born as blank canvases and it’s our parents job to make us beautiful and complete paintings. you have splashed angry, bright red paint over what could have been a beautiful portrait. you didn’t keep your brushstrokes light and colorful, you threw your brushes to the ground and splashed that angry red all over me. try as i might, and i really do try, i’ll never fully be able to cover that red paint. it’ll always be lingering, the undertones to a self portrait. the subtext of an autobiography.”

-from my letter to my mother <3

[mello0cat]

"Fluttering heart"

"I feel as though my heart is like a fluttering butterfly confined in the cage that is my mind"

I hope to one day set it free,

In a garden full of rose maree

and a willow tree

Oh my dear!

Don't catch it, please!

The wings are quite frail and weak,

Beware it's clutches, they're strong, not meak!

[kristopherbiernat]

06/15/2024 (Frazier Avenue, cats & clouds, and zen beginnings)

[tonreihe]

Rowan Williams, The Edge of Words: God and the Habits of Language

[luneillusoire]

doodle dump 🍄

[yasantiekspresi]

Damaged Roots

I was brought forth with an open wound,

Embroidered within me;

A past that would never truly heal.

Bequeathed from a generation to another,

On goes a scar with us as a host;

We shall never truly recover.

The Wounded Angel - Hugo Simberg Poem By : yasantiekspresi PAINTINGS ARE NOT MINE

[canterai]

Edward Burne Jones, The legend of briar rose (1885)

[likakvitsiani]

"Not Afraid of the Wind, Not Afraid of the Rain"

28X20.5cm, ink and pen on paper.

[mariamnioradze]

ETHEREAL CHECKMATE

56x76cm, ink on paper Fabriano june 2022 © Mariam Nioradze

[exhalereleased]

The Symbolist Movement in Literature by Arthur Symons

[papillondusublime]

La chair est triste, hélas ! et j’ai lu tous les livres. Fuir ! là-bas fuir! Je sens que des oiseaux sont ivres D’être parmi l’écume inconnue et les cieux ! Rien, ni les vieux jardins reflétés par les yeux Ne retiendra ce coeur qui dans la mer se trempe Ô nuits ! ni la clarté déserte de ma lampe Sur le vide papier que la blancheur défend Et ni la jeune femme allaitant son enfant. Je partirai ! Steamer balançant ta mâture, Lève l’ancre pour une exotique nature ! Un Ennui, désolé par les cruels espoirs, Croit encore à l’adieu suprême des mouchoirs ! Et, peut-être, les mâts, invitant les orages, Sont-ils de ceux qu’un vent penche sur les naufrages Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts, ni fertiles îlots … Mais, ô mon coeur, entends le chant des matelots ! -Poésie: "Brise marine", Stéphane Mallarmé -Image: "Coast of Northumberland with a Steam Boat Assisting a Ship off Shore", Joseph Mallord William Turner

[ysedanae]

Shattering light through the trees Whispering natures silence ~ Yse Danae

Drawing, poetry and episode from the book I am working on ‘Breathe with me’

Nature is always there, in water, earth, fire, air and spirit. It costs us nothing. Every day we are given the opportunity to rest in nature and enjoy the most beautiful changeable unique art that has ever existed. We can listen to the wind whispering through the trees, a kind of music that never sounds the same. Enjoy the endlessly different colors of green and twinkling figures beautiful sunlight shattering through the trees. The soft noise of nature is the only sound we call ‘silence’. Nature contains a great love that no words can describe. We just need to allow ourselves to experience with all our senses.

[bloodsappho]

Miriam XIV.

Despair upon an impotent frame drifts 

As if an angel’s breath caressed our necks

And cried lament, that we had not the strength

To forge out of our troubles such a dream

That all the world would know us by worship;

Our names emblazoned, deathless in the halls

Of noble heroes, worthies of our race

Who master death and conquer mortal fame.

No - we shall be forgotten, so I fear;

And all the while we strive after the name of God

Who laughing, mocks our languished souls.

[jakobmilch]

Up close view of Arthur Rimbaud in Henri Fantin-Latour’s painting By The Table (1872 when Arthur was 17 but turning 18 that year)