Wednesday, September 27, 2017

Third Quarter of the 19th century

Waller Hugh Paton
Railway Bridge over River Cart, Paisley
1857
oil on canvas
Yale Center for British Art

James Tissot
The Circle of the Rue Royale
1868
oil on canvas
Musée d'Orsay, Paris

Alexander Schramm
The Gilbert Family
1864
oil on canvas, mounted on panel
Art Gallery of South Australia, Adelaide

Armand Guillaumin
View of the Seine, Paris
1871
oil on canvas
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston

Chorus:
If only our fate were ours to choose        you would see me on
quiet waters        where the airs are gentle        a full sail but a
light wind        no more than a breath        easy voyage        that is
best        no blast no smashed rigging no flogging downwind into
cliffs        under surge        nothing recovered        no vanishing in
mid ocean

give me a quiet voyage        neither under cliffs nor too far out
on the black water where the depth opens        the middle course
is the safe one        the only life        easily on        to a calm end
surrounded by gains

– from Seneca's Oedipus, translated by Ted Hughes (1969)

Eugène Boudin
Beach at Trouville
1865
oil on cardboard
Musée d'Orsay, Paris

Eugène Boudin
Beach at Trouville
1867
oil on canvas
National Museum of Western Art, Tokyo

Eugène Boudin
Lady in White on the Beach at Trouville
1869
oil on panel
Musée d'art moderne André Malraux, Le Havre
 
Alfred Sisley
Snow at Louveciennes
1874
oil on canvas
Phillips Collection, Washington DC

Winslow Homer
In the Mountains
ca. 1877
oil on canvas
Brooklyn Museum

Chorus:
foolish Icarus        he thought he could fly
it was a dream
tried to crawl across the stars
loaded with his crazy dream        his crazy paraphernalia
the wings the wax and the feathers
up and up and up
saw eagles beneath him       saw his enormous shadow on the clouds beneath him
met the sun face to face
fell

his father Daedalus was wiser        he flew lower
he kept under clouds        in the shadow of the clouds
the same crazy equipment        but the dream different
till Icarus dropped past him        out of the belly of a cloud
past him
down
through emptiness
a cry        dwindling
a splash

tiny in the middle of the vast sea

– from Seneca's Oedipus, translated by Ted Hughes (1969)

Jean-François Millet
Cliffs of Gréville
1871
pastel
Ohara Museum of Art, Kurashiki, Japan

Gustave Caillebotte
The Orange Trees
1878
oil on canvas
Museum of Fine Arts, Houston

Wilhelm Trübner
On the Sofa
1878
oil on canvas
Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin

Antonio Mancini
Il Saltimbanco 
1879 
oil on canvas 
Philadelphia Museum of Art

Arnold Böcklin
Spring Evening
1879
oil on panel
Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest

WHEN PATROCLUS KILLED SARPEDON

It is true that men are clever.
But the least of gods is cleverer than their best.
     And it was here, before God's hands
(Moons poised either side of the world's agate)
You overreached yourself, Patroclus.
     Yes, my darling,
Not only God was out that day but Lord Apollo.
'You know how he loves the Trojans, so,
No Matter how, how much, how often, or how easily you win, 
Once you have forced them back, you stop.'
     Remember it Patroclus? Or was it years ago
Achilles cautioned you outside the tent?
Remembering or not you stripped Sarpedon's gear
That glittered like the sea's far edge at dawn,
Ordered your borrowed Myrmidons to drag him off
And went for Troy alone.
     And God turned to Apollo, saying:
'Mousegod, take my Sarpedon out of range
And clarify his wounds with mountain water,
Moisten his body with tinctures of white myrrh
And the sleeping iodine, and when the chrysms dry,
Fold him in minivers that never wear
And lints that never fade,
And call my two blind footmen, Sleep and Death,
And let them carry him to Lycia by Taurus,
Where his tribe, playing stone chimes and tambourines,
Will consecrate his royal death as fits a man
Before whose memory even the stones shall fade.'
     And Apollo took Sarpedon out of range,
And clarified his wounds with mountain water.
Moistened his body with tinctures of white myrrh
And the sleeping iodine, and when the chrysms dried
The Mousegod folded him in minivers that never wear
And lint that never fades,
And fetched the two blind footmen, Sleep and Death,
And saw they carried him, as fits a man
Before whose memory even the stones shall fade,
To Lycia by Taurus.

– from the Iliad of Homer, book 16, translated by Christopher Logue (1963)