Friday, September 13, 2024

Fate of Adonis

David Teniers the Elder
Birth of Adonis
ca. 1600-1605
oil on copper
Städel Museum, Frankfurt

Carlo Cignani
Adonis
ca. 1658-65
oil on canvas
Galleria Sabauda, Turin

Josse de Pape
Venus and Adonis
1629
oil on canvas
Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

Johann Heiss
Venus and Adonis
ca. 1675-80
oil on canvas
Deutsche Barockgalerie, Augsburg

Caspar Freisinger
Venus and Adonis
1589
drawing
Museum of Fine Arts, Budapest

Giulio Romano
Venus and Adonis
1516
drawing
(study for fresco)
Graphische Sammlung Albertina, Vienna

Hendrik Goltzius
Venus and Adonis
1614
oil on canvas
Alte Pinakothek, Munich

Luca Cambiaso
Venus and Adonis
ca. 1565-68
oil on canvas
Galleria Borghese, Rome

Hendrick de Clerck
Venus and Adonis
ca. 1600
oil on canvas
Chrysler Museum of Art, Norfolk, Virginia

Jan van Kessel the Elder
Venus and Adonis in Garland
1653
oil on panel
Staatsgalerie Flämische Barockmalerei
im Schloss Neuburg

Aegidius Sadeler
Venus and Adonis
ca. 1606-1610
oil on copper
Národní Galerie, Prague

Mattheus Terwesten
Venus and Adonis
ca. 1718
oil on canvas
Detroit Institute of Arts

Paolo Veronese after Titian
Venus and Adonis
ca. 1563-65
oil on canvas
Deutsche Barockgalerie, Augsburg

Benjamin West
Death of Adonis
1768
oil on canvas
Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh

Giulio Carpioni
Venus and Nymphs weeping for dead Adonis
ca. 1656-63
oil on canvas
Národní Galerie, Prague

Giulio Carpioni
Funeral of Adonis
ca. 1656-63
oil on canvas
Národní Galerie, Prague

St. Malachy

In November, in the days to remember the dead
When air smells cold as earth,
St. Malachy, who is very old, gets up,
Parts the thin curtain of trees and dawns upon our land.

His coat is filled with drops of rain, and he is bearded
With all the seas of Poseidon.
(Is it a crozier, or a trident in his hand?)
He weeps against the gothic window, and the empty cloister
Mourns like an ocean shell.

Two bells in the steeple
Talk faintly to the old stranger
And the tower considers his waters.
"I have been sent to see my festival," (his cavern speaks!)
"For I am the saint of the day.
Shall I shake the drops from my locks and stand in your transept,
Or, leaving you, rest in the silence of history?"

So the bells rang and we opened the antiphoners 
And the wrens and larks flew up out of the pages.
Our thoughts became lambs. Our hearts swam like seas.
One monk believed that we should sing to him
Some stone-age hymn
Or something in the giant language.
So we played to him in the plainsong of the giant Gregory
And oceans of Scripture sang upon bony Eire.

Then the last salvage of flowers
(Fostered under glass after the gardens foundered)
Held up their little lanterns on Malachy's altar
To peer into his wooden eyes before the Mass began.

Rain sighed down the sides of the stone church.
Storms sailed by all day in battle fleets.
At five o'clock, when we tried to see the sun, the speechless visitor
Sighed and arose and shook the humus from his feet
And with his trident stirred our trees
And left down-wood, shaking some drops upon the ground.

Thus copper flames fall, tongues of fire fall
The leaves in hundred fall upon his passing
While night sends down her dreadnought darkness
Upon this spurious Pentecost.

And the Melchisedec of our year's end
Who came without a parent, leaves without a trace,
And rain comes rattling down upon our forest
Like the doors of a country jail.

– Thomas Merton (1949)