the poetic life
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Seven hundred and forty-five moons
Seven hundred and forty-five moonswith turbulent and peaceful dwellingsand I have gently become a wise infant
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“Even when we sleep we watch over each other”
Today I came across this composition. It is the first line of a single quatrain by Paul Éluard (1895-1952) which Elaine Springer published on Instagram. Sometimes we may argue on the factual accuracy of word compositions trying to express a given poetic picture. Yet, at times — like here — one might override any sense…
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to consummate state or form; that degree of excellence which leaves nothing to be desired
Some aim, or intend to aim at perfection, and practice for years unend, for they wish to reach perfection. Some do not mind the years, nor the practice — they merely want perfection. I prefer to live the gerundial approach.
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Celebration Day — two
If you open the bag with whole seeds of roasted coffee, go through those minutes cranking the grinder, again, while the water reaches boiling, and you joyfully dwell in the moment that will lead to smelling and tasting a dark brew, again, you are celebrating, again.
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Coffee in the Opera
MIMÌLet me look around.How wonderful it is here.I’ll recover… I will…I feel life here again.You won’t leave me ever… RODOLFOBeloved lips,you speak to me again. MUSETTAWhat is there in the house? MARCELLONothing. MUSETTANo coffee? No wine? MARCELLONothing. Poverty! SCHAUNARDShe’ll be dead within half an hour! “La bohème” (1896)by Giacomo Puccini (1858-1924)Libretto by Luigi Illica, Giuseppe…
