In the silent night, I am free to dream To see your face emerge in the dim light Each time like the first time so it would seem
The first time? I begin to wonder now, I fall in love each time I see your face Have I seen you before, somewhere, somehow In that far-off world; divinity’s place
Such love can only be of the divine Gabrielle, you hold my heart in your sight Your kiss on my lips I’ll always follow To see your smile glow in the lunar beam My sacred space is there in your embrace
And I wonder how two souls could align Somehow, somewhere, in love you became mine
Strong and slippery, built for the midnight grass-party confronted by four cats, he sleeps his time away– the detached first claw on the foreleg corresponding to the thumb, retracted to its tip; the small tuft of fronds or katydid-legs above each eye numbering all units in each group; the shadbones regularly set about the mouth to droop or rise in unison like porcupine-quills. He lets himself be flattened out by gravity, as seaweed is tamed and weakened by the sun, compelled when extended, to lie stationary. Sleep is the result of his delusion that one must do as well as one can for oneself, sleep–epitome of what is to him the end of life. Demonstrate on him how the lady placed a forked stick on the innocuous neck-sides of the dangerous southern snake. One need not try to stir him up; his prune-shaped head and alligator-eyes are not party to the joke. Lifted and handled, he may be dangled like an eel or set up on the forearm like a mouse; his eyes bisected by pupils of a pin’s width, are flickeringly exhibited, then covered up. May be? I should have said might have been; when he has been got the better of in a dream– as in a fight with nature or with cats, we all know it. Profound sleep is not with him a fixed illusion. Springing about with froglike accuracy, with jerky cries when taken in hand, he is himself again; to sit caged by the rungs of a domestic chair would be unprofitable–human. What is the good of hypocrisy? it is permissible to choose one’s employment, to abandon the nail, or roly-poly, when it shows signs of being no longer a pleasure, to score the nearby magazine with a double line of strokes. He can talk but insolently says nothing. What of it? When one is frank, one’s very presence is a compliment. It is clear that he can see the virtue of naturalness, that he does not regard the published fact as a surrender. As for the disposition invariably to affront, an animal with claws should have an opportunity to use them. The eel-like extension of trunk into tail is not an accident. To leap, to lengthen out, divide the air, to purloin, to pursue. To tell the hen: fly over the fence, go in the wrong way in your perturbation–this is life; to do less would be nothing but dishonesty
Marianne Moore Born: 15 November 1887, Missouri, USA Nationality: American Died: 5 February 1972, New York, USA
Moore was a modernist poet, critic, editor, and translator. Her poetry is best known for its formal innovation, precise diction, wit, and irony. Moore was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1968
Be My Lover Album: Killer Date: 1971 Genre: Rock Artist: Alice Cooper
Alice Cooper, originally a band with roots back to a group called the Earwigs, is a rock singer with a career spanning over five decades. His shows feature numerous props and stage illusions such as pyrotechnics, guillotines, fake blood, electric chairs, reptiles, and swords. He is considered the godfather of rock and he has drawn inspiration from horror films, vaudeville, and garage rock. Alice Cooper is a pioneer of macabre and theatrical rock designed to shock his audience
Count Basie Jazz Born: 21 August 1904, New Jersey, USA Nationality: American Died: 26 April 1984, Florida, USA
Basie was a jazz pianist, organist, bandleader, and composer. He formed the Count Basie Orchestra in 1935 and took them for a long engagement in Chicago in 1936 and their first recording. He led the group for almost 50 years, creating innovations such as two 2split” tenor saxophones, emphasizing the rhythm section, and using arrangers to broaden their sound
When Susan’s work was done, she’d sit With one fat guttering candle lit, And window opened wide to win The sweet night air to enter in; There, with a thumb to keep her place She’d read, with stern and wrinkled face. Her mild eyes gliding very slow Across the letters to and fro, While wagged the guttering candle flame In the wind that through the window came. And sometimes in the silence she Would mumble a sentence audibly, Or shake her head as if to say, “You silly souls, to act this way!” And never a sound from night I’d hear, Unless some far-off cock crowed clear; Or her old shuffling thumb should turn Another page; and rapt and stern, Through her great glasses bent on me, She’d glance into reality; And shake her round old silvery head, With–“You!–I thought you was in bed!”– Only to tilt her book again, And rooted in Romance remain
Walter de la Mare Born: 25 April 1873, London, England Nationality: English Died: 22 June 1956, Twickenham, England
De la Mare was a poet, short story writer, and novelist, best remembered for his works for children and for his poem “The Listeners.” He also authored a subtle collection of psycho horror stories including “All Hallows” and “Seaton’s Aunt.” In 1921 he was awarded the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for his novel “Memoirs of a Midget” and in 1947 the Carnegie Medal for British Children’s Books.