the result of midnight ramblings
i had forgotten about all the excerpts and descriptions
of the painting on that website that i found a while ago.
the poems that some of the excerpts are from are sooo
pretty, and my favortie is the saddest one of all.
Ys is the 1st poem i looked up
Angels have fallen for pride,
and grand Ys -- it fell for no less;
yet when the moon's coaxed out the tide
ghost bells still remember the mass.
The sailors and fishers have seen the gilt shadows
stretching proud arches upon the glass sea,
and heard the faint echos of eons dead fellows
etched in a siren's lone melody.
Old towers will rise from the swells --
water glossed, seaweed laced, barnacle jemed --
the gift of the Ocean with each heavy knell
of the bells, to Dahut's wat'ry den.
Angels have fallen for pride,
and grand Ys -- it fell for no less.
its soo sad...and almost funny, because i read the
explination of it and it said:
"I first became interested in the legend of the town of
Ys from a piano piece by Debussy, called ‘La Cathedral
Engloutie’ (The Sunken Cathedral) which is one of my
favorite pieces to play. The story goes that Ys was built
below sea level by king Gradlon for his daughter Dahut. The
water was kept from the city by great sea walls, and only
Gradlon had the key. Dahut was a druidess. Ys grew to be
the richest most beautiful, and the greatest city of the
time. Dahut herself would take a lover to her tower every
night, and kill him in the morning with her magic. One day
a man dressed all in red came. Dahut fell in love with him,
and when he told her to steal her father’s key and unlock
the gates, she did so, unthinking. The water rushed in upon
Ys, and though Gradlon escaped, few others did. Dahut did
not. It is said she was turned into a mermaid, to await the
time when Ys would rise from the sea again."
another thing i looked at that was really pretty was the
discription of the Miscellaneous gallery.
"In her cream-coloured entry hall, above a red table
adorned with a thicket of dried flowers, hung one of
Brandy's paintings. A wild, windswept moorland, heather
purple-grey hugging the ground and huddled against a
twisted tree. The tree's branches pointed east with gnarled
fingers, the clouds above them high, thin and torn. Huddled
beneath the tree, her fox-thin face a mirror of the pale
sky was a girl clad only in a brown, shapeless dress. Her
thin, dirt-smeared legs were drawn up to her chin.
Brandy had painted her without eyes, calling the piece
Desolation. Catherine thought it haunting and beautiful,
but disagreed with her friend's choice of names. Even in
such stark wildernesses could be found a rough, stubborn
beauty. An angular beauty, hard and shaped by unforgiving
elements but more lovely for its refusal to surrender. In
the unlikely places of the land--in its corners and creases-
-lay the pale, luminous beauties forgotten by the world,
but there for those who cared to see."
its so easy to picture that and to almost be able to know
what the little girl feels. or atleast it is for me. i wish
i could see that painting.
and then i found a quote, i guess you could call it, from
the description of the Creatures gallery.
"One woman told me last Christmas that she did not
believe in Hell or ghosts. Hell was an invention got up by
the priests to keep people good; and ghosts would not be
permitted to go 'trapsin' about the earth' at their own
free will; 'but there are fairies and little leprechauns,
and water-horses, and fallen angels.' No matter what one
doubts, one never doubts the fairies...."
-- William Butler Yeats
ha. and so so true i think.
and this one i just liked. it has no significant meaning
other than its the title for the Fairytales gallery, and i
"...Ah ocean it has been so long. Every footstep is
memory, like walking on broken bones. Like that old tale,
the girl who wanted to become the best dancer in the world.
Yes, said the sorceress, but each time you set your foot on
earth will be like knives slashing. If you can stand the
pain, you will be granted your desire."
-from The Mistress of Spices, by C.B. Divakaruni
now if i could only find that book...
so now you see what i do when i get bored. or rather, i
just run out of stuff to do, at which point i usually begin
talking to myself. and i still believe i can fly. one day
i'll show you, but first i must practice. and yes, there