A Humble Reminder
Sometimes I Think I Can Write
But, never think more of yourself than is necessary.
Then I learn that one of my favorite songs, Dull Flame of Desire (Bjørk), is a translation from a writing by a poet named Fyodor Tyutchev. And I wonder how could I ever hope to exist on the same plane as writers such as this; and I realize that isn’t the point. The cellist does not play his instrument to compete with Yo-yo Ma or du Pré, he does so because of the vibration that pierces his own soul.
'I love your eyes, my dear
Their splendid sparkling fire
When suddenly you raise them so
To cast a swift embracing glance
Like lightning flashing in the sky
But there's a charm that is greater still
When my love's eyes are lowered
When all is fired by passion's kiss
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
I love your eyes, my dear
Their splendid sparkling fire
When suddenly you raise them so
To cast a swift embracing glance
Like lightning flashing in the sky
But there's a charm that is greater still
When my love's eyes are lowered
When all is fired by passion's kiss
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
Oh flame, dull flame
Oh flame, dull flame
I love your eyes, my dear
Their splendid sparkling fire
When suddenly you raise them so
To cast a swift embracing glance
Like lightning flashing in the sky
But there's a charm that is greater still
When my love's eyes are lowered
When all is fired by passion's kiss
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
Through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
Dull flame, dull fame
Oh flame, dull flame
I love your eyes, my dear
Their splendid sparkling fire
When suddenly you raise them so
To cast a swift embracing glance
Like lightning flashing in the sky
But there's a charm that is greater still
When my love's eyes are lowered
When all is fired by passion's kiss
Through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire
And through the downcast lashes
I see the dull flame of desire'
Being ‘good’ at something, or more accurately expecting to ‘be good’ at a thing, is a death sentence. There is an entire conversation that can be had about how we ALL draw robustly as children as form of play, but as we learn that our drawings aren’t ‘good’, we stop. Usually between 11 and 13.
Imagine if we could just make art like we are playing and that no one will judge us as good or bad or otherwise? That is how children play. They do it for the love of the activity. That others see value in that, minds alight, souls afire, bodies atremble… that is not our goal, not intentionally. Not for others. Artists seek it for themselves. If you feel it for you, someone somewhere will understand and sympathize.
But that poem is simply amazing. It touches my soul.
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