Edna St. Vincent Millay|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 14 most recent journal entries recorded in
Edna St. Vincent Millay's LiveJournal:
|Tuesday, November 11th, 2008|
|Saturday, September 13th, 2008|
|Tuesday, March 25th, 2008|
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes and oh, my friends--
it gives a lovely light!
*this may be wrong, but I can recite it off the top of my head just fine. ^_^
|Friday, February 22nd, 2008|
"Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian Cave..."
To commemorate her birthday, here is the last sonnet from Millay's "Fatal Interview".
Oh, sleep forever in the Latmian cave,
Mortal Endymion, darling of the Moon!
Her silver garments by the senseless wave
Shouldered and dropped and on the shingle strewn,
Her fluttering hand against her forehead pressed,
Her scattered looks that troubled all the sky,
Her rapid footsteps running down the west —
Of all her altered state, oblivious lie!
Whom earthen you, by deathless lips adored,
Wild-eyed and stammering to the grasses thrust,
And deep into her crystal body poured
The hot and sorrowful sweetness of the dust:
Whereof she wanders mad, being all unfit
For mortal love, that might not die of it.
|Thursday, December 20th, 2007|
Dirge without Music
Dirge without Music
Edna St. Vincent Millay
I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.
The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.
Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.
|Wednesday, December 5th, 2007|
What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
I recently played all eight of unwoman's settings of Edna St. Vincet Millay poems (mostly from "Renascence") on my radio show, reading each poem before I played each one. My favorite is "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed":
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply;
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet know its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
|Thursday, October 25th, 2007|
New album featuring Millay poem settings
I have a new album coming out very soon, the whole second half of which is settings of Millay poems for cello and voice. You can listen to samples either here
If you like them, I recommend pre-ordering, as preorders have free shipping within the US & go directly through me (as opposed to CD Baby).
If you want to know a little about me before you click, I'm entirely self-produced, self-published, singer-cellist-pianist & I've played with Rasputina, Jill Tracy, and Attrition among others.
|Sunday, December 17th, 2006|
Daphne, by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Why do you follow me? --
Any moment I can be
Nothing but a laurel-tree.
Any moment of the chase
I can leave you in my place
A pink bough for your embrace.
Yet if over hill and hollow
Still it is your will to follow,
I am off; -- to heel, Apollo!
|Friday, August 18th, 2006|
“Interim” by Edna St. Vincent Millay
The room is full of you! -- As I came in
And closed the door behind me, all at once
A something in the air, intangible,
Yet stiff with meaning, struck my senses sick! --
( Collapse )
|Thursday, August 17th, 2006|
Two Edna St Vincent MIllay pieces
Two of my new songs are on the Red Vic Sessions myspace page (both songs together in the one called "unwoman live"), for a limited time only. Downloadable too.
It's mono, not close-mic-ed, and live therefore not the highest quality (hear that cappucino foaming in the background?) but nonetheless pretty good quality and not a bad performance considering it was mostly a premiere.
The first song is the poem "Three Songs of Shattering," the second is "The Shroud." Both are from Renascence and Other Poems which Millay wrote when she was about 19 (!). I'm working on a suite of these poems, which will be on my next album. Just cello and voice, which is a fun challenge to compose for. Sheet music will be available. Licensing may be a challenge; Millay's work moves into public domain in 19 years from what I can tell.
|Wednesday, August 2nd, 2006|
|Friday, May 26th, 2006|
Sonnet II by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go, -- so with his memory they brim!
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, "There is no memory of him here!"
And so stand stricken, so remembering him!
|Sunday, March 5th, 2006|
She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun `tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
|Monday, January 2nd, 2006|
White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky!--
Life is a quest and love a quarrel--
Here is a place for me to lie.
Daisies spring from damned seeds,
And this red fire that here I see
Is a worthless crop of crimson weeds,
Cursed by farmers thriftily.
But here, unhated for an hour,
The sorrel runs in ragged flame,
The daisy stands, a bastard flower,
Like flowers that bear an honest name.
And here a while, where no wind brings
The baying of a pack athirst,
May sleep the sleep of blessed things,
The blood too bright, the brow accurst.