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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459690" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Impressionism in paint, in music, in words</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">To know the impossible to be impossible<br>and yet to love the attempt; <br>to demonstrate that beauty is eternal, yet<br>seen only in that moment now, <br>never to be captured, ever changing -<br>'evanescent' holds a little of the sound of it -<br>this, the heroic failure that betokens love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Monet was that hero. For perhaps you may<br>catch beauty's shadow in a photograph; <br>even glimpse its joy, there, in the sound of song; <br>but try to catch it - dab by dab of brush -<br>when in the time it takes to do this, yet another leaf <br> - there, watch it as it drops -<br>has fallen from that distant orange-yellow-brown<br>blur of an autumn wood - knowing as you render nature's generality<br>or catch a church, a haystack, in a sundown glow, <br>that all things pass -<br>that love's heroic: and when, in irony that surely<br>needs no underlining, blindness comes upon you, yet<br>you go on painting, as the water-lilies blur<br>into the water-weed, into the bridge, <br>into the time that runs down to the river, to the sea...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and in turn, Renoir, in his 'Moulin a la Galette' dance-cafe, <br>catching the human reflection of this flow, our yearning<br>for the perfect moment to remain, frozen, set, fresh-baked, <br>forever caught - this is what my life has led to, <br>this is what, surely, I deserve - under the lanterns in the trees<br>the young girls with their cheeks of peaches, apricots, <br>and lips like fruit that's waiting to be pressed, <br>dream of forever to be loved; while their tonight's men<br>smoke, and drink, and dream of where a young man's lust<br>might just be step into another world -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">while in that room up there that looks down on this scene, <br>Proust, seeing the cafe's dance of fleeting beauty, writes to catch <br>those moments lived and lost and yet remembered; <br>and Debussy, his tentative composer's piano notes<br>heard just above the cafe's resident accordionist<br>whose sentimental music you too will remember<br>to your dying day, and smile a gentle tear - and when<br>past midnight, as the silence falls upon the thinning dance, and<br>couples, singing, arm-in-arm it home, and<br>Monsieur le patron extinguishes the lanterns in the trees, <br>and the humble workers' square is suddenly a nowhere place, <br>Debussy will hear the moonlight sliding through the window<br>onto the piano's keys...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">of beauty, we can say not much <br>of all that may be said. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>(To Michael Gessner, who reminded me about poetry.)</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459690" data-title="Impressionism in paint, in music, in words de Michael Shepherd" data-description="To know the impossible to be impossible
and yet to love the attempt; 
to demonstrate that beauty is eternal, yet
seen only in that moment now, 
never to be captured, ever changing -
'evanescent' holds a little of the sound of it -
this, the heroic..."></div>
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