Sur Le Tasse en prison d'Eugène Delacroix

Oh moon of my life, sleep in my bed and forget about me. I said I loved you and it may or may not be true depending on how I feel at any given moment. I know that you would love me if you were capable of loving anyone at all. I heard what you said last night and it made sense. It just didn't make me happy. The world has turned. I don't like these feelings. I miss you already and I never wanted to.

Now something almost completely unrelated.

On Tasso in Prison by Eugene Delacroix
The poet in the dungeon, disheveled, sickly,
Nervously rolling a manuscript under his foot,
Measures with a look that terror enflames
The staircase of vertigo where his soul is broken.

The heady laughs that fill the prison
Invite his reason toward the strange and absurd;
Doubt surrounds him, and ludicrous Fear,
Hideous and multiform, circles around him.

This genius locked up in a sick hovel,
These grimaces, these cries, these specters that swarm him
Swirl, assembled behind his ear,

This dreamer who the horror of his dwelling awakens,
So that is your emblem, soul in obscure dreams,
Which the Actual smothered between its four walls.


Sur Le Tasse en prison d'Eugène Delacroix
Le poète au cachot, débraillé, maladif,
Roulant un manuscrit sous son pied convulsif,
Mesure d'un regard que la terreur enflamme
L'escalier de vertige où s'abîme son âme.

Les rires enivrants dont s'emplit la prison
Vers l'étrange et l'absurde invitent sa raison;
Le Doute l'environne, et la Peur ridicule,
Hideuse et multiforme, autour de lui circule.

Ce génie enfermé dans un taudis malsain,
Ces grimaces, ces cris, ces spectres dont l'essaim
Tourbillonne, ameuté derrière son oreille,

Ce rêveur que l'horreur de son logis réveille,
Voilà bien ton emblème, Âme aux songes obscurs,
Que le Réel étouffe entre ses quatre murs!
---

Last afternoon we leaned our hips against the railing on the Great Hall and listened to the warbled cries of the youngest ones. They sang with the optimism that can only come with ignorance and glimpses of the beauty in this world. They were both there and so was I. Nothing to do. It brought a chill to the crowd as we all joined metaphorical hands and longed for streams of water and praised the newly-born Savior. It was the way it should have been.

For once it is love and longing that chokes my throat and not rage.