Maison De Diana

A Word on Statistics

2013-10-02T16:23:00.005-07:00

A WORD ON STATISTICS

by Wislawa Szymborska

Out of every hundred people,

those who always know better:

fifty-two.

Unsure of every step:

almost all the rest.

Ready to help,

if it doesn't take long:

forty-nine.

Always good,

because they cannot be otherwise:

four -- well, maybe five.

Able to admire without envy:

eighteen.

Led to error

by youth (which passes):

sixty, plus or minus.

Those not to be messed with:

four-and-forty.

Living in constant fear

of someone or something:

seventy-seven.

Capable of happiness:

twenty-some-odd at most.

Harmless alone,

turning savage in crowds:

more than half, for sure.

Cruel

when forced by circumstances:

it's better not to know,

not even approximately.

Wise in hindsight:

not many more

than wise in foresight.

Getting nothing out of life except things:

thirty

(though I would like to be wrong).

Balled up in pain

and without a flashlight in the dark:

eighty-three, sooner or later.

Those who are just:

quite a few, thirty-five.

But if it takes effort to understand:

three.

Worthy of empathy:

ninety-nine.

Mortal:

one hundred out of one hundred --

a figure that has never varied yet.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot, 1920

2013-10-01T18:10:00.000-07:00

	S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
	A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
	Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
	Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
	Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
	Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.


LET us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats	5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question….	10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,	15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,	20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;	25
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;	30
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go	35
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—	40
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
Do I dare	45
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,	50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—	55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?	60
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress	65
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin? . . . . . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets	70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!	75
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?	80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,	85
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,	90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—	95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;
That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,	100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:	105
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . . . . .	110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,	115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …	120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.	125

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown	130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away.

2012-12-05T15:09:00.001-08:00

And Anna begins to change her mind

2012-12-04T14:14:00.001-08:00

We shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.

2012-10-16T22:35:00.001-07:00

Never lend that book to any one. It does harm.

2012-10-16T22:34:00.001-07:00

Are you losing me my love?

2012-10-12T18:13:00.000-07:00

Eulogy for Things Left Unsaid

2012-10-10T15:40:00.002-07:00

I guess karma comes back around

2012-10-09T17:44:00.004-07:00

I never learned to count my blessings

2012-10-08T13:24:00.001-07:00

How it grows around its wounds

2012-03-31T13:30:00.000-07:00

Rick Owens draped top
$1,090 - net-a-porter.com

Givenchy ankle wrap sandals
€790 - colette.fr

Sara Weinstock 18k jewelry
$8,960 - barneys.com

Sara Weinstock 18k jewelry
$660 - barneys.com

Everything will turn out right. The world is built on that.

2012-03-29T21:09:00.000-07:00

One day the sun will shine on you

2012-03-29T10:23:00.001-07:00

Everything is a Present

2012-03-27T16:47:00.000-07:00

Learn how to be Thankful for Everything, from Alice Herz-Sommer.

Alice is 108 years old and she lives alone in her London apartment, and still practices Bach three hours a day.

“I have lived through many wars and have lost everything many times – including my husband, my mother and my beloved son. Yet, life is beautiful, and I have so much to learn and enjoy. I have no space nor time for pessimism and hate."~~ Alice Herz-Sommer

Perhaps.

2012-03-27T14:20:00.000-07:00

(If you are only seeing Everything Has Beauty, look again)

It is through art, and through art only, that we can realise our perfection.

2012-03-24T21:50:00.000-07:00

And how my dreams they let me down

2012-03-20T21:49:00.002-07:00

Goodbye, my friend.

2012-03-03T21:41:00.000-08:00

Humor is the great thing, the saving thing.

2012-02-12T14:46:00.000-08:00

Destino

2012-02-08T17:52:00.000-08:00

Love said to me, there is nothing that is not me. Be silent.

2012-02-05T17:07:00.001-08:00

Your king is in check.

2012-02-04T13:26:00.001-08:00

And here we are again.

2012-01-30T18:01:00.000-08:00

Heat cannot be separated from fire, or beauty from The Eternal.

2012-01-29T18:26:00.001-08:00

You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.

2012-01-27T12:33:00.000-08:00

Another beautiful photograph that my friend shot this morning.

Do not steal it please, you will be able to get it from her upcoming photography book.

Thank you.