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Isolated Blurt Thread

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Stella_Omega said:
*whew!* that's a relief!
Honestly, it seems like most everyone I know is just struggling like fuckall.

But- I did make some progress on my website over the past couple of days...
Click to expand...


((((((((((stella)))))))))) :kiss:
 
Roxanne Appleby said:
No answer. Maybe a different spelling:

Hey Horse! Who the heck was Cynara, anyway?
Click to expand...
:D That might get the answer more quickly. I'm starting to wonder myself.
 
Roxanne Appleby said:
Hair almost red, or almost friendly?

:rolleyes: :D :rose:
Click to expand...
:p Hair has always been red. ;) I'm also 99.9% always friendly. . . almost ready to stop lurking. ;) (which I rarely do. . .lurk that is, not stop lurking, because I rarely do that . . . lurk) :rolleyes:
 
impressive said:
Wanna take bets on the LENGTH of the response? Like in # of words? ;)
Click to expand...
I like when the horsey goes into detail. It's much more satisfying. :p
 
impressive said:
Wanna take bets on the LENGTH of the response? Like in # of words? ;)
Click to expand...
The shortest possible answer would be something like: "Smith."
If fleshed out a bit more: "Smith. Cynara Smith. Married to Fred."

Somehow I don't think that's what we'll get in this instance, if we get anything at all, that is.
 
Roxanne Appleby said:
No answer. Maybe a different spelling:

Hey Horse! Who the heck was Cynara, anyway?
Click to expand...

In Horace's ode, she is the former lover whose memory makes the poet wish to forsake new loves. In Ernest Dowson's "Cynara" - well, here it is. It's a poem I admire immensely.

Cynara

Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

-- Ernest Dowson, 1891

(The fifth line of each stanza should be indented a few spaces, but Lit does not address indentation well.)

Shanglan
 
impressive said:
Wanna take bets on the LENGTH of the response? Like in # of words? ;)
Click to expand...

*wink*

All right, who had the pool on "four six-line stanzas of iambic hexameter with a pentametric fifth line?" I've got your $5.

Shanglan
 
BlackShanglan said:
In Horace's ode, she is the former lover whose memory makes the poet wish to forsake new loves. In Ernest Dowson's "Cynara" - well, here it is. It's a poem I admire immensely.

Cynara

Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I am desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

-- Ernest Dowson, 1891

(The fifth line of each stanza should be indented a few spaces, but Lit does not address indentation well.)

Shanglan
Click to expand...

Poignant, touching, sad. Does everyone have their Cynara? I just got a bit choked up thinking of one of mine, but that may be due more to wistful longing for my youth.

It's worthy of you, horsie.
 
BlackShanglan said:
*wink*

All right, who had the pool on "four six-line stanzas of iambic hexameter with a pentametric fifth line?" I've got your $5.

Shanglan
Click to expand...
Damn - I was so-about to say that!
 
minsue said:
:D That might get the answer more quickly. I'm starting to wonder myself.
Click to expand...


http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/711.html

Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)
Non Sum Qualis Eram Bonae sub Regno Cynarae

Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, I was desolate and bowed my head:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

All night upon mine heart I felt her warm heart beat,
Night-long within mine arms in love and sleep she lay;
Surely the kisses of her bought red mouth were sweet;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
When I awoke and found the dawn was gray;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I have forgot much, Cynara! gone with the wind,
Flung roses, roses riotously with the throng,
Dancing, to put thy pale, lost lilies out of mind;
But I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea, all the time, because the dance was long;
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.

I cried for madder music and for stronger wine,
But when the feast is finished and the lamps expire,
Then falls thy shadow, Cynara! the night is thine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Yea hungry for the lips of my desire:
I have been faithful to thee, Cynara! in my fashion.


I thought I recognized it! Found an online version instead of retyping it, tho
 
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