The Goddess of Forgetting, Monotype Print by Brian Fisher "Long ago you kissed the names of the nine muses goodbye and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag, and even now as you memorize the order of the planets, something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps, the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay. Whatever it is you are struggling to remember, it is not poised on the tip of your tongue or even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen. It has floated away down a dark mythological river whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle." From the poem “Forgetfulness” and the book of poems - Questions About Angels, b y Billy Collins.
Showing posts with the label Lethe
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My monotype print, The River of Forgetting, like several prints on display in my studio during VIVA's Spring Studio Tour , is about a betwixt and between liminal state of being. Lethe’s Temple, the Temple of Forgetting, has its foundations in a river. In early Greek myth, Lethe was one of five rivers that flowed through the subterranean Kingdom of Hades. Souls who passed into Hades had need to forget the suffering they had endured, or perhaps, the torment they had inflicted. So, if a soul were ever to achieve peace and reincarnate, that soul would drink from Lethe, the River of Forgetting and be cleansed of memory. The River of Forgetting, Monotype print with 24k gold leaf by Brian Fisher (22 1/2 x 29 in. )
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Lethe, Monotype Print, 24kt gold leaf, 36 x 15 in. Lethe Come to my arms, cruel and sullen thing; Indolent beast, come to my arms again, For I would plunge my fingers in your mane And be a long time unremembering — And bury myself in you, and breathe your wild Perfume remorselessly for one more hour: And breathe again, as of a ruined flower, The fragrance of the love you have defiled. I long to sleep; I think that from a stark Slumber like death I could awake the same As I was once, and lavish without shame Caresses upon your body, glowing and dark. To drown my sorrow there is no abyss, However deep, that can compare with your bed. Forgetfulness has made its country your red Mouth, and the flowing of Lethe is in your kiss. My doom, henceforward, is my sole desire: As martyrs, being demented in their zeal, Shake with delightful spasms upon the wheel, Implore the whip, or puff upon the fire, So I implore you, fervently resigned! Come; I would drink nepent