Thursday, October 8, 2009

Michelangelo Buonarroti 1475-1564

I've had this clip of a wonderfully painted flower in my pictures for over a year now, is it a flower? or is it a face? I fell in love with it and I've never been able to delete it.

The label I assigned to this photo is "Michelangelo" and I remember lifting it from a site that had some of his artwork, today, I can not find the place or name of this painting again.

Mostly famous for sculpting the statue of David and painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, many are not aware that this talented man was also a poet, many writings include erotic love notions, some describe his feelings of his own work. It is said that the enemy of Michelangelo is the aspect of nature, it may be the inspiration behind this beautiful painting.


TWO SONNETS



_LOVE'S ARGUMENT WITH REASON.__


La ragion meco si lamenta._


Reason laments and grieves full sore with me,


The while I hope by loving to be blest;


With precepts sound and true philosophy


My shame she quickens thus within my breast:


'What else but death will that sun deal to thee--


Nor like the phoenix in her flaming nest?'


Yet nought avails this wise morality;


No hand can save a suicide confessed.


I know my doom; the truth I apprehend:


But on the other side my traitorous heart


Slays me whene'er to wisdom's words I bend.


Between two deaths my lady stands apart:


This death I dread; that none can comprehend.


In this suspense body and soul must part.



TO GIOVANNI DA PISTOJA._


ON THE PAINTING OF THE SISTINE CHAPEL.__


I' ho già fatto un gozzo._


I've grown a goitre by dwelling in this den--


As cats from stagnant streams in Lombardy,


Or in what other land they hap to be--


Which drives the belly close beneath the chin:


My beard turns up to heaven; my nape falls in,


Fixed on my spine: my breast-bone visibly


Grows like a harp: a rich embroidery


Bedews my face from brush-drops thick and thin.


My loins into my paunch like levers grind:


My buttock like a crupper bears my weight;


My feet unguided wander to and fro;


In front my skin grows loose and long; behind,


By bending it becomes more taut and strait;


Crosswise I strain me like a Syrian bow:


Whence false and quaint, I know,


Must be the fruit of squinting brain and eye;


For ill can aim the gun that bends awry.


Come then, Giovanni, try


To succour my dead pictures and my fame;


Since foul I fare and painting is my shame.



Special thanks to the Gutenberg project. C&G Design

4 comments:

tina said...

You are right I did not know Michelangelo was poet. Very interesting. At first I thought the picture was a face then as I look at it is seems more of a flower.

Roses and Lilacs said...

That is really a strange picture. When I first saw it I thought it was a face--a very sinister face. Looking closely, I can only see a flower, but looking from the corner of my eye, the face is there. Kind of creepy.
Marnie

Jean said...

The poet shows his dark side that most artists of his stature seem to have.

Skeeter said...

I have seen the Sistine Chapel and it is beautiful! Dont talk though as the Sister's will shussss you. :-) Amazing walking the Halls of the Vatican with all that Art Work surrounding me!