The literary salon begins with some blush…
Yesterday afternoon, ‘Rumi’ black tea in a glass with a splash of almond milk.
Autumn begins tomorrow…🍂😊
I send you my morning wishes and return to the salon with a cup of green tea and glimpsing the sky between sips as its colors lighten and merge…
Today I will be reading Frankenstein (1818) by Mary Shelley, maybe to discuss it. And I’ve added a suggested dance portion to the salon (like everything else when desired), which has been approved. ✔️
A word from May, the host, from Flowers of a Dream (1911):
Do you like the Big Dipper? I don’t. No matter how beautiful and “comfortable looking” it is, I always feel a certain pleasure to see it go from my window; question of name, no doubt.
My favorite is beautiful Venus, not only because it is beautiful or because it has always been sung by poets; all the stars have been more or less sung, but because it is also a little my star, I was told.
I was born with a spark of love in the soul and rays of light in my hair and I do not speak in metaphor, I have a strand of white hair that makes a very curious and very shiny spot in the middle of my black hair. I am told that this is a sign of good fortune, it is a pact made with happiness…
The happiness of man resides in man himself: the courageous and intelligent man knows how to put sweet notes in his pain, he knows how to give to his thin food the taste of the best meals, to his water the soul and the colour of wine; To her hard bed, cushion, and trade her despair for friendly hope. Poor, poor, poor noble souls!
…I would like to be alone by the sea, sitting on one of those rocks that are the eternal victims of the capricious waves, and to be there… dreaming. This immensity of the sea that transcends the horizon laughing, this immensity, free, independent, loved and hated, sweet and fiery, like a sore soul feeling comforted by sitting on its shores, huddling its disgusts and troubles against the fine sands that the waves fantastically embrace… oh! the kisses of the blue waves, how soft, wet and fresh they are!
—May Ziadeh (excerpt from the poetic prose section, “Intimate Pages” from Flowers of a Dream, 1911).
Music with an autumnal sweetness…
“…Consider me your wine…”