Have a wonderful sunny week!
I will be gone for a few days!
Vogeler was a central member of the original artist
colony in Worpswede, which he joined in 1894
He was born in Bremen, and studied at the academy
of arts in Düsseldorf from 1890–95.
His artistic studies during this period included
visits to Belgium and Italy.
Heinrich Vogeler. Girl with Cat (Mädchen mit Katze). 1914.
Finding an old book on a basement shelf—
gray, spine bent—and reading it again,
I met my former, unfamiliar, self,
some of her notes and scrawls so alien
that, though I tried, I couldn’t get (behind
this gloss or that) back to the time she wrote
to guess what experiences she had in mind,
the living context of some scribbled note;
or see the girl beneath the purple ink
who chose this phrase or that to underline,
the mood, the boy, that lay behind her thinking—
but they were thoughts I recognized as mine;
and though there were words I couldn’t even read,
blobs and cross-outs; and though not a jot
remained of her old existence—I agreed
with the young annotator’s every thought:
A clever girl. So what would she see fit
to comment on—and what would she have to say
about the years that she and I have written
since—before we put the book away?
Poetry by Deborah Warren
Art Unknown to me
SnowWhite by Trina Schart Hyman
born April 8, 1939, Died November 19, 2004
She was an American illustrator of children's books.
She illustrated over 150 books, including fairy tales and
Arthurian legends, and was the recipient of three
Caldecott Honors and one Caldecott Medal.
. .. ..
“Rosemary has of dolls a dozen,
Yet she disdains them all;
While Marie Rose, her pauper cousin
Has just an old rag doll.
But you should see her mother it,
And with her kisses smother it.
A twist of twill, a hank of hair,
Fit for the rubbish bin;
How Rosemary with scorn would stare
At its pathetic grin!
Yet Marie Rose can lover it,
And with her kisses cover it.
Rosemary is a pampered pet;
She sniffs a dainty nose
Of scorn at ragged dolls, and yet
My love’s with Marie Rose,
In garret corner shy and sweet,
With rag doll Marguerite.
Though kin they are, a gulf will grow
Between them with the years;
For one a life of love will know,
The other toil and tears:
Perhaps that shabby rag doll knows
The rue of Marie Rose.
by Robert William Service
(1874 – 1958)
For the doll that was choicest we offered a prize:
There were wee mites of dollies, and some of great size.
Some came in rich purple, some lilac, some white,
With ribbons and laces,—a wonderful sight!
Now, there was one dolly, so tall and so proud,
She put all the others quite under a cloud;
But one of us hinted, in so many words,
That sometimes fine feathers do not make fine birds.
We sat in a row, with our dolls in our laps:
The dolls behaved sweetly, and met no mishaps.
No boys were admitted; for boys will make fun:
Now which do you think was the dolly that won?
Soon all was commotion to hear who would get
The prize; for the dollies’ committee had met:
We were the committee; and which do you think
Was the doll we decided on, all in a wink?
Why, each of us said that our own was the best,
The finest, the sweetest, the prettiest drest:
So we all got the prize—we’ll invite you to go
The next time we girls have our doll-baby show.
from “The Nursery,” Volume 17, No. 101, May, 1875
by George Cooper
The Project Gutenberg eBook
Art by Oszkár Glatz
(1872 – 1958, Hungarian)