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 Flies as Art
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| Gordon |
Posted on 19-07-2008 17:22
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 Member Location: Posts: 1097 Joined: 02.01.08 |
Mycetophilidae How straight of limb they stand, how tall and strong, their armour clean and polished as if new, an humble people these, and ancient too, part of the world to which we all belong. Born to the Earth, nurtured within the soil, they shun dry towns, but love our moors and woods where they can dine on well recycled goods; and to the gods of green and damp they?re loyal. As adults they use only what is free, a flower?s wine, a dewdrop from a leaf, their lives are bright and clear, though sadly brief; they do no harm at all that I can see. Who called them gnats? These warriors of light, to me each one?s a brave and noble knight. not written on the fly (my pencils too big) Gordon |
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| Gordon |
Posted on 19-07-2008 17:25
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Member Location: Posts: 1097 Joined: 02.01.08 |
Chironomids Chironomids are funny things, the adults never feed, they only seem to live to fly, in swarms and then to breed. They hold communion in the grass then rise on mass just as I pass. The air it veritably sings with the whirring of their wings. And a million more chironomids are out courting on the lake, leaving countless clumps of eggs behind them in their wake. So next year there will be again, more Chironomids than words on Zen. |
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| Steve Gaimari |
Posted on 20-07-2008 09:14
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 Member Location: Posts: 169 Joined: 08.10.04 |
Obscure-fly poetry! I love it! Since I am the new editor of Fly Times (the newsletter for the North American Diperists Society), I put in a fly poem - an Ode to Minettia flaveola. (this is a lauxaniid) Hey - if I'm editor, I can put in a poem, right? It is on page 2 of the April 2008 Fly Times, complete with pictures - http://www.nadsdiptera.org/News/FlyTimes/issue40.pdf Steve |
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| Gordon |
Posted on 16-11-2011 09:59
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Member Location: Posts: 1097 Joined: 02.01.08 |
Just to let you all know that I am still alive. In China now, no more land of eternal summer A Fly The micro-architecture is profound each finely textured ridge, each joint and hair perfect in every detail. Who has found within the earth a gem that can compare? And see! One wonder with another crowned it lives, and with its wings swims through the air. Such fearless magic surely must astound even a mind sore dulled by earthly care. It is a pleasure for the soul's delight as grand a marvel as has ever been. The poet strives in vain, but still must try to bring such beauty to the common light and call himself well blessed to know he's seen the glory that upholds the humble Fly. Get your Diptera Mug etc at The Thinking Man Shop http://www.cafepr...om/TTMshop Gordon |
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| Gordon |
Posted on 09-02-2012 16:31
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Member Location: Posts: 1097 Joined: 02.01.08 |
Shakespeare on a Fly Titus Andronicus Act 3, Scene 2, Lines 55-80 Mar. At that that I have kill'd, my lord; a fly. Tit. Out on thee, murderer! thou kill'st my heart; Mine eyes are cloy'd with view of tyranny: A deed of death, done on the innocent, Becomes not Titus' brother. Get thee gone; I see, thou art not for my company. Mar. Alas! my lord, I have but kill'd a fly. Tit. But how if that fly had a father and a mother? How would he hang his slender gilded wings And buzz lamenting doings in the air! Poor harmless fly, That, with his pretty buzzing melody, Get your Diptera Mug etc at The Thinking Man Shop http://www.cafepr...om/TTMshop Gordon |
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| Gerrit Oehm |
Posted on 12-05-2018 11:01
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Member Location: Posts: 175 Joined: 26.11.11 |
Music is art, too. Here a song which converts one of the already mentioned poems into music: https://www.youtu...jdsC7lbEMY |
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| Gerrit Oehm |
Posted on 08-02-2024 21:22
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Member Location: Posts: 175 Joined: 26.11.11 |
And have you listened to this great interpretation as a song? (by Cosmo Sheldrake, music is art, too!): https://www.youtu...jdsC7lbEMY (Or search for Cosmo Sheldrake: Fly) Gordon wrote:
What about flies in other forms of art, poetry, sculpture, opera (der flydermouse for instance), well maybe not, but also flies in humour. The most famous fly poem is of course William Blake's, Little fly Little Fly, Thy summer's play My thoughtless hand Has brushed away. Am not I A fly like thee? Or art not thou A man like me? For I dance And drink and sing, Till some blind hand Shall brush my wing. If thought is life And strength and breath, And the want Of thought is death, Then am I A happy fly, If I live Or if I die. Edited by Gerrit Oehm on 08-02-2024 21:23 |
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but don't see the image in the post.