Not That I Am Drawn To Dark Subjects, Not At All!

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This is from my one drawing class, Brookhaven Jr. College, 1982.  I was fresh out of the Corps and working for a stained glass artist of world renown when I decided to try and improve my skills, such as they were.  This was drawn on the cheapest newsprint and sprayed with preservative, further fucking up the brittle paper.  This is about two foot by 18 inches.  The poem is The Garden of Proserpine by Algernon Swinburne, a real laugh riot.   I find this to be somewhat moody, but I still like it.   The drawing, I mean.

We are not sure of sorrow.

And joy was never sure.

Today will die tomorrow;

Time stoops to no man's lure.

And Love, grown faint and fretful,

With lips but half regretful

Sighs, with eyes forgetful

Weeps that no loves endure. 

From too much love of living,

From hope and fear set free,

We thank with brief thanksgiving,

Whatever gods there be

That no life lives forever;

That dead men rise up never;

that even the weariest river,

winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then sun nor star shall waken,

Nor any change of light:

Nor sound of waters shaken

Nor any sound or sight:

Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,

Nor days or things diurnal;

Only the sleep eternal

In an eternal night.


This is about a third of this startling poem.  It has always sounded to me like an art nouveau stained glass piece by Mucha.  Well, that is today's sunshine and happiness from everybody's favorite unbalanced anthro rabbit.  Well, except Bugs.  He is just the best!


What's up Doc, indeed.

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