Hey Bacchus, Old Buddy - Peel Me A Grape, Will Ya?

The Sunday Six #9: Little Ole Wine Drinker, Me*

Fig. 1. Jacopo Amigoni - Bacchus and Ariadne, n.d.

Fig. 2. Annibale Carracci - Bacchus and Ariadne, 1595

Fig. 3. Peter Paul Rubens - Venus, Cupid, Bacchus and Ceres, 1613

Fig. 4. Nicolas Poussin - The Nurture of Bacchus, c. 1630-35

Fig. 5. Charles Joseph Natoire - The Triumph of Bacchus, 1747

Fig. 6. Jean Leon Gerome - Anacréon, Bacchus and Cupid, 1848


'A vine bears three grapes: the first of pleasure, the second of drunkenness, and the third of repentance.'

Anacharsis

* Little Ole Wine Drinker, Me (lyrics by Dean Martin)

Addendum: Two Ladies Who No Longer Need A Special Introduction

Katie and ESVM have penned a few words for us and sent them posthaste all the way from chilly San Francisco. Many thanks to you both. Katie says:

Interesting all these different interpretations of partying with Bacchus. None of these paintings look excessively ribald, which is nice. I can't decide if I want to join in on the fun à la Rubens or Poussin though.

Yesterday I was at the Treasures from Afghanistan [Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul] exhibit in SF (I'll toss up some postcards soon at KF) and one of my favorite pieces was the bronze handle of a bowl with busts of female followers of Bacchus. Plus there were some amazing glass cups and goblets that would have been perfect vessels for wine.

And yes, ESVM had a little something to say on this topic:

Feast

I drank at every vine.
The last was like the first.
I came upon no wine
So wonderful as thirst.

I gnawed at every root.
I ate of every plant.
I came upon no fruit
So wonderful as want.

Feed the grape and bean
To the vintner and monger;
I will lie down lean
With my thirst and my hunger.

E.S.V. Millay

All Of The Magic, None Of The Tricks

Fig. 1. Caspar David Friedrich - Man and Woman Contemplating the Moon, 1824

'Longing is the umbilical cord of the higher life.'

Søren Kierkegaard

Your Ears Will Orgasm #9: Olivier Messiaen - Oraison (MixPod Player)

Addendum:

The following poem was sent to me by Katie, a regular reader and commenter, as a response to Caspar David Friedrich's image. I am posting it here for the benefit of those who do not normally peek into the comments box - and, needless to say, as a way of expressing my thanks for her spontaneous contribution.

Mist in the Valley

These hills, to hurt me more,
Than I am hurt already enough,--
Having left the sea behind,
Having turned suddenly and left the shore
That I loved beyond all words, even a song’s words, to convey,

And built me a house on upland acres,
Sweet with the pinxter, bright and rough
With the rusty blackbird long before the winter’s done,
But smelling never of bayberry hot in the sun,
Nor ever loud with the pounding of the long white breakers,--

These hills, beneath the October moon,
Sit in the valley white with mist
Like islands in a quiet bay,

Jut out from shore into the mist,
Wooded with poplar dark as pine,
Like points of land into a quiet bay,
(Just in that way
The harbour met the bay)

Stricken too sore for tears,
I stand, remembering the islands and the sea’s lost sound...
Life at its best no longer than the sand-peep’s cry,
And I two years, two years,
Tilling an upland ground!

E.S.V. Millay