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Time's River: The Voyage of Life in Art and Poetry
A merging of poem and image offers poetry from such writers as Borges and Yeats, moving from portrayals of childhood to celebrations of age, juxtaposing these poems with artworks from the National Gallery, including paintings by Picasso and Chagall.
124 pages, Hardcover
First published May 20, 1999
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Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews
November 5, 2019
A gorgeous book. The journey of life is celebrated through a beautiful selection of paintings featuring the likes of Monet and Renoir, which are accompanied by an equally beautiful selection of poems including such greats as William Blake, William Wordsworth, Walt Whitman, W.B. Yeats, Arthur Rimbaud, Pablo Neruda, Rainer Maria Rilke, Emily Dickinson, Robert Frost, and Christina Rossetti.
May 14, 2026
A beautiful collection of paired art works with poetry. There were some old favorites and some new introductions and I enjoyed it all very much.
October 17, 2021
A beautiful combination of poetry from all centuries with artworks tracing the course of life. It's a great way to reading poetry while looking at great art.
I suggest that you read one or two pages at a time...and concentrate on the words and the pictures.
I suggest that you read one or two pages at a time...and concentrate on the words and the pictures.
October 2, 2026
The skies in their magnificence,
The lively, lovely air;
The streets were pav'd with golden stones,
Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair. Thomas Traherne
Beautiful pairings of art and poetry for every stage of life.
Nothing Is Lost
Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.
Noel Coward
I was brought up by
Whispering meadow songs,
And learned the meaning of love
Among flowers.
I grew up in the arms of gods.
Friedrich Hölderlin
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain
part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white
red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint away
solitary by itself, the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance
of salt marsh and shore mud,
These became part of that child who went forth every day,
and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Walt Whitman
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler Yeats
The Moment
To write down all I contain at this moment
I would pour the desert through an hour-glass,
The sea through a water-clock,
Grain by grain and drop by drop
Let in the trackless, measureless, mutable seas and sands.
For earth's days and nights are breaking over me,
The tides and sands are running through me,
And I have only two hands and a heart to hold the desert and the sea.
What can I contain of it? It escapes and eludes me,
The tides wash me away,
The desert shifts under my feet.
Kathleen Raine
FROM Song of Myself
I know I have the best of time and space, and was
never measured and never will be measured.
I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and
of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every
a staff cut from the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead
upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents
and the public road.
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.
You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out
for yourself.
Walt Whitman
examples:
[image error]
[image error]
The lively, lovely air;
The streets were pav'd with golden stones,
Oh how divine, how soft, how sweet, how fair. Thomas Traherne
Beautiful pairings of art and poetry for every stage of life.
Nothing Is Lost
Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.
Noel Coward
I was brought up by
Whispering meadow songs,
And learned the meaning of love
Among flowers.
I grew up in the arms of gods.
Friedrich Hölderlin
There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became,
And that object became part of him for the day or a certain
part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
The early lilacs became part of this child,
And grass and white and red morning-glories, and white
red clover, and the song of the phoebe-bird,
The hurrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping,
The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint away
solitary by itself, the spread of purity it lies motionless in,
The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance
of salt marsh and shore mud,
These became part of that child who went forth every day,
and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.
Walt Whitman
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler Yeats
The Moment
To write down all I contain at this moment
I would pour the desert through an hour-glass,
The sea through a water-clock,
Grain by grain and drop by drop
Let in the trackless, measureless, mutable seas and sands.
For earth's days and nights are breaking over me,
The tides and sands are running through me,
And I have only two hands and a heart to hold the desert and the sea.
What can I contain of it? It escapes and eludes me,
The tides wash me away,
The desert shifts under my feet.
Kathleen Raine
FROM Song of Myself
I know I have the best of time and space, and was
never measured and never will be measured.
I tramp a perpetual journey, (come listen all!)
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and
of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every
a staff cut from the woods,
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange,
But each man and each woman of you I lead
upon a knoll,
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents
and the public road.
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.
You are also asking me questions and I hear you,
I answer that I cannot answer, you must find out
for yourself.
Walt Whitman
examples:
[image error]
[image error]
October 25, 2021
A beautiful collection of poems paired with paintings that is as satisfying as fine wine paired with great food.
The poems and paintings are drawn from many cultures and across many centuries. Farrell's selections are wonderful and while I have my favorites, I never tire of picking this book up and turning to a random page. These works and their grouping into four sections (Childhood, Young Adulthood, Maturity, Old Age) are profound and beautiful; they remind me of the timelessness of art, and that the human struggle has and always will be the same.
As Bob Dylan put it:
"...she opened up a book of poems, and handed it to me; written by an Italian poet rom the thirteenth century; and every one of them words rang true and glowed like burnin' coal; pourin' off of every page like it was written in my soul from me to you, tangled up in blue...."
This book glows like burnin' coal; I highly recommend it.
The poems and paintings are drawn from many cultures and across many centuries. Farrell's selections are wonderful and while I have my favorites, I never tire of picking this book up and turning to a random page. These works and their grouping into four sections (Childhood, Young Adulthood, Maturity, Old Age) are profound and beautiful; they remind me of the timelessness of art, and that the human struggle has and always will be the same.
As Bob Dylan put it:
"...she opened up a book of poems, and handed it to me; written by an Italian poet rom the thirteenth century; and every one of them words rang true and glowed like burnin' coal; pourin' off of every page like it was written in my soul from me to you, tangled up in blue...."
This book glows like burnin' coal; I highly recommend it.
September 20, 2020
I have had this book on my shelf for twenty years and I have read it several times. It's a wonderful collection of art from the National Gallery well-matched with poetry and grouped around the seasons of life. Worth returning to again and again.
February 25, 2008
This is a book of pictures from the National Gallery of Art in Washington DC organized with poetry about different stages in life. It has great pictures, especially if you've visited the art gallery and the poetry selection is fantastic. I read it cover to cover.
April 18, 2009
Love this book because it combines poetry and art together.
Displaying 1 - 8 of 8 reviews