Anaïs Nin’s Artistic Associations: Daisy Aldan (a poem)
Posted by Sky Blue Press Editor on August 14, 2009 · 2 Comments
Here is an excerpt from Collected Poems of Daisy Aldan. The following 1964 poem marked the beginning of Aldan’s dramatic ascent into 20th century avant-garde poetry and the beginning of a spiritual voyage that would continue for the rest of her life.
The Destruction of Cathedrals
I’m weary of visiting Cathedrals.
Let me make a pilgrimage to the trembling cathedral
of my own spirit
For there like France at war, I find myself,
“Not standing forth in pride and glory, but on my
knees in mourning, amid ruins,”
Amid the noise of falling glass and plaster.
Statues, pinnacles, bell turrets, counterforts; crockets,
birds, pillars and arches
All all in ruins — incalcinated.
Cross, candlesticks, reliquaries, masonry, swept away
like wisps of straw.
The smiling angel has only half a face,
The chimera which climbs to meet her has been struck
by a bullet in her back,
The hands of the caryatid, amputated,
Solomon’s cloak is cracked; the Queen of Sheba has
lost her robe and crown.
The flames have scaled the steeples —
spread over the roofs —
O vos omnes qui transites per viam, attendete et videte
Everywhere they are licking the lead plates
Disclosing the bare frame “forest” across interlacing
balconies
Like a prodigious skeleton of fire
Leaving an immense void — twisted iron, indented
clock wheels, broken muted bells.
Foolish imposter doors which did not open
Hang in high galleries. Perforated the great
roses — intense blues, purples,
Reds so warm and vigorous which burnished
The rays of the midday sun. The gargoyles drip
heavy tears. I hear the bells falling.
Wind is raging among the naves and corpses.
–Daisy Aldan, all rights reserved
When Destruction of Cathedrals was first published and the printed version arrived, Daisy came at once to find me,
totally sullen and unhinged. The original publication had omitted the first and most important lines of her
title poem,
” I’m weary of visiting Cathedrals.
Let me make a pilgrimage to the trembling cathedral of my own spirit”
It was not to be found. I was horrified for her, as she considered this to be her most important publication.
It could not be fixed. She wrote, in her chicken scratch hand writing in every one of those editions, the first
lines of that poem. The lines went across the page, one short line, the next long. Across the open pages
one found the poem and a wonderful print of Franz Kline. This book is still as impressive today as it was
then. In mine, in red ink are the first words of her poem.
C Goldman
Daisy Alden was a great artist and teacher. I think of her often.
Thank you for the touching story about her publication. She taught me to expect hardships as an artist – and she was right – about that and many other things.
I remember her teaching me about words – how one like “mudlucious” was as important as a painting.
she is missed.