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Daily Deviation
Daily Deviation
August 8, 2011
The suggester writes: "Clair de Lune by *callerofcrows is a lovely poem that re-imagines the meaning of Debussy's classic piano suite. It left me wishing this was the true story of the piece."
Literature Text
Sometimes I imagine
That when Debussy penned this movement,
He hesitated with the title.
"Clair de Lune"…moonlight.
Perhaps he didn't have the courage
To add an "E" to the end of her name,
Immortalizing her in music.
The gentle chords pouring
From his piano describing
The peace with which she slept.
"Claire of the Moon."
She was the embodiment of dreams.
Indeed, with her hair spread out
In messy ringlets across the pillow,
The pale, spring-time glow
Of the moon hanging heavy
In the April sky
Gently casting its cool light
Through the half-open window,
Onto her faintly blushing cheek.
She looked ethereal,
Like a flower that opens for moonlight alone.
Imbued in this music is the tenderness
With which he desired
To move a stray curl from where it lay
Draped across her brow.
As the movement sweetly closes,
She gently wakes, smiling,
As I gently wake from the scene I created.
This exists in my imagination only,
The romantic in me dreaming
With the fictional Claire.
That when Debussy penned this movement,
He hesitated with the title.
"Clair de Lune"…moonlight.
Perhaps he didn't have the courage
To add an "E" to the end of her name,
Immortalizing her in music.
The gentle chords pouring
From his piano describing
The peace with which she slept.
"Claire of the Moon."
She was the embodiment of dreams.
Indeed, with her hair spread out
In messy ringlets across the pillow,
The pale, spring-time glow
Of the moon hanging heavy
In the April sky
Gently casting its cool light
Through the half-open window,
Onto her faintly blushing cheek.
She looked ethereal,
Like a flower that opens for moonlight alone.
Imbued in this music is the tenderness
With which he desired
To move a stray curl from where it lay
Draped across her brow.
As the movement sweetly closes,
She gently wakes, smiling,
As I gently wake from the scene I created.
This exists in my imagination only,
The romantic in me dreaming
With the fictional Claire.
Literature
The Piano Demon
The first time I saw her - really, really saw her, not just glanced at her as we tried our best to catch the back seats in the small university classrooms - she was at a piano. Maybe I'd never have really been able to notice her had it not been for that one, strange evening when destiny gently pushed me out of my awkward life and into hers.
If only children can be prodigies, then I wasn't one any longer. I'd lived through my glory years at school, where I'd gone off and won prizes for art and English, maths and physics, running circles around classmates and less talented professors. Eventually, when push came to shove and I had to figure out
Literature
There's a House On the Moon
"There's a house on the moon." She said, staring upwards at the silver disk in the sky.
"Don't be silly, darling." Her mother scolded, shaking her head apologetically at the other parents.
She frowned and crossed her arms, her bottom lip sticking out and her big eyes narrowed. "But there is! And there's a river an' a field an' goats an' a cat, an' that's where Old Man Winter lives."
Her mother sighed impatiently. "Enough with these silly stories, Elisabeth. Go and play while I talk, alright? But no telling the other children of these ridiculous fantasies."
Pouting, she did as she was told, stomping her booted feet hard against the half
Literature
On the Subject of Finding X
I'll have you know that I've just spent a considerable amount of time searching for x. I've looked in all of the places that x might plausibly reside, and even in some places where I assumed x would never be caught dead, but I've come up empty-handed.
I checked to see if x was under the bed, perhaps hidden among old school notes and forgotten art projects and lonely orphan socks. I scoured the closet, checking in every pocket of every innumerable pair of jeans, which, trust me, is no mean feat. I screened for x in every drawer of every dresser in every room, but it was all to no avail.
I proceeded to flip through all of the books that have
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What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic, and am actually disappointed that "Clair de Lune" isn't really "Claire de Lune" and that there wasn't any Claire in Debussy's life. (sigh) Oh well.
***NOTE***
Wow...didn't expect this to get a DD! I'm honored. There's too many of you favoriting this poem for me to go and thank all of you on your wall personally...DA thinks I'm a spammer if I do and won't let me comment! Please know that all of you who have favorited this poem have my most sincere thanks.
***NOTE***
Wow...didn't expect this to get a DD! I'm honored. There's too many of you favoriting this poem for me to go and thank all of you on your wall personally...DA thinks I'm a spammer if I do and won't let me comment! Please know that all of you who have favorited this poem have my most sincere thanks.
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