Monday, June 01, 2009

3D Genetic Algorithms - Abstract #90

For six weeks I was trying to find any abstract vision that could barely match a very concrete poem like "Dust" by Rupert Brooke is, to no avail. The concept was a lightning and some glowing particles. Modelling by hand is a piece of cake, but try with formulas and tell me. I was trying until I got simply tired and just accepted something resembling a lightning and something resembling a twirl of fireflies, both to be one enough and final acceptable thing. But right then, when I decided that this image was enough to go with "Dust", I reminded a song too: On the year I was born, Fleetwood Mac released a rock version of this outstanding poem by Rupert Brook (who is one of my favourite poets), it's a quite unknown song now (called "Dust" too), so much forgotten that I was oblivious about it for over a decade, but working on this image made me remember it; most probably because of the glowing things. The image is abstract and not really evocative of anything, but it made me remember the song. The poem and the song player are down below. It is the last song of the last album of the best reputated line-up of the band. The poem is far better, though, since the lyrics only focus on the darkest part of the poem.
Strange paths walks the mind.

Looks better full size.

I decisively prefer the blue glow, but this other one is a more firefly-like... I guess.

When the white flame in us is gone,
And we that lost the world's delight
Stiffen in darkness, left alone
To crumble in our separate night;

When your swift hair is quiet in death,
And through the lips corruption thrust
Has stilled the labour of my breath —
When we are dust, when we are dust! —

Not dead, not undesirous yet,
Still sentient, still unsatisfied,
We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit,
Around the places where we died,

And dance as dust before the sun,
And light of foot, and unconfined,
Hurry from road to road, and run
About the errands of the wind.

And every mote, on earth or air,
Will speed and gleam, down later days,
And like a secret pilgrim fare
By eager and invisible ways,

Nor ever rest, nor ever lie,
Till, beyond thinking, out of view,
One mote of all the dust that's I
Shall meet one atom that was you.

Then in some garden hushed from wind,
Warm in a sunset's afterglow,
The lovers in the flowers will find
A sweet and strange unquiet grow

Upon the peace; and, past desiring,
So high a beauty in the air,
And such a light, and such a quiring,
And such a radiant ecstasy there,

They'll know not if it's fire, or dew,
Or out of earth, or in the height,
Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue,
Or two that pass, in light, to light,

Out of the garden, higher, higher. . .
But in that instant they shall learn
The shattering ecstasy of our fire,
And the weak passionless hearts will burn

And faint in that amazing glow,
Until the darkness close above;
And they will know — poor fools, they'll know! —
One moment, what it is to love.

Rupert Brooke, "Dust".

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