"Windows 38th St"
Cool concept video of lonely mannequins shot through the windows of a clothing store in New York. At least I'm assuming they're lonely. Who really knows what goes on in the place when the people have all gone home and the lights are out for the night (remember Swing Shift from a while back?). Who am I to say?But anyway, I like the feel of this video a lot and thought it'd be a fun little side-journey for us today. Very melancholy and dreamy. And also artfully done I must say (thanks 1harold4!). Here's a companion poem...
The Munich Mannequins
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
Sylvia Plath
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Where the yew trees blow like hydras,
The tree of life and the tree of life
Unloosing their moons, month after month, to no purpose.
The blood flood is the flood of love,
The absolute sacrifice.
It means: no more idols but me,
Me and you.
So, in their sulfur loveliness, in their smiles
These mannequins lean tonight
In Munich, morgue between Paris and Rome,
Naked and bald in their furs,
Orange lollies on silver sticks,
Intolerable, without mind.
The snow drops its pieces of darkness,
Nobody's about. In the hotels
Hands will be opening doors and setting
Down shoes for a polish of carbon
Into which broad toes will go tomorrow.
O the domesticity of these windows,
The baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
28 January 1963
Sylvia Plath
Note: Video is Flash format. If you don't see it, you must temporarily disable your ad-blocking programs.
Great post!!! Love this blog.
ReplyDeleteCora, do you like dress up the mannequin according to season and display it in front of a window?
ReplyDeleteI just love mannequins! Mine is "Biba" who I rescued from a very bizarre store. She was wearing a pink/grey 80's plaid skirt, gold lame top,hot pink thong(!) and a chemo wig. I had to take her home on the bus. Her arms kept falling off.First people laughed but then it got quiet.
ReplyDeleteShe is currently residing in my storage locker do to a move. She has a wonderful wig, her hot topic outfit on and her shoes which never stay on right. I should have put my fur coat on her so she wouldn't get chilly.
Her nane is Biba after the '60's clothing line.
LOL, Cora, I am laughing my ass off at your response not because I think it's weird but because I think it's awesome that she creeps out random people on your sofa! Makes me wanna get one. Alhough I don't think my future husband would want me to keep it on the couch to scare the bejesus out of my friends or his daughter and other assorted relatives. Would be fun to try though.
ReplyDelete