Mid-Week Libation: Sorbet Deluge

Our snow day playlist, a classic B&B cocktail, celebrating sculptor Barbara Hepworth & Harlem Renaissance poet Mae V. Cowdery, wisdom from John Waters, and Mink Stole's breakdown in Desperate Living!

Ryan Elston

and

Ryan Wildstar

Jan 10, 2024

1×

0:00

-4:07

Mid-Week Libation is our weekly curated splash of inspiration and culture! Click above to listen to this weeks’ audio segment!

R&R’s Snow Day Playlist: Sorbet Deluge

A Classic Fireside Digestif: The B&B Cocktail (Bénédictine and Brandy)

How to Make a B&B Cocktail (via Nancy at Flour Child: Mid-Century Recipes With a Modern Twist!)

Celebrating Sculptor Barbara Hepworth (January 10, 1903 – 20 May 20, 1975)

1) Curved Form (Bryher), 1961 [Slowking4, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons]; 2) Two Forms (Divided Circle), 1969 [Talmoryair, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons]; 3) Rock Form (Porthcurno), 1964 [Ham, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons]; 4) River Form, 1965 [Ian Gillespie, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons]; 5) Corinthos, 1954–5 [Rept0n1x, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons]; 6) Conversation with Magic Stones, 1973 [SeanMack, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons]

Honoring Harlem Renaissance Poet Mae V. Cowdery (January 10, 1909 – November 2, 1948)

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

Lamps
by Mae V. Cowdery

Bodies are lamps
And their life is the light.
Ivory, Gold, Bronze and Ebony—
Yet all are lamps
And their lives the lights.

Dwelling in the tabernacles
    Of the most high—are lamps.
Lighting the weary pilgrims’ way
    As they travel the dreary night—are lamps.
Swinging aloft in great Cathedrals
    Beaming on rich and poor alike—are lamps.
Flickering fitfully in harlot dives
    Wanton as they that dwell therein—are lamps.
Ivory, Gold, Bronze and Ebony—
    Yet all are lamps
And their lives the lights.

Some flames rise high above the horizon
    And urge others to greater power.
Some burn steadfast thru the night
    To welcome the prodigal home.
Others flicker weakly, lacking oil to burn
    And slowly die unnoticed.
What matter how bright the flame
    How weak?
What matter how high it blazes
    How low?
A puff of wind will put it out.

You and I are lamps—Ebony lamps.
Our flame glows red and rages high within
But our ebon shroud becomes a shadow
And our light seems weak and low.
    Break that shadow
    And let the flame illumine heaven
    Or blow wind . . . blow . . .
    And let our feeble lights go out.

To read more poetry by Mae V. Cowdery and her contemporaries, check out Shadowed Dreams: Women's Poetry of the Harlem Renaissance (edited by Maureen Honey) and Aphrodite's Daughters: Three Modernist Poets of the Harlem Renaissance by Maureen Honey: