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odourofdevonviolet.com

 The Scent That Captures That "1930s Moment"!

All material copyrighted to odourofdevonviolet.com © 2014

or to the various credited sources © 2014

LVI

 

The Secret Doctrine served as a ‘door-opener’ –and door-stopper–

For scientists all over the globe still ‘groping for light at

The dead-end of materialism’ as Howard Murphet put it in

His hagio-biography of Blavatsky, When Daylight Comes

(That materialised through the Theosophical Publishing

House in 1975), replete with violet-tinted cover

Portrait of la Madame herself, and violet-steeped photograph

Of Murphet on the jacket flap –signed copies from the other side…

Possibly now Blavatsky is enveloped in her vanity project

Of afterlives, Violet Unveiled, or Violet Observed, revealing

Itself through violet sleeves in violet tropes on violet-scented

Notepaper from the violet-tinted afterlife, her will still holding

Out for that which one of her apostles, W.B. Yeats,

Prefigured as the coming ‘greater renascence –the revolt

Of the soul against the intellect’… O invisible ultraviolet waves!

Those they light hostel toilets with so users of that odourless

Aunt Hazel can’t locate their crinkled veins, no matter how hard

They strain, how tight they tug the torque –O violet emanations,

O violet vibrations, O violet leitmotivs, O violet liquefactions!

 

WHENAS in silks my Violet goes,

Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows

That liquefaction of her clothes.

 

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see

That mauve vibration each way free;

O how that Violet scent infects me!

 

 

                                                    [pastiche of Robert Herrick’s ‘Upon Julia’s Clothes’, 1891]

LVII

 

Isn’t DEVON VIOLET quite surfeiting? It is, and most uplifting,

Smiting pessimisms and disinterring stale appetites for life

Filtering in through the nostrils, spices exhumed from strife

Of fiscal retrenchments to infiltrate the lotus-drowsing sight

Until we find ourselves idiot savants in the salvific

Waves of violet haze wafting into reveries of revivified

Inter-war years, our lost decade-long Walpurgis Night,

Walpurgisnacht, Valborgsmässoafton, Vappu, Volbriöö,

Valpurģu nakts, Valpurģi, Violet Night, feverish Scandinavian

Carnival, Baltic bacchanalia, festival of devils and witches,

Celebrated by Satanists, Pagans, Roman Catholics and those at

The violet end of the spectrum (mostly mystics, clairvoyants,

Visionaries, seers, mediums, psychics, adepts and eccentrics),

Or those who toed the Siegfried Line from Vichy to Sudetenland

Triangulating North to Norwegian Vidkun Quisling’s Nasjonal

Samling, and South, to Franco’s Spain, taking in Mussolini’s

Italy with it; drift of olfactory phantasmagoria, or what is

Called in theosophical circles, clairfragrance, a challenge

To marketing, though, but, as with DEVON VIOLET, its’ scent

Is ubiquitous, a gift to advertising verse and promotional spiel …

 

littleliverpil-

heated-Nujolneeding-There's-A-Reason

americans (who tensetendoned and with

upward vacant eyes, painfully

perpetually crouched, quivering, upon the

sternly allotted sandpile

Mhow silently

emit a tiny violet flavoured nuisance: Odor?

 

o no.

comes out like a ribbon lies flat on the brush

 

 

                                                        [ee cummings: ‘Poem, or Beauty Hurts Mr. Vinal’]

Blavatsky