Obsequies

It seems only fitting that the funeral of someone like Yves Saint Laurent should be unutterably fashionable, attended by everyone from his professional contemporaries (Valentino, Westwood, Rykiel, Kenzo...) to the Empress of Iran. What startles me, reading about it, is that it was more than just a stylish event; that in fact it seems to have been deeply moving.

The coffin arrived, greeted by the designer's companion, Pierre Bergé:

The great and the good - including the President of France and his wife, no stranger to fashion - in solemn array (note the Empress - taller than I would have thought):

And, of course, Deneuve:

All the papers say she read a poem of Whitman's, but not exactly what. I wonder if it included either of these bits, which seem appropriate.

Love, that is all the earth to lovers — love, that mocks time and space,
Love, that is day and night — love, that is sun and moon and stars,
Love, that is crimson, sumptuous, sick with perfume,
No other words but words of love, no other thought but love.

I feel like one who has done work for the day to retire awhile,
I receive now again of my many translations, from my avataras ascending, while others doubtless await me,
An unknown sphere more real than I dream'd, more direct, darts awakening rays about me, So long!
Remember my words, I may again return,
I love you, I depart from materials,
I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.