Vision of a Fairy Queen

If not by visiting Crushed by Ingsoc being welcomed with a poetic surprise I had not already yesterday posted another gem bya Dfydd ap Gwilym.
And for sure I had not spent quite a few hours of this weekend with Byron, Keats and Shelley. And I had not suddenly jumped up, grabbed at the Book of Irish Verse to get drown in these verse by Tadhg Dall O'Huiginn (d. 1591).

A Vision of a Queen of Fairyland
My soul to ravish came to me last night, :
And never lady at my side did stand
To my undoing so unearthly bright.

Last night she came, a bright and lovely ghost,
And rose before me, while I seemed to sleep,
And of that slumber where my soul was lost
My tongue shall tell while I my memory keep.

Fair was as her face, her cheeks outblushed the rose;
There might you see the floods of crimson rise,
And dark unfaltering brows above disclose
The hyacinthine petals of her eyes.

Her pretty mouth more sweet than honeycomb
Would with red lips the budding rose excel,
And each soft whisper that from thence did come
Would charm the sick and make the dying well.

Between her lips like fallen rain of pearl
On scarlet cushions twain her teeth reposed;
How bright they shone, how sweetly spoke the girl;
Each languid word new loveliness disclosed.

Between her arms that taper to the hand
Are set twin glories, beautiful to see.
Two snowy mountains in her bosom stand,
Mid golden thickets of embroidery.

Gold-bordered slippers on her gentle feet
Do guard her steps wherever she may move;
You'd swear that maid so radiantly sweet
Had them a present from the God of Love.

Her purple mantle fringed with satin round,
Her golden shift with scarlet borders gay,
Her gilded bodice o'er her bosom bound
Did all her fairy loveliness display ...

'I came to seek you: come away with me!'
Thus spake the lady, and her voice was low,
And in my ear she murmured secretly,
As softest notes from sweetest organs flow.

'I will not go.' I answered like a fool,
For love had brought me to distraction,
And as I spake that vision beautiful
Had vanished in the darkness and was gone.

And now my soul and body part in pain.
The queen with blushing check and brown-lashed eyes
Leaves me to pine and cometh not again,
Tho' she was kind and beautiful and wise ...

The mound of Midhir with its rampart fair,
The fort of Sanbh, Abhartach's magic hill,
No lady in their castles can compare
With this sweet maid for whom I languish still.

Not in Emania of the apple-trees,
Nor halls of Aonghus of the golden sword,
The fairy dwells that hath such charms as these,
So soft a beauty or so kind a word.

But she is gone, and I would follow fast’
To lands unknown, who languish in despair.
Would it were possible to find at last
That country and to dwell for ever there!

A little hour I loved her rosy cheek –
The ebb must follow ever on the flow –
The vision fled, the joy of love grew weak,
My spirit sank and I was left to woe.

XII by Dafydd ap Gwilym

I was sighing deeply for last night that was so short. I and my love of brilliant beauty .... we put a week into that one night my dear. A judge would certainly hold one night too short with Gwen. Last night I knew all things . . . shining snow lit by heaven's candles ... paid for my waking as often as I took her dearly in my arms.

Then when my grasp of her was strongest and I was at the pitch of ecstasy (. . . her dark hair tumbling on her forehead ...) the edge of the restless veil of dawn appeared ... O God! There was the morning light.

"Get up!" cried Gwen, veiled in loveliness herself, "And hide yourself", and quickly embracing me, "What a bitter tear your love is! Go now in God . . . see there is the daylight!"

"Neither is true my lovely creature: the moon that God gave us is shining and the stars are in their courses still: I tell you this light is supposition, this day is your imagination."

"Then why is there a crow croaking high in the air?"

"Her fleas are biting her, annoying her, killing her."

"The dogs are barking and fighting below in the village."

"They can have caught the scent of a fox, and dogs are always disturbing the night."

"Stop your excuses now, my poet: 'A fool's wisdom brings great trouble.' For Christ's sake now get up quietly and open the heavy door outside and run to the wood with your longest strides, for the dogs are savage when they're roused."

"O we're not so far from the wood, and I can run faster than a dog. If there's no cunning spy watching, I'll not be caught this time by God's grace."

"Tell me, my dear poet, if God's willing will you come again . . .?"

"My lady, I am your nightingale, and when the night comes I shall come."

What a wonderful dream

Offensive? Unsuitable? Email us


I had a dream:

Mr. Kamm woke up and henceforth spoke a rare Hindu dialect . . .

A statue for the Topaz of poetry

It's a shame
that criticaster
would dare to blame
such genial master
who earns fame
for all his words.

It really hurts.


My closest friend's spontaneous reaction after I had told him about Colin Campbell's touching plea to give William Topaz McGonagall, the master of all rhymers, late gratification.

There does exist a demand for justice.

Noble invitations by Erdoğan and Gökçek

Piece four:

You read the notorious Mr. Kanli’s masterpiece of self pity as recommended in Piece three?

Well, according to my closest friend’s absolutely honest and trustworthy source who had been invited to take a shower in Mr. Erdoğan’s humble home, despite “being disgusted by being quoted out of the context”, Turkey’s future Ex-Prime Minister would not insist on prosecuting Mr. Kanli.

”But, of course, the Turkish justice is independent. Therefore, I can not anticipate any prosecutor's reaction when coming to know all those fiercely insults against the padişah – er – the Prime Minister.”

And here is what Mr. Kanli withhold his readers:

The nice, pretty, cute Mr. Gökçek according to my closest friend’s source assured while they (Mr. Gökçek, Mr. Mr. Erdoğan and Tetrapilotomos’ source) had a tea – prepared, by the way, with impeccable clean water - in the future Ex-mayor’s humble home: “I did never ever say people should leave Ankara for a holiday. I invited them to enjoy holiday in my home.”

And thus the trialogue went on:

The future Ex-Prime Minister: “That’s what our cute mayor said.”

Question: But the water shortage? Imagine only 500.000 people taking a shower in your convivial home?

The cute Mr. Gökçek: “Well, no problem.”

The future Ex-Prime Minister: “Indeed. As said, we have no water problem in our house. We have a water tanker. The people – and it makes me really sad that Mr. Kanli would not mention this in his column – are invited to have their showers in my humble home. I do only ask everybody to turn water off, while lathering and while brushing the teeth.”

Despite of this really wonderful report about an altruistic future Ex-Prime Minister and a future Ex-mayor, our source ends with a thought provoking postscriptum:

What will happen when all citizens come to know of these generous invitations? Will there come the moment when the padişah – ehem – the future Ex-Prime Minister will be quoted by the notorious Mr. Kanli saying: “Now the people have been absolutely exaggerating. My water tanker's empty.”?

Considerably exaggerated

Piece three:

We have no water problem in our house. We have a water tanker. I think the water problem is considerably exaggerated, says Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdoğan

These are the key-sentences, TDN-editor Yussuf Kanli chose for his Monday-column, in which he complains about a short period of three days he has been short of water.

But read and judge yourself.

Turkish lesson as warm-up

Piece two.

Well, and herewith we enter the world of very very bad journalism.

Before leading you to the essential inheritent interior essence which is hidden in the root of the kernel of quoting Prime Ministers out of the context, let’s have a tiny Turkish lesson.

Today’s curriculum: Help yourself, create your (n)omen.

Gökçek contains of

a) gök = sky/heaven ; skyblue; cyan; unripe;

b) çek = cheque

And here some additional translation aids:

gökgözlü = blue-eyed which in turn in German is also metaphorically for “in good faith”.

gökkandil = dead drunk

Finally:
Knowing I’d interrupt her digging for water, I asked a friend in Ankara – by the way, without ANY explaining context - if Melih means the same as does melik (king).

Answer:
Dictionary says: nice, pretty, cute.
His parents couldn’t guess how tricky & dishonest he would be.

Some infidel facts about water

As a welcome-present for my closest friend, Tetrapilotomos, who just returned from a visit to Rome and the Vatican - where he has put in some thousand good words for a poor poor Member of the Italian Parliament, thus trying to make sure the humble victim of loneliness would soon receive forgiveness from God and his wife -, I shall give in to his request to demonstrate how to cut one post into four.

All right then.
To start with the beginning.

Piece one.

Here are some so-called facts for all those still tending to rely on science-based expertise.
Being published on Bloom’s Day, it is, of course, infidel stuff for all those claiming to know that water-shortage in Turkey has been intelligently designed approximately 10.000 years ago.

All my posts "Crushed" by Ingsoc

:-) No post tonight.

Spent all blogging time at Crushed by Ingsoc.

But tomorrow night.

Ah, it will be a tiny little story.

About what?

Ah, well, about . . .

a) water and no water,

b) a mayor who is a prime-example for that in some countries no career would fail due to incompetence,

c) a prime minister who does not like people exaggerating

and

d) about people who might soon ask their prime minister the same ... :)

Baykal takes Brecht's advice

Recently Mr. Baykal has already been congratulated on his and his (sic!) Party's tremendous election triumph. But one can not often enough repeat it.

According to our absolutely honest and trustworthy source, for approximately 80 per cent of the Turkish people Deniz the Magnificent is the outstanding thinker and theoretican who has fully mastered Atatürk's revolutionary ideas; he is the sagacious leader of his Party and people who is possessed of brilliant wisdom, unusual insight and refined art of leadership; and he is the real leader of the people who has unboundedly lofty virtues.

TDN's Yusuf Kanli seems not able to accept Mr. Baykal's victory. Mr. Kanli is even mocking about Deniz the Magnificent.

But we know better.
Mr. Baykal and his (sic!) CHP won.
Not enough to drive Mr. Erdogan to Kars, where he could work as extra at the revolutionary local theatre, when it is next time snowing.

But - and nobody could deny: Only about 30 per cent more, and Mr. Baykal and his (sic!) Party would even have won the absolute majority.

Now, why did / COULD this not happen?
Officially one could hear all those arguments Mr. Kanli is mocking about.
One should not blame him, though. He does not know better. He CAN not know better.

Fortunately we can and DO.

According to my closest friend's either omnipresent and absolutely honest and trustworthy source, who's deep throat knows the büyükbaba - not to muddle up with Büyükanit - thus again: who knows the grandfather whose cousin's grandson's aunt knows the sister of a very very influential editor of Cumhurriyet, Deniz the Magnificent has told this extraordinary influential beacon of independant and unbribable Turkish journalism - sub rosa and off the records - the ultimate reason why him and his (sic!) Party would not get - at least - 98,9 per cent of the votes: "The stupid people did not vote for us. But at the next election WE shall turn the table. WE elect a new people."

The very very influential editor has not been seen, since. Influenza, it says.

It's as simple as that

Another nice little gem has been flowing into the feather of the champion first ever winning the Flann O'Brien Price.
It's somehow a pars pro toto for the daily secrets being published.

Ah, and - perhaps - it is about the time you are to be introduced to one of my closest friend's "ceterum censeos":

Banquo knew before

And oftentimes, to win us to our harm,
The instruments of darkness tell us truths,
Win us with honest trifles, to betray’s
In deepest consequence.

In German it sounds even more impressive (and not only because "Death is a master from Germany")

Oft, uns in Elend zu verlocken
Erzählen Wahrheit uns des Dunkels Schergen,
Gewinnen uns durch ehrlich Spiel im Kleinen,
Um uns in größten Dingen zu verraten.

Shakespeare, McBeth 1.,3

Victim of Loneliness

Here you will find a nice tiny story about a poor poor Italian Member of Parliament (MP) who according to his own words would just not have known what to do with all this snow-white loneliness.
Some ignorant people might not really understand that "loneliness is a very serious thing, and the life of a MP can be a very hard life."
My closest friend immediately took a plane to Rome.
- After all, Signor Mele lives closer to God and his wife than the intelligently designed Republican primate who recently received forgiveness from God and his wife. My old friend Ratze will give this victim of loneliness a private audience and afterwards Signor Mele's reputation will be as immaculate as . . .
- Tetrapilotomos!!!!
. . . hm, . . . as snow from the Aetna. . . . You are worse than the worst chaperone.

Büyükanit or The Name of the General

Just about to assure you that the Turkish military (slogan: Peace at home – Peace in the World) have not yet changed their understanding of democracy, by recommending to read this and this, my closest friend happened to drop in.

- Ah, General Büyükanit remembering his people of what party is de facto ruling Turkey?

- General Büyükanit is doing nothing but his duty.

- Which is – according to George Bernard Shaw – what a stupid man always declares when doing something he is ashamed of.

- Let’s be serious, Tetrapilotomos. There have 46,59 per cent been voting for the AKP.

- Thus 53,41 per cent voted for a putsch. Which is, by the way, bigger a margin than George Bush once could let his little brother organise in Florida.

- What are you going to tell, then?

- Nomen est omen, would you agree?

- Hm.

- Nomina sunt omina?

- Yes, yes , ...

- So let's look at Büyükanit.

- Oh, please, Tetrapilotomos, no jokes with names.

- I am just trying to inform those of your readers who unlike you are fluent in spoken and written English, but like you do not speak Turkish.

- We shall speak about this later on; without any emotional blockade and off the records. Go on then.

- All right, to cut it short: büyük means great; anit means memorial; thus, Büyükanit means Great memorial.

- Ah, isn’t it nice to have - even being - one’s own memorial in one’s lifetime?!

- I have not finished, yet. Would you agree that language is magic?

- I do, for the first time after a long interval.

- Now, a Turkish native speaker would perhaps know better. But, one can read General Greatmemorial’s name Büyük-anit and/or Büyü-kanit.

- Interesting. And what does this teach my readers?

- büyü means sorcery / witchcraft / witchery / wizardry; kanit means evidence / proof / argument; thus, Büyükanit means f.e. Evidence of Wizardry.

- And what is the essential inheritent interior essence which is hidden in the root of the kernel of everything, and thus in your words?

- Depending on what spell General Büyükanit will be casting when it’s coming to presidential election, once the Turkish people might build him a memorial – perhaps even in their collective memory.