. . . like a stone. |
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Monday, August 25, 2014
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Saturday, August 23, 2014
Friday, August 22, 2014
Thursday, August 21, 2014
Hay (not only) for the Horses
"I'm sixty-eight", he said,
"I first bucked hay when I was seventeen.
I thought, that day I started,
I sure would hate to do this all my life.
And dammit, that’s just what
I've gone and done."
|
From "Hay for the Horses" by Gary Snyder.
Labels:
harvest,
hay,
Miscellanies,
Poetry
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Seeds from Sicily
Several sorts of tomatoes are growing |
here and there in Seanhenge. |
All seeds taken from tomatoes |
that in 2013 grew in Sicily. |
Labels:
photography,
Seanhenge,
tomatoes
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
RiP, Lioness
Tik...tak and tik...tak, O how the moment flies?
Compelled, humble and obedient it flies.
- Stay, stay my life! give a respite... O God!
Without farewell, wordless and even a look it flies.
Drop by drop like the spring, it drops by moments,
Month turns to year, year turns to month and flies.
At the golden twilight the sun rises,
With the last bloody setting, sinks in well and flies.
When I lay the silvery sleep over my dream,
A black sleep arrives, a white dream flies;
My life like the curtain from alternate white and black
Has become stripped and still stripped it flies.
She who goes is me, I won't return,
Ah me, tell time that untimely it flies!
My pulse is tired, tired from counting ,
The moments of my life, ah... ah time flies!
Simin Behbahani (20 June 1924 - 19 August 2014)
Compelled, humble and obedient it flies.
- Stay, stay my life! give a respite... O God!
Without farewell, wordless and even a look it flies.
Drop by drop like the spring, it drops by moments,
Month turns to year, year turns to month and flies.
At the golden twilight the sun rises,
With the last bloody setting, sinks in well and flies.
When I lay the silvery sleep over my dream,
A black sleep arrives, a white dream flies;
My life like the curtain from alternate white and black
Has become stripped and still stripped it flies.
She who goes is me, I won't return,
Ah me, tell time that untimely it flies!
My pulse is tired, tired from counting ,
The moments of my life, ah... ah time flies!
Simin Behbahani (20 June 1924 - 19 August 2014)
- For more poems penned by this remarkable woman I set a link to the blog of my friend Jams who admired "The Lioness of Iran" and would have been sad to hear of her death.
From Pomona's Store
We'll rather taste the bright Pomona's store,
No fruit shall 'scape Our palates, from the damson to the grape.* |
From An Ode to Master Anthony Stafford to hasten him in the Country by Thomas Randolph (1605 - 1634)
Labels:
damsons,
Poetry,
Seanhenge,
Thomas Randolph
Saturday, August 16, 2014
Friday, August 15, 2014
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Laughing Lhursday*
* [For first time visitors]:
Typo in the title?Nah. It's just that I would not let a tiny T spoil an avantgardistic alliteration.
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