Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Bloom's Day in Seanhenge

... today means weeding weeding weeding

 instead of reading
or even making words words words
which, by the way, easily can become a sword.

Tonight I might open page 506 of Richard Ellman's Joyce biography, though.
Why page 506 (pp)?
The answer you could find by visiting Stan's dwelling, while its owner - so to speak - is celebrating Molly's Day. 
Enjoy.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Variatio delectat


Don't let disturb yourself by this blog's varying appearance. 
I might be a bit experimenting for a while.
After all, change is part of Omnium, too, hm?

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Just a thought

The tinier one's brain, the less others need to wash.

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

Disability and the UN System

... ha ha ha, there was no need to invent this title. The UN - so far! - is a forum of the disabled. {Anyone to sue me? You're welcome!) Imagine: Libya f. e. amongst members of the Human Rights Council. Thankfully there's no need of a comment. Alfred E. Neuman years ago put it nicely.
"The U.N. is a place where governments opposed to free speech demand to be heard!"

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

And thus ends a day with Schumann





Es war, als hätt' der Himmel
Die Erde still geküsst
Dass sie im Blütenschimmer
Von ihm nun träumen müsst

Die Luft ging durch die Felder
Die Ähren wogten sacht
Es rauschten leis die Wälder
So sternklar war die Nacht

Und meine Seele spannte
Weit ihre Flügel aus
Flog durch die stillen Lande
Als flöge sie nach Haus



It was as though the sky
had silently kissed the earth,
so that it now had to dream of sky
in shimmers of flowers.

The air went through the fields,
the corn-ears leaned heavy down
the woods swished softly—
so clear with stars was the night

And my soul stretched
its wings out wide,
flew through the silent lands
as though it were flying home.

[To esteemed visitors who might come to think 'this is/seems to be suboptimal a translation of Eichendorff's poem': You may even say: It's a lousy one! - However, such an admirer of Eichendorff I am not that I'd  ask McSeanagall to make it better. In other words: I don't like the poet, but this very piece of music.]

Poet(s) of Love