Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
It's done
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep
Robert Frost, 1914
Labels:
gardening,
Poetry,
Robert Frost
Friday, October 09, 2009
If - not the song, but ...
About three weeks ago Nevin posted a poem her father had send to her: Rudyard Kipling's "If".
In the comment section Webwisewoman mentioned that once she had heard the poem put in music, but could not remember by whom; whereupon Nevin wrote: "If anyone else does, please let us know..."
Well, Myladies, I tried but did not succeed.
However, I stumbled upon ... the poet's voice.
Enjoy.
With thanks to Jim Clark (poetryanimations).
In the comment section Webwisewoman mentioned that once she had heard the poem put in music, but could not remember by whom; whereupon Nevin wrote: "If anyone else does, please let us know..."
Well, Myladies, I tried but did not succeed.
However, I stumbled upon ... the poet's voice.
Enjoy.
With thanks to Jim Clark (poetryanimations).
Fashionable article
[...] if you wait long enough, fashion comes around again.
Now, ladies and gentlemen.
Where would one stumble upon such an old wisdom?
Think thrice.
Now?
No?
Want a little help?
Well, on a website registrated in the wonderful land of the Peace Nobel Prize Winner 2009.
Still no clue?
Well, take your time.
. . .
Congratulations, anyway, if you guessed the right answer.
And ... the peace of the night.
Labels:
civilisation,
language,
war industry
Wednesday, October 07, 2009
Happy birthday, Mr Putin ...
... one does not have to wish, hm?
Surely the gentleman enjoys a most happy day with all his dear friends, and everyone will have done his best to make the flawless democrat happy.
I wonder which one was the most special present today.
Surely the gentleman enjoys a most happy day with all his dear friends, and everyone will have done his best to make the flawless democrat happy.
I wonder which one was the most special present today.
Three years ago, October 7th, 2006 some admirers intended to surprise (?) their beloved President with a very very special present - and assassinated Anna Politkovskaya.Well, and here's a List of murdered Russian journalists.
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