This is just "Adios"

Al Martino, October 7th, 1927 - October 13th, 2009

Riposa in Pace!

Anchors aweigh!

Memento mori*

* and sometimes it would sound like Carpe diem - which is about quite the same.

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

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).

Alternative to "Busting Bunkers"

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.

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.

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.

The McGonagalls of Tunes

As everybody knows Omnium, which means all, thus everyone and everything, demand(s) a statue for William Topaz McGonagall, who can rightfully claim to be the world's worst poet ever, only - to a certain degree - challenged by a certain James McIntyre, whose Ode on a Mammon Cheese I warmly commend to read here.

One of the Tayside Tragedian's uncounted masterpieces you will find offered by Jams O'Donnell Esq, the master of The Poor Mouth; and don't miss the poetry slam in the comment section, which partly took place here, too.

End of the beforegoing.

Like Stephen Hawking is trying to find the Theory of Everything (ToE) the esteemed Mr Goatman asks "What is ART?" Precisely: Does there exist a definition? Is it possible to define ART?

I suggest a study trip to Edinburgh, as in McGonagalltown he might find some essential tesserae for his ToA (Theory of Art).

Ah, no more words
See and - above all - listen yourself.

Here's The Really Terrible Orchestra (RTO)

Enjoy.

Another guttural Sláinte, Sir

Same procedure as last year and the year(s) before?

Same procedure as every year!

Well, almost. This time you've to read 69 and 98.


Enough written.

I am off now with my only man to meet the birthday child in 'The Dalkey Archive', wishing him - accompanied by a very guttural Sláinte - the best of Omnium, if you know what I mean.

Gracias, Mercedes Sosa

Mercedes Sosa (9 July 1935 – 4 October 2009)

All these fucking voters

Sometimes when talking about stupidity in general and in particular I'd ( like to) say that
I do not only agree with Bernard Shaw but am convinced not 98 but 99,99 percent of human being should not be allowed to cast a vote.

"Oh my god. And you do, of course, belong to the 0,01 per cent."

"Of course, my dear. However, for something completely different. When in private, please just call me Sean."

Well, that's a 30 and some years old running gag between Mrs. J. and me.

Now would not many people know me as well as Mrs J. does ("One can never be sure whether you are serious, joking or provoking.").

People who do not know me might therefore not get puzzled, but think "What a fucking arrogant cunt of an asshole!"

Mind you!! I am not swearing and thus making one step backwards on my quest to become the politest blogger in this universe and those yet to discover! Just quoting what some people might think I am.

End of the beforegoing.

As I did not tell you cannot know there has not only been a thrilling election campaign in Germany, but even an election.

Apropos election. Congress in Iran. Voting in the 21st Century. A participant from Zimbabwe standing together with one from China, the whole culminating in following dialogue:
- Do you have elections in China, too?
- Elections. Oh yes! Evely molning, evely molning.

Well, back to German politics. May I assure you they (the German politicians) don't cause erections?
Or?
Well, erecting middlefingers, if one does interprete the party which came second correctly - the party of the non-voters (28,2 per cent).

Which is why one - if not the most neutral nonpartisan and unbiased - tabloid said nearly half of Germans polled ahead of the parliamentary elections were in favo(u)r of introducing compulsory voting. Full article here.

Excuse me. Compulsory voting? 100 percent of the 99,99 percent idiots forced to give evidence of their idiocy, so that above mentioned 0,01 percent have to suffer?

Blimey!

Well, I am but a German. Almost none of my readers are. Which is why Germany's foreign minister to come very probably would not be a regular reader of this blog. [Although he could learn a bit English here - by reading the comments of native speakers].

Anyway, let's speak in general. About Ireland, f.e..
Will the majority of the Irish voters have yesterday said "Yes" or "No" during the(ir) second (!) referendum about the so-called Lisbon-Treaty?

To explain the exclamation mark behind second: I wonder, when politicians will start to accept a No.
Got it? Only about one year ago in a referendum the majority of the Irish voted "No"!

Mind you!
Those Irish voters who voted "Yes" - well, at least some of them - would have prefered that No-voters should not have been allowed to vote, due to their utter stupidity.

I do not know the result of today's referendum, but I am pretty sure:
In case the EU-lobby does not need to plan a third referendum in Ireland, those Irish voters who (yesterday) voted "No" - well, at least some of them - would prefer that Yes-voters should not have been allowed to vote, due to their utter stupidity.

Got it?

If not, don't worry. Politics is very very complicated.

Ah! You mean this post is a mess?

Ha ha.

Of course! If I'd be clever I could make at least ten posts of this.

A perfect sentence, by the way. The one above. 14 words. Fucking perfect.One word more (means: the 15th), and most people would not be able to understand it - according to the most intelligent masters of one German news agency.

Calm down. The German news agency does, of course, only think the average German to be too stupid to understand the meaning of a sentence containing more than 14 words.

For reborn US-Americans - just to give an example - 13 or perhaps less words might be too many/much.

Anyway, forget both the stupid Germans and the stupid US-Americans.

This post is not about them.

This post is a) about discussing a political question, about b) them bleedin' cuss words and about c) the question if suffrage should be universal.

. . .

In case you do not wish to follow the given links, do not follow your wish.
While Bock the Robber since September 22nd offers the chance to discuss the pro & contra of a Yes or No to the so-called Lisbon Treaty, one day later Miss Mogg asked - to cut her (provocative) question short - if there should indeed be "one (wo)man one vote".

Well, and the "Egg" - doubtful at his best - is arguing for thinking twice or thrice before f.e. writing a very German philosopher's name phonetically right but de facto wrong.

Ha ha ha ...

I enjoyed this.
And you?
Omg? :)
Ah, may I remind you? OmS would do. :)

Anyway, what's your vote?

Oh! You did not understand the question(s)?

Here they are, again! In less than 14 words.

What do you think about
- one (wo)man one vote, (regardless of any individual stupidity)
- and about swearing in general?

Without bashing an eyelid
wishing
the peace of the night.

(Y)our shadow knows all ...

I was yesterday under the good leaves, sheltering from the rain under a green cloak of birch leaves, waiting like a young fool for Gwen with Helen's brow; when Standing dismally before me face to face, I saw a figure; at which, though it stood mild and harmless, I shuddered, and against some evil Visitation crossed my body with a holy charm.

"Speak! Break your silence! If you are a man, what are you?"

"I! - I am your shadow, strange. For Mary's sake be silent, and not hinder me from telling you ... kindly, I am come here, and stand naked at your side, showing you by enchantment, your own image.

"Why should you, a sheltered shrinking creature, follow me? Are wages paid you, long-legged scarecrow, by Jealousy, that cold and wailing wolf, for watching me?"

"Dear man, I am no spreading ghost, no hideous chimera ..."

"Then what? A giant's offspring? A bald and monstrous spirit? No more of a doddering old man an apparition of bitter yet not even in your shape a man; with the shanks of a hag limping on black crutches; herdsman of a foul pack of ghosts, bogey in a bald monk's form! Like the heron that plucks at the reeds of the bog, or rises on ghostly shanks over the corn, with the face of a palmer and a blockhead rolled in an old rag, your back smeared dark with mud Where were you rolled then? In the muck of the farmyard?"

"Secretly I follow you for ever among the pleasant woods: weak though I am, remarking your deceits and thousand tricks. Your whole day I could describe to you, and this I know ..."


"Which of my faults should you know, more than the whole world knows? You with your pitcher's neck, the devil's dung to you! I've not disowned my country, nor killed a dog, you slanting shadow! Nor killed hens with a hurling-stone, nor frightened little children, nor have I offended against virtue, in interfering with strange women!"

"But if I told these things I know to some who do not know them, then would their rage quickly be loosed and ... faith! You would be crucified!"

"Then draw a knot tight against publishing these things, and on these faults of mine, sew up your lips against the world."

Dafydd ap Gwilym