On the Ides of March ...

... 2054 years after Caesar rattled "You, too, my son Brutus?", 92 years after Austria-Hungary declared war to Portugal, 82 years after the first telephone-line between London and Berlin started to work, 52 years after the first performance of "My Fair Lady" in New York and on the 101st Birthday of Zarah Leander who once sang "Ich weiß, es wirrrd einmal ein Wunnn...derrrrr gescheh'n ..." (I know there will once happen a wonder ...) ...

... I went down in history by not falling off the ladder when being busy in garden. :)

Oh yes, and in Modica Lady Limoncello posted her 1000th 'articulo'.

What a day!

A very dear friend of mine

The Panther

His tired gaze - from passing endless bars -
has turned into a vacant stare which nothing holds.
To him there seem to be a thousand bars,
and out beyond these bars exists no world.

His supple gait, the smoothness of strong strides
that gently turn in ever smaller circles
perform a dance of strength, centered deep within
a will, stunned, but untamed, indomitable.

But sometimes the curtains of his eyelids part,
the pupils of his eyes dilate as images
of past encounters enter while through his limbs
a tension strains in silence
only to cease to be, to die within his heart.

Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming

Der Panther [Original]


Im Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Sein Blick ist vom Vorübergehn der Stäbe
so müd geworden, daß er nichts mehr hält.
Ihm ist, als ob es tausend Stäbe gäbe
und hinter tausend Stäben keine Welt.

Der weiche Gang geschmeidig starker Schritte,
der sich im allerkleinsten Kreise dreht,
ist wie ein Tanz von Kraft um eine Mitte,
in der betäubt ein großer Wille steht.

Nur manchmal schiebt der Vorhang der Pupille
sich lautlos auf -. Dann geht ein Bild hinein,
geht durch der Glieder angespannte Stille -
und hört im Herzen auf zu sein.


Rainer Maria Rilke

When magic strikes

When
the woman of the south & the man from the north
will have united in love for eternity,
and have become one in flesh and spirit,
the children of Lir, who have been transformed
into swans by Aife, will be redeemed ...'

The Swan

This labouring through what is still undone,

as though, legs bound, we hobbled along the way,

is like the awkward walking of the swan.

And dying-to let go, no longer feel

the solid ground we stand on every day-

is like anxious letting himself fall

into waters, which receive him gently

and which, as though with reverence and joy,

draw back past him in streams on either side;

while, infinitely silent and aware,

in his full majesty and ever more

indifferent, he condescends to glide.

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

Der Schwan

Diese Mühsal, durch noch Ungetanes
schwer und wie gebunden hinzugehn,
gleicht dem ungeschaffnen Gang des Schwanes.

Und das Sterben, dieses Nichtmehrfassen
jenes Grundes, auf dem wir täglich stehn,
seinem ängstlichen Sich-Niederlassen –:

in die Wasser, die ihn sanft empfangen
und die sich, wie glücklich und vergangen,
unter ihm zurückziehen, Flut um Flut;

während er unendlich still und sicher
immer mündiger und königlicher
und gelassener zu ziehn geruht.

Rainer Maria Rilke

Wings of love

Once I heard a remarkable Moroccan woman say:

Imagine love to be a bird, and man and woman being its wings.

Only when both wings will move in harmony the bird can fly.

Once in a year?

Did (Do) I care about International Women's Day?
No.
Not because I'd be against such days.
It's just I do not need them.

I do respect (wo)men 365 days a year - and 366 days in leap-years.

Regardless of their age, their looks, their (dis)abilities.

Yes. :)

Same procedure as every year

Michelangelo Buonarroti and Mrs. J. do have quite a few things in common.

Both were born in the past millennium, both March 6th.

But there's a difference:

Today was quite certainly not Mrs. J's 533rd anniversary.

Which is why there was the same procedure as every year when opening our eyes this morning.

Said I: You're looking younger than ever.

She, smiling: 'Ah, you are so charming.'

And I'd breathe a little sigh of relief
when she didn't add '... Michelangelo'.


The Peace of the Night! :)

Wordy Wednesday

Tomorrow, tomorrow!
Tonight I'll do it.

Don't you live the same (at least) sometimes? You read a wonderful sentence and you 'need', you wish to share. "Darling, listen."
:) Well, ideally, 'Darling' would hear you breathing heavily, sighing, chuckling and chirp: "My ears are yours."

Analogue:
So often I'd 'stumble' upon remarkable postings. And only seldom I'd let you know.

Why? There are quite a few remarkable bloggers recommending 'good stuff', and there is just not the time to read all. So, why should I increase the dilemma? :)

Anyway, hic Rhodos, hic salta. :)
Tonight, I do ask/recommend to read following posts.

No, I shall offer no 'introductions', just the links.
But I am very curious to learn, if you like/find interesting what I do like/find interesting/find moving. :)

Here we go:

A poem.

A daughter's 'homage' to her mother(s).

A 'real character' and his search for a job.

Turkey's veiled dilemma.

The Raven and the First Man.

Courage - Amnesty International Call

I so hate the barbers: a story of doing nothing.

Two trips to the hardware store.

On transmutation of nouns.

Money makes the world go mad - an economic forecast.


And in case some of you like the mixture, there will be more 'wordy Wednesdays'. :)

XX by Dafydd ap Gwilym

Today's St. David's Day reminds me that it's time after these two to enlighten your hearts with a third poem by another great 'David' - Dafydd ap Gwilym.

Although it is not May, yet, I do not have any doubt you will enjoy. :)

I made a tryst in the May brushwood, (graceful Dafydd and a handsome girl). An honest woman, she who met me. On the fair hillside under a dark bank, I gave her the kisses she was seeking, finding no fault in the pretty creature; and she got from me — bright generous jewel — two for every kiss she gave.

But in her declarations, far bolder was my girl than I, and when I heard my gentle creature speak so plain I fled at her challenge into my shell, and Startled, hid her words under my unlucky chatter.

But there under the oaks my fate was spun, and this new colour woven in :

"Rude Dafydd, you never came just to meet me, without hoping for all the embraces you remembered, and no refusal ? "

"For pleasure, not for this I came - but still for love of you, ­‑ Fair foolish creature, I know I shall not have you!"

"But I never came just for your sake to the wood, but hoping to leave it freed from maidenhood!"

”A maid you’ll be though, unrevenged on me, and here you'll see nothing that's not pure as snow, nor hear any but pure and proper speech." (O Mary, even if you wish this, I do not: nor will I submit!) "You'll be spoken ill of, and not without reason, that you came to meet me here. I am wise now through having lost my wits, and I would not care to feel the hurt and fury of your father, which I felt a little while ago."

"Stop your clever excuses and let what may be, be. Out there in the meadow, or in some byre, it's safe enough!"

"This easy going brings down the black faced wrath of relatives, and though this is harmless, there is the great archdeacon. liberal when he wishes, but excommunicating whom he likes in his own district if he is not given generously forty Shillings"

"O hard and nasty you are Dafydd, here under the leaves of the hillside! Shall a good Welshman lack the grace to give these forty Shillings?"

"What if I have not these forty Shil­lings, so early on the bold summer's day?"

"Get it from me then, and owe me a song and pay me fairly when you wish."

Then I could make no more clever ex­cuses, but stayed there since she did not refuse me; and with this handsome creature found perfect pleasure.

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi

Well, the Irish have to wait another 16 days until they can celebrate that St. Patrick worked wonder by expelling all snakes from Ireland exemplifying a metamorphose - the esmerald island is swarming with priests, since. :)

Not so the Welsh. Today they are celebrating St. David's Day.

St. David's Cathedral

Wish therefore, I could be in Sicily and enjoy eating some delicious Welshcakes. :)

Hoisting St. George's Cross

'Hoisting' a flag? Me? Never!

One should never say never (and, actually, I am mostly - noticed I did not write ' always'? :) - trying to avoid superlatives).

Today I am 'hoisting' a flag.
No, not the Irish. The English. The Cross of St. George.

Why?

By visiting James at nourishing obscurity you will understand.

A fine excuse

During the past decades, whenever it happens - and I got the feeling it does happen quite frequently - I do wonder what Mrs. J. could mean by stating I know why the devil beat his mother-in-law.*

Anyway, why would I not write at least ten or twenty posts these days, why not even visiting regularly my 'seldom borings', let alone leaving comments?

I suppose it's just due to that my brain's not (yet) able to perform around 167 trillion calculations per second.



* She'd not find a proper excuse, you know. :)

Devils in disguise

A German designer has debuted a digitally-enabled burqa that can broadcast a photo of the wearer to nearby mobile phones. Markus Kison calls it the "CharmingBurka," and says it isn't forbidden by Islamic law.

Ha ha, ha! Oh, what did I laugh. And immediately I intended to share my laughter with you.

So far, so funny.

Not that I changed my mind, but after - indeed, even while - reading the article I asked myself yesterday night:
How many 'modern muslim women' wearing a burqa would wish to 'lifting the veil using a bluetooth-burqa'; and how many would be able to afford it?

Quite.

So what is the marketing masters' mission?

Kison's broadcast technology started as a marketing tool; the so-called "Bluebot" system is meant to send digital advertisements to passing phones.

Ah yes. So what can we learn from this both clever and cynic advertising stunt?

One does not need wearing a burqa to be a devil in disguise.