Thursday, February 26, 2009

More Strong than Time

Amongst quite a few other personalities - f.e. Levi Strauss, and Johnny Cash, it's also this gentleman's birthday.


To make up for the snowball I once couldn't resist to throw at Monsieur's forehead, ...

Statue in Besancon
here's one of his loveliest poems:
More strong than time
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear on happy while,
The words wherin your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none will pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget.

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

Spring is in the Air

First I 'only' heard their calls. Minutes later:
And suddenly the sky is dark'ning,
And o'er the theater away,

One sees, within a blackish swarming,

A host of cranes pass on its way.
And what a formation! Almost a perfect 'W' of around 150 metres width. Estimating their number as once being taught by an ornithologist, this will have been between 450 and 500 harbingers of spring. Amazing. Wonderful!

Unfortunately it was already too dark for taking photos. Thus my thoughts returned to Schiller.
Sieh da, sieh da, Timotheus,
die Kraniche des Ibikus.
However - sorry Friedrich - that ballad is a bit long for a post. (If you like, you will find it here, though - and in English.)

So I chose a poem which does not contain of cranes, but has been written by a crane.
Enjoy.

I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.

"Sir", I addressed him,
"Let me read."
"Child", he began.

"Sir", I said,
"Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
of that which you hold.
Aye, much."

He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me.

Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

Stephen Crane (1871 - 1900)

The peace of the night.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Trying it this way

Hm.

As Bloggers repeatedly refused to publish my reply to the comments on previous post, I'll try it this way.

Dear All,
thanks for your kindness and patience.
As soon as possible I hope to find leisure to do what I am missing these days - visiting you regularly.
Thus - fingers crossed - until soon.

Hans,
glad you like the 'Irish ones'.

D.E.,
you are great. Thanks a lot! Update will (also) follow as soon as possible.

Nevin,
you are so kind. thank you.
Probably I should not (have) complain(ed) as a) it could be taken as fishing for compliments and b) as it's all my fault; after all, I could have studied harder, hm?
Actually, I am just complaining about that my German is better than my English. :)

CherryPie,
:) ... and I am still oweing you the letters t till z. :)

BP,
ha ha ha ...

Ardent,
you are lovely. Thank you.

jmb,
ah, imagineing how marvellously I could confuse you were my English perfect! :)
Thanks a lot for your kind words, Mylady.

Jams,
thank you. As DE's photos will show, Redcross has indeed changed - like the whole Ireland; if for the better on the long row, I am not sure, though.
Speak to you soon.


Saturday, February 21, 2009

What a post (office)

Sometimes I am sad that I can't write in English as fluently as I'd like, 'cause there's so much I'd like to write.

Sometimes .... sometimes I think my readers are lucky that ...

Anyway, here I am back again.

Thanks to those who left kind comments; thanks to those who sent kind and encouraging emails.

Well, once being told 'Sean you are either a genial slob or chaotic genius' - and I am taking this for one of the best compliments I ever got - I'd of course not be writing all the time.

Suddenly I thought of all those thousands of photos waiting to be scanned. :)

Why wouldn't I digitise them years ago? Answer: Look above. :)

Anyway, while scanning each photo brought memories back; all the thoughts I had while taking the pictures.

Amazing.

To give you a glimpse here are some (random) photos I took when striving through the Wicklows in Ireland, in 1985:


As my English is so bad, when reading 'Collier' I did, 'of course', think of the French meaning (jewelry); anyway, what a shop! Two pages in my diary. :)

Opposed you'd found this idyll.

Getting a bit closer ...


... and closer ...

Now, is this a post office?!
And now I wonder
if any visitor is able to show me what those two spots in Redcross are looking like nowadays. :)


PS (especially for my dear watchdogs): While writing (not in English) I might bore you with posting some light 'Irish posts'. Don't give up. Stand by. One never knows when I am fancy of writing that Monsanto et al seem to be bucking fastards.

The peace of the night.



Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Hilarious hiatus

To cut it short:

I am enjoying a lovely little writing frenzy; not in English, though. :)

Won't take too long.

Until soon. Enjoy life.

Saturday, February 07, 2009

More Dickens

Today is the 531st birthday of Thomas Morus (Thomas More) and the 197th of Charles Dickens.

There'd be much to tell.

The first an interesting man, the second made my boyhood interesting.

That's why, as I am
presently re-reading a fascinating book and thus want to cut this post short, here's a bit more Dickens:
Lucy's Song



How beautiful at eventide
To see the twilight shadows pale,
Steal o'er the landscape, far and wide,
O'er stream and meadow, mound and dale!

How soft is Nature's calm repose
When ev'ning skies their cool dews weep:
The gentlest wind more gently blows,
As if to soothe her in her sleep!

The gay morn breaks,
Mists roll away,
All Nature awakes
To glorious day.
In my breast alone
Dark shadows remain;
The peace it has known
It can never regain.
Ah, the book I am reading: The Praise of Folly.
Erasmus of Rotterdam, by the way, dedicated it to the beheaded author of 'Utopia'.
So, chin up, Thomas.