How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away o'er lawns and lakes
Yet Love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar
The songs repeat.
'Tis when the sigh, - in youth sincere
And only then,
The sigh that's breathed for one to hear -
Is by that one, that only dear
Breathed back again.
Thomas Moore
A cow in the village of Kadiruşağı in the eastern province of Malatya has been sent to a neighboring village because its owner feared she would be punished for the animal knocking down a statue (of Atatürk; Omnium) in the local schoolyard.
The accident caused the local education department to launch a formal inquiry into the matter, frightening the cow’s owner, Gül Kılınç, who said she had sold the animal, named Gülsüm, to a friend in the neighboring village of İnekpınarı to wait out the inquiry.
[...] "Officials came and took our testimony. Almost every member of the village was questioned"* [...].
* emphasise mine
More about this absolutely shocking incident at Hürriyet.
As Turkishness is unrivalled, I
do fear this cow is a poor sow.
It might be interesting, though, to interview her and the author or journalist, Gülsüm might soon share a prison cell with.
Meanwhile, in a poll amongst cows worldwide, 99,98 percent mooed:
"A statue for Gülsüm!
Related articles (warmly commended):
Spreading Mr. Kemal's news (Part I of an exclusive interview with the late Atatürk)
It's somehow amazing, yes.
Interesting anyway; both the find and - the enthusiastic way in which it's celebrated. Well, and the name it's given: Venus of Hohle Fels.
Well, when I am thinking of Venus, I do have another picture in my mind. :)
In so far, it's nice in today's NYT to read following lead:
No one would mistake the Stone Age ivory carving for a Venus de Milo. The voluptuous woman depicted is, to say the least, earthier, with huge, projecting breasts and sexually explicit genitals.
Full article here.
Dyddgu, brilliant creature, with your soft dark hair your secret lover I invite you to the Manafon dingle. Here is no coarse food spread for you, nor gluttonous eating in a hut; nor porridge nor stirabout, the reapers' small profit: nor a bite of a ploughman's dinner, nor lean Lent meat. Nor have I invited any Englishman with his loud drunken friends, nor a labourers' feed celebrating their coming to manhood; I promise you nothing but mead and the song of a nightingale, the brown-backed nightingale with her light dancing song, and the thrush with his strong pleasant tongue. What better place than this, deep over-hung by the green birch-trees.
While we lie out there under the leaves, the splendid trees hang over our celebration, and high above us the birds play in the branches. Ringed about us are nine trees, the finest in the wood; below them we lie in a round hollow, a green belfry above us, and all around the fresh white clover, heaven's flour.
There two people, or three can lie by the hour untroubled, where the gentle roebuck seeks wild oats, where birds sing, where I am glad. Where the blackbird builds his thick nest, where the majestic trees stand, where hawks feed their young, there is our new dwelling of leaves, there is our ready passion, there our Paradise. There is the pale light in the shade of the hanging branches, by the still water in the smokeless air, in the tangled bushes where no meal-beggar nor scraggy cheese-beggar shows himself, there let us two go, I and my girl with her eyes bright as a glow-worm, skin white as a wave, there will we two lie tonight.
Daffyd ap Gwilym
All poems posted here so far
you will find by clicking the labels for this post. Enjoy.
In general people stick to not speaking with full mouth;
is their head empty - now, that's a different story.
