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Faceless lovers. Light and a few drops of black.
A kiss is a form of two bodies connecting, perhaps more intimate than making love and more powerful than holding hands. Two bodies melting in each other.
| You at war, you who press your lips on Hers, at every leaving | Henri Pichette • Apoem 4 | Kiss • Nassia Kapa
When leaves were green
My heart was young
And pain was just a notion
For now, the leaves are gone, it seems
I’m drowning in an ocean
Of doubt, and fear, and hurt all one
I cannot shake the feeling
That I am just nobody’s son
This ocean’s left me reeling.
Doubt and fury burn inside
Hold me in their grasp
Pain and desperation taunt
Their bitter pill of acrimony
All my dreams do haunt
And only winter stays
When leaves were green
My heart was young
And pain was just a notion
The following is a chat log from our April 16th bookclub event. Photo credit: Pauline Clary
__________
Zoe Foodiboo: I think we might be a smaller group today than last week. Two people gave me poems to read on their behalf.
Zoe Foodiboo: But, I think we should start with the people who are present today. Last week we read our poem, told the group why we chose it, then let the group share their thoughts. Shall we follow the same format today or....?
Zoe Foodiboo: Hello Herr Bereznyak, welcome.
Florian Blaisdale: Sure, I also have a youtube clip of my poem
Klaus Bereznyak: Evening all!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Oh, there he went
Pauline Clary: Abend!
Pauline Clary: Sounds good to me, Zoe
Zoe Foodiboo: Great! Who would like to go first?
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Oh there you are, Klaus. I thought you'd left us for a minute
Florian Blaisdale: May I go first?
Klaus Bereznyak: I'm hiding in this chair :-)
Florian Blaisdale: Just to get it over with1
Zoe Foodiboo: /me giggles
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me knows the feeling
Zoe Foodiboo: Please do, Herr Blaisdale!
Florian Blaisdale: I have chosen something from 1920s Berlin Cabaret as poetry!
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): very good
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): oh wow
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): excellent
Pauline Clary: great
Florian Blaisdale: A selection from the cabaret song cycle "Lieder eines armen Mädchens" (A Poor Maiden's Songs) by Friedrich Hollaender …
Zoe Foodiboo: oh exciting
Florian Blaisdale: Have you heard of Hollaender?
Zoe Foodiboo: /me shakes her head
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): no
Florian Blaisdale: First a little about Hollaender: He composed music for productions by Max Reinhardt, was very involved in German Kabarett in the 20s, and wrote the film score for "Der blaue Engel"(1929) including the song "Ich bin von Kopf bis Fuß auf Liebe eingestellt"("Falling in Love Again") sung by Marlene Dietrich …
Zoe Foodiboo: ohhhh
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): sounded familiar
Florian Blaisdale: He left Germany because of his Jewish descent and emigrated to the USA in 1934, where he wrote music for more than 100 films, including many tunes for Marlene Dietrich, like
both words and music for the rather wry, socially critical songs "Black Market," "Illusions," and "The Ruins of Berlin" in the film "A Foreign Affair"...
Klaus Bereznyak: Prolific by all accounts!
Florian Blaisdale: That's the background
Florian Blaisdale: Now to Hollaender's 1920s cabaret song cycle and my selected poem: The cycle "Lieder eines armen Mädchens," written in between 1921 and 1924, ingeniously portrays the societal realities of poverty, suffering, depravity, and death from the perspective of a poor orphan girl named Lieschen Puderbach, who speaks/sings in a lower class Berlin dialect. The cycle is very dark, bit not without touches of wry humor here and there. Hollaender borrowed the name "Lieschen Puderbach" from a character in a Else Lasker-Schüler play, but most similarities end there. Now to the song in the cycle I have selected (it was hard to choose just one!), "Wenn ick mal tot bin" ("Once I'm Dead") …
Florian Blaisdale: (you can probably tell I rehearsed today)
Zoe Foodiboo: /me smiles
Florian Blaisdale: In "Wenn ick mal tot bin," orphan Lieschen morbidly fantasizes about her death and funeral, when people will finally pay attention to her. Here's a link if you would like to hear the poem in German: youtu.be/zJBV6ABuY7M The text ends at 1:42.
Zoe Foodiboo: /me nods
Florian Blaisdale: (listens to poem)
Florian Blaisdale: When the misc gets loud and clapping starts, the text ends
Florian Blaisdale: This is performed by German actress/singer Meret Becker (aside: I caught Meret once on tour with Nina Hagen singing Brecht/Weill songs)
Zoe Foodiboo: It sounds lighthearted and dreamy
Zoe Foodiboo: I can't understand her of course :P
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): it does
Zoe Foodiboo: almost childlike
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): I speak german fluently but I didn't understand much
Florian Blaisdale: Why I chose this: German cabaret was a field of study of mine as a German grad student
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): no kidding, wow!
Klaus Bereznyak: That struck me too - the childlike voice
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, it was in Berliner dialect and very fast
Florian Blaisdale: Let me explain it a bit
Zoe Foodiboo: /me leans in
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me leans forward curiously
Florian Blaisdale: Let me describe the text you just heard in English stanza by stanza: In the first of five stanzas, Lieschen describes how her whole school class will come out to see her all laid out in her coffin in a white silk dress, and how very nice that will be once she is dead: "Wenn ick mal tot bin, det wird zu scheen!"
Florian Blaisdale: In the following stanza, Pastor Eisenlohr reads Bible verse over her coffin, but Lieschen stays still because now that she's dead she can do what she likes.
Florian Blaisdale: but the most important stanza comes next …
Florian Blaisdale: The most important stanza, I think is the third, which I translate here:
When I am dead, they light candles with yellow flames
And put them right and left of me, very close,
Then a golden glow falls on my dead bones
And our teacher begins to cry terribly!
Only Auntie is very happy, because once I'm dead,
Once I'm dead, I don’t eat anymore.
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): /me nods
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): oh my god
Zoe Foodiboo: awww
Klaus Bereznyak: Ouch
Florian Blaisdale: There is the most socially critical point in the text
Florian Blaisdale: Two stanzas to go …
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): yes! Wow
Florian Blaisdale: In the following stanza, Lieschen describes how she wills her worldy goods to her friend Truden -her doll without a head, her red hairband, and her mother-of-pearl button - because Truden should think about her once she's dead.
Florian Blaisdale: In the last stanza, Lieschen exclaims: Once I'm dead, then my life finally begins ("wenn ick mal tot bin, fängt erst mein Leben an"). She describes how the angels will sing and the violins play when she floats into heaven and how the saints will all match in to recieiver her. The poem ends with "Wenn ick mal tot bin, is mein schönster Tach" ("Once I'm dead, that will be my finest day).
Florian Blaisdale: *march not match
Florian Blaisdale: That's it!
Zoe Foodiboo: that poor child…
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): so sad
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, what do you all think?
Klaus Bereznyak: And then the music plays!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I love it! Was this in song form?
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): very nice and beautiful
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, Klaus, in several arrangements
Florian Blaisdale: My favorite is by neo-cabaret artist Tim Fischer
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, Scout, too!
Klaus Bereznyak: And this was Cabaret! It always astounds me how dark that "entertainment" wass.
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I would love to see this!
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): Very beautiful and also sad. I think it's also naive and childish in a way. Almost self-indulgent?
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, very dark - this was one of the lighter numbers of the cycle
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): frl Foodiboo, when everyone else has recited I may be able to recite one from my memory
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, innocent in a way - a child crying for attention
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): That's kind of party of why I like it
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): part
Zoe Foodiboo: /me nods at Galina and smiles okay
Florian Blaisdale: I'm done if we should move on
Klaus Bereznyak: I hear Teruumi, there - It borders on melodrama in my ears.
Klaus Bereznyak: But I liked it, too.
Florian Blaisdale: yes - melpdrama
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): Yes, I agree!
Zoe Foodiboo: Well thank you, Herr Blaisdale. I really enjoyed that!
Florian Blaisdale: Something new for everybody, i hope
Zoe Foodiboo: Klaus, would you like to go next?
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Yes! I'm writing this name down. Thank you!
Klaus Bereznyak: Gladly - thank you
Klaus Bereznyak: This will be a different kettle of fish so to speak
Klaus Bereznyak: Perhaps an interesting contrast to go to next
Zoe Foodiboo: /me smiles
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): sounds very promising
Zoe Foodiboo: It's all be great so far
Florian Blaisdale: yes!
Klaus Bereznyak: We ll ... I was curious as to whether our notable professor Herr Einstein could turn his hand to poetry as well as to everyting else.
Klaus Bereznyak: Alas - a few verses can be salvaged from his writing, but they are nothing to write home about.
Zoe Foodiboo: /me nods
Klaus Bereznyak: Nevertheless, he has inspired many. So this is apoem by Howard Moss - long time editor of the Poetry section of the New Yorker
Klaus Bereznyak: I'll let it speak for itself and perhaps say one or two comments after
Florian Blaisdale: New Yorker! love it already
-: /me Einstein’s Bathrobe
Zoe Foodiboo: /me helps herself to pie and nods
-: /me BY HOWARD MOSS
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me listens
Klaus Bereznyak: Points at the chat window
-: /me
-: /me I wove myself of many delicious strands
-: /me Of violet islands and sugar-balls of thread
-: /me So faintly green a small white check between
-: /me Balanced the field’s wide lawn, a plaid
-: /me Gathering in loose folds shaped around him
Cliff Eclipse: is offline.
-: /me Those Princeton mornings, slowly stage-lit, when
-: /me The dawn took the horizon by surprise
-: /me And from the marsh long, crayoned birds
-: /me Rose up, ravens, maybe crows, or raw-voiced,
-: /me Spiteful grackles with their clothespin legs,
-: /me Black-winged gossips rising out of mud
-: /me And clattering into sleep. They woke my master
-: /me While, in the dark, I waited, knowing
-: /me Sooner or later he’d reach for me
-: /me And, half asleep, wriggle into my arms.
-: /me Then it seemed a moonish, oblique light
-: /me Would gradually illuminate the room,
-: /me The world turn on its axis at a different slant,
-: /me The furniture a shipwreck, the floor askew,
-: /me And, in old slippers, he’d bumble down the stairs.
-: /me Genius is human and wants its coffee hot—
-: /me I remember mornings when he’d sit
-: /me For hours at breakfast, dawdling over notes,
-: /me Juice and toast at hand, the world awake
-: /me To spring, the smell of honeysuckle
-: /me Filling the kitchen. A silent man,
-: /me Silence became him most. How gently
-: /me He softened the edges of a guessed-at impact
-: /me So no one would keel over from the blow—
-: /me A blow like soft snow falling on a lamb.
-: /me He’d fly down from the heights to tie his shoes
-: /me And cross the seas to get a glass of milk,
-: /me Bismarck with a harp, who’d doff his hat
-: /me (As if he ever wore one!) and softly land
-: /me On nimble feet so not to startle. He walked
-: /me In grandeur much too visible to be seen—
-: /me And how many versions crawled out of the Press!
-: /me A small pre-Raphaelite with too much hair;
-: /me A Frankenstein of test tubes; a “refugee”—
-: /me A shaman full of secrets who could touch
-: /me Physics with a wand and body forth
-: /me The universe’s baby wrapped in stars.
-: /me From signs Phoenicians scratched into the sand
-: /me With sticks he drew the contraries of space:
-: /me Whirlwind Nothing and Volume in its rage
-: /me Of matter racing to undermine itself,
-: /me And when the planets sang, why, he sang back
-: /me The lieder black holes secretly adore.
-: /me
-: /me At tea at Mercer Street every afternoon
-: /me His manners went beyond civility,
-: /me Kindness not having anything to learn;
-: /me I was completely charmed. And fooled.
-: /me What a false view of the universe I had!
-: /me The horsehair sofa, the sagging chairs,
-: /me A fire roaring behind the firesecreen—
-: /me Imagine thinking Princeton was the world!
-: /me Yet I wore prescience like a second skin:
-: /me When Greenwich and Palomar saw eye to eye,
-: /me Time and space having found their rabbi,
-: /me I felt the dawn’s black augurs gather force,
-: /me As if I knew in the New Jersey night
-: /me The downcast sky that was to clamp on Europe,
-: /me That Asia had its future in my pocket.
Klaus Bereznyak: FIN
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): me claps
Zoe Foodiboo: /me applauds
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): /me applauds
Florian Blaisdale: Wonderful!
Pauline Clary: *•.¸'*•.¸ ♥ ¸.•*´¸.•*
Pauline Clary: .•*♥¨`• BRAVO!!!! •¨`♥*•.
Pauline Clary: ¸.•*`¸.•*´ ♥ `*•.¸`*•.¸
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Wow!
Pauline Clary: oops
Zoe Foodiboo: /me grins at Pauline
Klaus Bereznyak: /me smiles appreciatively
Florian Blaisdale: Love all of the Princeton imagery - have seen the statue of Einstein sitting on a park bench in Princeton
Klaus Bereznyak: It's certainly evocative of place and that was its instant appeal for me
Zoe Foodiboo: Nice!
Klaus Bereznyak: Overall, the mundane in the life of a giant
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I love so much of this-- "he'd cross the seas for a glass of milk."
Klaus Bereznyak: But I like the way the poem escalates rapidly to metaphysics - from the humble threads, to the great man's mind
Zoe Foodiboo: I love those types of details, especially from the lives of thinkers and creative types
Klaus Bereznyak: Yes!
Florian Blaisdale: Mu favorite verses: And when the planets sang, why, he sang back
The lieder black holes secretly adore.
Zoe Foodiboo: Wonderful, Herr Bereznyak - thank you for sharing!
Klaus Bereznyak: My pleasure!
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, beautiful!
Zoe Foodiboo: Ruumi went last week so....Pauline? Did you bring a poem?
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Thank you!
Zoe Foodiboo: whispers: She might be taking photos
Zoe Foodiboo: Okay, let's go back to her in a bit....Scout?
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Okay…
Zoe Foodiboo: It's okay if you didn't bring a poem, by the way :)
Zoe Foodiboo: Oh good.
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I think I want to explain why I chose my poem before I read it. Because I don't want my poem choice to make it seem like I'm being a smart aleck.
Zoe Foodiboo: haha
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): My poem is relevant to the 1920s, but isn't German-specific.
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I chose this poem because I think it demonstrates pretty well a thing that I love very much about the time we live in.
Pauline Clary: Oh sorry, I was clicking away *giggles*
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): :)
Pauline Clary: No, I didn't bring a poem
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): That is: It's unsentimental, straightforward and witty.
Zoe Foodiboo: /me nods
Zoe Foodiboo: Okay
Zoe Foodiboo: Great, Scout!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): In other words, it cuts through the fussy, florid, sentimental Victorian ideals that many of us were raised on.
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): You might know it.
Zoe Foodiboo: Ah, IC. okay
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Okay here goes:
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea;
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;
And I am Marie of Roumania.
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): (Dorothy Parker)
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): That's the whole thing.
Zoe Foodiboo: oh!
Zoe Foodiboo: /me applauds
Klaus Bereznyak: Hurray
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Have any of you read any other Dorothy Parker poems?
Pauline Clary: ★(`'·.¸(`'·.¸ * ¸.·'´)¸.·'´)★
Pauline Clary: APPLAUSE!!!
Pauline Clary: ★(¸.·'´(¸.·'´ * `'·.¸)`'·.¸)★
Klaus Bereznyak: Two truths and a lie?
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I think all lies
Klaus Bereznyak: Three lies - four lies?
Florian Blaisdale: I'm sure I have! Lover her witticisms
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): very witty
Klaus Bereznyak: I wanted the first two to be truths but I couldn't run with the third
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses.
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Another one.
Klaus Bereznyak: Ha ha
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me smiles.
Florian Blaisdale: Algonquin Round Table wit tonight!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Yes!!
Pauline Clary: What does the last line mean?
Pauline Clary: "And I am Marie of Roumania."
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): It means that: she is NOT Marie of Roumania, and the other things aren't true either.
Pauline Clary: ah ok *taps her own head*
Klaus Bereznyak: Just a celebrity of the time? I wonder - like if I were to say I'm the king of Sweden
Florian Blaisdale: (my ex-partner did a dissertation on Marie of Romania, I think)
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): It helps if you read a bunch of her poems and get a feel for her voice. :)
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): Marie was (is) the queen of Romania
Klaus Bereznyak: Remarkable, Florian!
Florian Blaisdale: Dorothy Parker - what a voice of the 1920s!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): YES!! I love her so much.
Zoe Foodiboo: /me grins
Zoe Foodiboo: Thanks, Scout!
Zoe Foodiboo: Well, Galina, why don't you go next and then I'll read the two from our absent bookworms
Klaus Bereznyak: It's a school night for me! New things to explore!
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): yes
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): I'm not going to do any preambling
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): not even going to say who wrote it, maybe you'll recognize
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): it's called "Attitude to a miss"
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): That night was to decide
if she and I
were to be lovers.
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): Under cover
of darkness
no one would see, you see.
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): I bent over her, it’s the truth,
and as I did,
it’s the truth, I swear it,
I said
like a kindly parent:
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): “Passion’s a precipice –
so won’t you please
move away?
Move away,
Please!”
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): the end
Zoe Foodiboo: /me grins and applauds
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): You know who wrote it?
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): /me applauds
Klaus Bereznyak: /me cheers
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): no!
Zoe Foodiboo: Mo?
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): haha
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): He also wrote "Conversation with Comrade Lenin"
Zoe Foodiboo: /me giggles
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): /me snickers
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): Vladimir Mayakovsky
Pauline Clary: wow
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): bolshevik poet
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): oh wow
Zoe Foodiboo: What a wonderful array of poems today!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): a wide range of poets!
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): very
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): Indeed!
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): I'm a bit disappointed that you didn't recite any poem by Einstein after all
Zoe Foodiboo: aw
Klaus Bereznyak: Oh I shall have to keep looking
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): that would have been very interesting
Klaus Bereznyak: Or write one posthumously on his behalf!
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): not that I didn't like the one you recited
Pauline Clary: Yes, very interesting indeed
Pauline Clary: I will ask him
Klaus Bereznyak: Sorry to get your hopes up - the only on by Einstein that I found didn't seem to do him justice
Klaus Bereznyak: Yes please do, Pauline!
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): Do you know him?
Pauline Clary: I work at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute, so I see him form time to time
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): oh!
Zoe Foodiboo: ohhh
Klaus Bereznyak: Oh, wow!
Klaus Bereznyak: Raid his waste paper bin if you get the chance - htere may be a poem or two in there!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me nods!
Zoe Foodiboo: haha
Zoe Foodiboo: Welcome, Herr Kondor
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): needle in a haystack
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): welcome!
Steadman Kondor: hallo, pardon i'm blind.
Florian Blaisdale: Look who just got here - Hallo, Steadman!
Zoe Foodiboo: Ah, okay
Zoe Foodiboo: Well, let's see....I'll share Alas's first
Pauline Clary: Hallo Steadman
Steadman Kondor: hallo :)
Klaus Bereznyak: Hallo Steadman
Zoe Foodiboo: She found a poem in German and then translated it with the help of a friend....I think that's what she told me.
Zoe Foodiboo: She didn't have time to send her thoughts though so I'll just read the poem.
Zoe Foodiboo: Let's see....
Zoe Foodiboo: ummmm...hmmm, no title.
Zoe Foodiboo: /me flips the paper over
Zoe Foodiboo: Well, it's by Emmy Hennings
Zoe Foodiboo: Here's the German first:
Zoe Foodiboo: Ich bin so vielfach in den Nächten.
Ich steige aus den dunklen Schächten.
Wie bunt entfaltet sich mein Anderssein.
So selbstverloren in dem Grunde,
Nachtwache ich, bin Traumesrunde
Und Wunder aus dem Heiligenschrein.
Und öffnen sich mir alle Pforten,
Bin ich nicht da, bin ich nicht dorten?
Bin ich entstiegen einem Märchenbuch?
Vielleicht geht ein Gedicht in ferne Weiten.
Vielleicht verwehen meine Vielfachheiten,
Ein einsam flatternd, blasses Fahnentuch . . .
Zoe Foodiboo: /me is visibly impressed by her own pronunciation and preens
Florian Blaisdale: by Emmy Hennings
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me is also impressed by Zoe's German.
Florian Blaisdale: Me too!
Zoe Foodiboo: /me clears her throat and continues reading
Zoe Foodiboo: Here is the English translation…
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): is that needed?
Zoe Foodiboo: I am so often in the nights.
I climb out of the dark shafts.
Zoe Foodiboo: How colorfully my otherness unfolds.
So deeply lost in the depths,
Zoe Foodiboo: I am the nightwatch on the dream sphere,
a miracle of the sacred shrine.
Zoe Foodiboo: When all the gates are opened,
Am I not here, am I not yonder?
Zoe Foodiboo: Am I descended from a fairy tale?
Perhaps a poem come to distant domains.
Zoe Foodiboo: Perhaps blow away my multiplicities,
A solitary fluttering pale bunting…
Zoe Foodiboo: END
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): /me smiles and applauds
Zoe Foodiboo: /me looks up from reading
Florian Blaisdale: Nice!
Steadman Kondor: /me claps
Klaus Bereznyak: Well read!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me claps too
Zoe Foodiboo: Well, that was a good choice, wasn't it....
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Yes! Wow, she translated that?
Pauline Clary: /me claps
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): pretty darn good
Zoe Foodiboo: I think that's what she said?
Steadman Kondor: it's similar to my google translate
Florian Blaisdale: Yes, a good translation
Klaus Bereznyak: " Am I descended from a fairy tale?" a question we could all very well ask!
Zoe Foodiboo: With the help of an RL friend
Steadman Kondor: it is good fun to put it through the google translate then smooth over
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): /me looks up and waves at Gustav
Zoe Foodiboo: oh hello Herr Gustav!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): oh, that's a good idea
Gustav von Rosenheim (gustav2005 Resident): /me quietly sits
Zoe Foodiboo: Welcome
Florian Blaisdale: Hallo, Gustav!
Gustav von Rosenheim (gustav2005 Resident): hello *waves*
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): welcome Gustav!
Pauline Clary: Hallo Gustav!
Zoe Foodiboo: I have one more poem to read but you can go first if you brought one, Herr Gustav
Steadman Kondor: the Multiplicities got to me
Steadman Kondor: i wonder if there is a older meaning
Steadman Kondor: it has a lot of modern (post modern) connoctation to me
Gustav von Rosenheim (gustav2005 Resident): Oh, no, I haven't, Zoe.
Gustav von Rosenheim (gustav2005 Resident): Please continue.
Zoe Foodiboo: Okay
Klaus Bereznyak: /me ponders the multiplicities
Zoe Foodiboo: Herr Blaisdale, what do you think about that translation of multiplicities?
Galina Eiffel (natbun Resident): So sorry, I have to go now, thank you for the beautiful poems
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): Oh, bye, Galina!
Zoe Foodiboo: bye Galina
Florian Blaisdale: multiplicities? Vielfaeltigkeiten?
Steadman Kondor: /me smiles and turns to herr florian
Steadman Kondor: ja
Florian Blaisdale: Sorry, was a way for a moment
Zoe Foodiboo: that's the correct translation?
Pauline Clary: Ciao, Galina
Florian Blaisdale: it is the translation for intricacies
Zoe Foodiboo: ah, I see
Steadman Kondor: oh that is good
Klaus Bereznyak: Seemingly there's no direct equivalence in English?
Zoe Foodiboo: /me nods
Zoe Foodiboo: That's the challenge in translation
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): especially when poetry is about the exact right word choice
Klaus Bereznyak: I have a better impression of the word now though, thank you Florian and Steadman
Zoe Foodiboo: /me nods
Zoe Foodiboo: Great!
Zoe Foodiboo: Okay, last poem?
Florian Blaisdale: Vielzahl seems to also be the German equivalent, but that could mean bounty, surfeit, etc.
Zoe Foodiboo: Abi wrote some notes too
Steadman Kondor: herr abi translated?
Zoe Foodiboo: /me unfolds a piece of paper and reads on behalf of Abi…
Zoe Foodiboo: Oh, I'm not sure? He is taking German classes and he does have Duncan to help him
Zoe Foodiboo: okay, here goes
Zoe Foodiboo: "I've chosen a poem by Henriette Hardenberg.
Zoe Foodiboo: That's actually her pseudonym; she was born in 1894 as Margarete Rosenberg. Henriette Hardenberg is a name she started using in 1913.
Steadman Kondor: (i love the different female poets we are sharing!)
Zoe Foodiboo: I chose her for several reasons: she was a Berliner - at least for the first 25 years of her life or so. After Berlin she moved to Munich, and then to London. She was an expressionist poet who wrote some of her best works in the 1920s and 30s.
Zoe Foodiboo: She was a friend of Rilke's, and had a lot of friends in artistic circles of the time.
Zoe Foodiboo: Coming from a Jewish family, she fled from Germany to England in 1937, and about 10 years later she became a British citizen.
Zoe Foodiboo: Although she stayed in Britain until her death, she kept writing in German.
Zoe Foodiboo: She lived quite long. When she died in 1993 at the age of 99, Die Zeit newspaper called her “the last Expressionist poet”. Sure, by 1993 all the others were long dead.
Pauline Clary: wow
Zoe Foodiboo: Some of her works, especially from the time of the WW1 deal explicitly with the war; they are quite dark, as can be expected.
Zoe Foodiboo: But this one is called Southern Heart (Südliches Herz), which is also the name of one of her best known collections of poems.
Zoe Foodiboo: Here it goes…
Zoe Foodiboo: Blossom deep down,
mountain tops swaying,
wind stretched out in rest,
the tree stands frozen.
Then suddenly a flowering,
and in my heart's center
you burn in me, tree.
Nowhere is there rest in me,
I cry out in flames,
a sea swelling in all things.
Then they too - blossom and
tree - twitch, having already
reddened with sweetness.
Steadman Kondor: /me blushes. Sorry it seems very phallic to me@
Zoe Foodiboo: That's the end of the poem. Then Abi goes on to say....
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): oh i hadn't even thought of that!
Zoe Foodiboo: "I'll admit that when I first read it, I just thought it was a sort of nature poem. And I guess it can be that, but it's also about passion, which occurred to me later. All this symbolism can be seen as an image of ecstasy.
Zoe Foodiboo: "
Zoe Foodiboo: /me looks up from the paper in her hand
Steadman Kondor: /me coughs
Zoe Foodiboo: And that's all he had to say!
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): It does seem quite erotic. It reminds me of a similar poem by Henrikas Radauskas
Zoe Foodiboo: /me blushes faintly
Steadman Kondor: nods. very energetic and vigorous ecstacy... images
Pauline Clary: /me giggles
Florian Blaisdale: ,,, reddened in sweetness
Gustav von Rosenheim (gustav2005 Resident): wow
Steadman Kondor: twitch!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): haha!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): seems obvious now
Zoe Foodiboo: oh my
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me fans self
Klaus Bereznyak: You read it so well, Zoe - didn't falter at all
Steadman Kondor: yes, she doesn't have a dirty mind like some of us
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): haha!
Zoe Foodiboo: /me leans toward Scout, "We'll have to reread this at the next ladies meeting!"
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): /me laughs
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): /me nods seriously
Teruumi Simoneaux (Korina Asamoah): Zoe is a very proper lady
Steadman Kondor: for me this is a clincher, "nowhere is there rest in me!"
Zoe Foodiboo: /me flutters her lashes innocently
Steadman Kondor: one imagines her flailing and flapping about in the throes of emotion
Zoe Foodiboo: Herr Kondor! Really!
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): I'm imagining no such thing!
Steadman Kondor: /me murmurs, "i respond sensitively to poetry"
Scout MacLeod (Maplekey Resident): haha
Zoe Foodiboo: /me tsks at Herr Kondor
Zoe Foodiboo: Well, on that note....thank you all for sharing your wonderful finds! I really enjoyed each and every poem.
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
enjoying joy
• a poem •
blocks built in
historical
trauma’s
trusting
tortured
past’s
wayward
wondering
within
without
hope
lessons
liberating
remember
returning
for until
trustingly
truth’s
told
searching
sorry
souls
sadness’s
seeing
wilfully
willing
will not
win
finding
foggy
forgiveness
freedoms
found
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Once the body is completely bare,
The spotlights shine bright.
They beam on skin and hair,
Consuming all your sight.
Displaying bumps and bulge,
Freckles, dimples... every flaw
You would never divulge,
But now it's in the raw.
Only seeing scars and lines
Evidence you’re a mother.
Just staring at these signs
Wanting the body of another.
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
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Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
friday i was told there was an accident on the tracks
i saw the sheriff's car up from a stopped train
and wandered up along the metal knotted with weathered wooden planks, camera around my neck
i saw a tarp
covering a human-shaped mound
men in uniforms, talking casually
surrounded by yellow tape
almost immediately
i heard myself making jokes with a reporter and a man from the local news
better i laugh about a strangers' blood and face splattered on the worn path
than confront the knot in my gut
the questions that mount
how could someone be so desperate
so brave
and so pained
that they could lay their head on the tracks
in front of an oncoming train?
since friday, i can't get that thought out of my mind.
there had to be a split second
a nanosecond
where he changed his mind
wanted to stand up
look around
walk away
instead he stayed.
laying on the tracks.
the train passed.
the man passed.
today, my sister told me
in more words than necessary
what i already knew
what all of us knows but won't talk about
won't confront
won't fix
he's drinking
again
he's drinking so much he can't function
can't cope
can't father
almost immediately
i said something brutally honest about him
about his disease
the alcoholism we all pretend is gone
gone since the only time any of us acknowledged it
when he was in a hospital
and then we both laugh.
she and i look out opposite windows
and we laugh
almost too easily
about my family
our blood splattered on the worn path of our shared pasts
and secrets
the shame
denial
the bitter aches
it's so much easier to laugh
than to fully acknowledge
than to re-confront
cope
all with something i've never spoken to him about to his face
not once
blame shifts to my shoulders.
as i sat in the bathtub tonight
i heard a train passing through town
blowing its horn
i tensed
this is the same train that wakes me up at night
you know
it might as well be his head on the tracks
his face smeared on the steel and wood
and i can already hear myself laughing
too easily
ignoring the pangs
in her heart
in mine
in his.
there had to be a nanosecond of doubt.
the train is coming.
i can hear it.
it wakes me up in the night.
"A poem is a small machine made of words...
Its movement is intrinsic, undulant,
a physical more than a literary character."
by William Carlos Williams
To our fathers
brothers
uncles
husbands
grandfathers
elders
sons
nephews
friends
neighbours
& lovers. . .
they are all Black. . .Ebony. . .Males
and we love them~
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
“Published in tribute to the men and women in our armed forces, 24,551 of whom entered the service from Swift & Company.”
Haddon Hubbard "Sunny" Sundblom (1899 - 1976) was an American artist of Swedish and Finnish descent and best known for the images of Santa Claus he created for The Coca-Cola Company.
Hello dear Flickr Friends!
It's been such a long while since I've been able to visit you or post anything..
I thought I'd take a few minutes today to say hi and let you know I'm still alive, well and kicking!!
My summer schedules are always busier than I can handle, and you'd think by now I'd have learned to take on less!
This summer however a little bitter sweet, we have the great joy of a baby due to be born in the family anytime now.
And also experienced the saddness of the sudden and tragic death of a friend, leaving behind three young girls and husband.
Life is so precious..and her passing has brought a number of things back into focus for me..
I wanted to share an amazing poem with you that was read at the funeral, but first wish you all the best and things should settle down again for me next month. We are on vacation for most of September...
See you soon =)
Hugs to you all
C~
***************************************************************************************
The Dash
I read of a man who stood to speak
At the funeral of a friend.
He referred to the dates on her tombstone
From the beginning to the end.
He noted that first came the date of her birth
And spoke of the following date with tears,
But he said what mattered most of all
Was the dash between those years.
For that dash represents all the time
That she spent alive on earth
And now only those who loved her
Know what that little line is worth.
For it matters not, how much we own,
The cars, the house, the cash,
What matters is how we live and love
And how we spend our dash.
So think about this long and hard;
Are there things you’d like to change?
For you never know how much time is left
That can still be rearranged.
If we could just slow down enough
To consider what’s true and real
And always try to understand
The way other people feel.
And be less quick to anger
And show appreciation more
And love the people in our lives
Like we’ve never loved before.
If we treat each other with respect
And more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash
Might only last a little while.
So when your eulogy is being read
With your life’s actions to rehash
Would you be proud of the things they say
About how you spent your dash?
Linda Ellis, Author
In a winter wonderland, so pristine and bright,
Stood a curious snowman, quite the peculiar sight.
Big bulging eyes that seemed to glow,
Protruding buckteeth and a carrot nose, just so.
Around his neck, a thin scarf flapped,
Broken tree branches for arms, all cracked.
Yellow stains at his base, quite a disgrace,
Near a white cottage, he looked out of place.
In a forest snow-covered, where beauty was rife,
This snowman brought a chuckle to life.
For amidst the serene, he stood proud and grand,
A comical figure in this snowy land.
Robert Blair's poem belongs to the school of graveyard poetry in which the theme of death was used as a motif for moral instruction. It was first published in 1743 and by 1798 it had reached its forty-ninth edition. Blake was originally commissioned by Robert Cromek to design and engrave the illustrations to this volume but the task of engraving was soon given to Louis Schiavonetti, a popular professional engraver. Cromek paid Blake 20 guineas for the twelve designs while Schiavonetti could command a fee of up to 60 guineas for engraving a single plate. Blake, furious at being cheated, dubbed his replacement 'Assassinetti' and called Cromek 'A petty, Sneaking Knave' who 'loves the Art but 'tis the Art to Cheat'. [Synopsis by the National Gallery of Victoria]
Blogged: timecapturephotography.blogspot.com/
In the dark of night
When the stars shine bright
I wish for you
Wish you knew
What I don't have the strength to say
That I can't stand to be away
From you and when we're together
I could live in those moments forever
I could take your hand and walk away
Just waste away the day
With you in my arms
Hearts unarmed
These the things that I can't do
These the things I wish you knew
One thing you can't see
I spend my days wishing you'd want me<3
Procura-se um amigo sozinho
de andar discreto e gesto silencioso.
Procura-se desesperadamente um amigo
que saiba se aproximar
de um passarinho.
(Rita Apoema)
凱道 船來一首詩 夜宿凱道抗爭第95天，『凱道 船來 一首詩』活動於5月28日下午3點由紅龜鼓友社開場，並邀請作家朱天衣、陳芳明、鴻鴻及更多文人一同在凱道上朗讀詩作，用溫柔優雅的方式，度過不屬於原住民的端午節。 5/28 星期天 下午三點到六點，邀請帶家人朋友一起來參加活動： - 獨木舟的故事 - 紅龜鼓友社 - 趣味競賽： 划一條回家的路 - Senay, 詩Night : 一起來讀詩 - 通通有獎古謠吟唱大賽 It has been the 95th day since February 23 that Taiwan Indigenous people camped on Ketagalan Boulevard to protest against the Governer's "Guidelines of Indigenous Traditional Territories" . Taipei , Taiwan 2017/5/28
h26917
dans.photo@gmail.com
端午假期何處去？凱道部落吟詩句！
夜宿凱道抗爭第95天，5/28 星期天 下午三點到六點
邀請帶家人朋友一起來參加活動：
- 獨木舟的故事
- 紅龜鼓友社
- 趣味競賽： 划一條回家的路
- Senay, 詩Night : 一起來讀詩
- 通通有獎古謠吟唱大賽
It has been the 95th day since February 23 that Taiwan Indigenous people camped on Ketagalan Boulevard to protest against the Governer's "Guidelines of Indigenous Traditional Territories" .
Taipei , Taiwan
2017/5/28
h26844
dans.photo@gmail.com
端午假期何處去？凱道部落吟詩句！
夜宿凱道抗爭第95天，5/28 星期天 下午三點到六點
邀請帶家人朋友一起來參加活動：
- 獨木舟的故事
- 紅龜鼓友社
- 趣味競賽： 划一條回家的路
- Senay, 詩Night : 一起來讀詩
- 通通有獎古謠吟唱大賽
It has been the 95th day since February 23 that Taiwan Indigenous people camped on Ketagalan Boulevard to protest against the Governer's "Guidelines of Indigenous Traditional Territories" .
Taipei , Taiwan
2017/5/28
h26839
dans.photo@gmail.com
I feel horrible. She doesn't
love me and I wander around
like a sewing machine
that's just finished sewing
a turd to a garbage can lid.
--Richard Brautigan
How often have we all sat and wondered what if?
The delusion with waiting is that nothing will change. One's dream's, hope's, desires will always be just out of reach.. And time wasted will continues to slips fewer and fewer away.
It's easy to become hypnotize staring off into the endless blues oasis and become endlessly trap in our wants and desires and the more we glaze, the more time, slips from our graph like the elusive morning fog to never reappear.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
~ Joyce Kilmer.
👑 Jesus is in pursuit of your heart - 📖 "Surely your goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the LORD forever." (Psalms 23:6 NLT) - There was a girl Just turned eighteen When her boyfriend Bought her a diamond ring He told her they did not Need to be wed Before living together And sharing a bed Afraid he would leave She said ok He moved in her stuff The very next day He was excited And so was she But still she felt A little uneasy She ignored it and A month went by She said she was happy But that was a lie He was always there Yet she felt so alone His touch did not satisfy The needs of her soul She loved him and He loved her too But she needed more She searched for truth Buddhism, New Age, Drinking tea, Eating Dhal She felt like she had now Tried it all Until her neighbor Gave her a CD A mix of songs about Christianity She listened once It made her cry She listened again And she knew why Her father had left When she was ten She never once Saw him again Yet this God Called her daughter Sacrificed everything To be with her forever His only son Died for her sins Then three days later Was alive again It was all for love All for her This gift she knew She did not deserve She fell to her knees And wanted to pray But she was not sure What she should say She went to her neighbor Knocked three times The door was opened By a man in all white ... 🌸 Read the rest of this poem on our blog! [Link in bio] - 🌸 Have a Beautiful Day Princesses! 🌸 - 👑 http://www.toallyouprincesses.com 👑 _______________________________ #ToAllYouPrincesses #QuotesForGirls #ChristianQuotes #BibleQuotes #InspirationalQuotes #WiseSayings #GirlQuotes #QuotesForWomen #ChristianSayings #BibleVerse #TeenageLife #KeepFighting #LifeQuotes #BeautifulQuotes #RelationshipQuotes #SuccessQuotes #DontGiveUp #QuotesForTeens #PositiveQuotes #TeenQuotes #WomenQuotes #GodQuotes #PrincessQuotes #FaithQuotes #StayStrong #StayPositive #BeEncouraged #GodPursuesYou #Psalm23 #APoem - toallyouprincesses
Haras Apoema - Bauru SP
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凱道 船來一首詩 夜宿凱道抗爭第95天，『凱道 船來 一首詩』活動於5月28日下午3點由紅龜鼓友社開場，並邀請作家朱天衣、陳芳明、鴻鴻及更多文人一同在凱道上朗讀詩作，用溫柔優雅的方式，度過不屬於原住民的端午節。 5/28 星期天 下午三點到六點，邀請帶家人朋友一起來參加活動： - 獨木舟的故事 - 紅龜鼓友社 - 趣味競賽： 划一條回家的路 - Senay, 詩Night : 一起來讀詩 - 通通有獎古謠吟唱大賽 It has been the 95th day since February 23 that Taiwan Indigenous people camped on Ketagalan Boulevard to protest against the Governer's "Guidelines of Indigenous Traditional Territories" . Taipei , Taiwan 2017/5/28
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embrace martyrdom
he was brainwashed
he was told so he
became a killing
machine mean
ruthlessly bold
tears on the soul
of humanity
as jesus bleeds
again tears down
his cheeks rolled
jesus out in the cold
a fundamentalist
a terrorist
a jehhadi
has a religion
he upholds
killing innocent
people men
women
children
death
uncontrolled
a path
of destruction
potholed
the fall of man
crucifying
the messiah
behold
stone -cold
i am
the life
the resurrection
on the threshold