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still going through stuff from last weeks dumpster/tag sale adventure - *everything* I found laying around upstairs was from the 1970s or earlier - Im getting all depressed (all over again) over that dumpster full of stuff (but buried by roofing material) in front of that house (long gone now) - everything was really torn up upstairs when I got to the sale - whether it was from other tag salers poking around - or - as i suspect -tons of awesomeness that got chucked before i got there (I did get beneath the roofing materials in one spot - it was about 15 degrees out that day - so it was brutal) -but I was only hitting "not very old" Xmas decorations and "Country Living" magazines from the early 90s (Im guessing the newest stuff was downstairs) - oh well - this situation happens so much now - Im finally getting used to it
Fern Hill
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
(dylan thomas)
Il ministro della Salute Beatrice Lorenzin nel corso della presentazione della Settimana nazionale della prevenzione oncologica in calendario dal 16 al 23 marzo, organizzata dalla Lega italiana per la lotta ai tumori (Lilt). Testimonial della Campagna di sensibilizzazione della Settimana Nazionale per la Prevenzione Oncologica 2014 è Albano Carrisi.
Il ministro della Salute Beatrice Lorenzin nel corso della presentazione della Settimana nazionale della prevenzione oncologica in calendario dal 16 al 23 marzo, organizzata dalla Lega italiana per la lotta ai tumori (Lilt). Testimonial della Campagna di sensibilizzazione della Settimana Nazionale per la Prevenzione Oncologica 2014 è Albano Carrisi.
Il ministro della Salute Beatrice Lorenzin nel corso della presentazione della Settimana nazionale della prevenzione oncologica in calendario dal 16 al 23 marzo, organizzata dalla Lega italiana per la lotta ai tumori (Lilt). Testimonial della Campagna di sensibilizzazione della Settimana Nazionale per la Prevenzione Oncologica 2014 è Albano Carrisi.
Il ministro della Salute Beatrice Lorenzin nel corso della presentazione della Settimana nazionale della prevenzione oncologica in calendario dal 16 al 23 marzo, organizzata dalla Lega italiana per la lotta ai tumori (Lilt). Testimonial della Campagna di sensibilizzazione della Settimana Nazionale per la Prevenzione Oncologica 2014 è Albano Carrisi.
Il ministro della Salute Beatrice Lorenzin nel corso della presentazione della Settimana nazionale della prevenzione oncologica in calendario dal 16 al 23 marzo, organizzata dalla Lega italiana per la lotta ai tumori (Lilt). Testimonial della Campagna di sensibilizzazione della Settimana Nazionale per la Prevenzione Oncologica 2014 è Albano Carrisi.
Gara non competitiva a favore della LILT - Lega Italiana per la Lotta ai Tumori
Questa è la breve storia di una mattina in cui, nonostante tutto, ci si sveglia fieri e si corre per la vita.
Oil on canvas; 60.5 x 75.0 cm.
Tom Faed was born in Kirkudbrightshire, Scotland in 1826, the son of James Faed, a Millwright. He was educated at the School of Design Edinburgh, and became an Associate of the Royal Scottish Academy in 1849. In 1852 he moved to London, where he became rapidly successful - he was also very handsome. Faed became ARA in 1859 and RA in 1864. He was best known as a painter of genre, his pictures including The Motherless Bairn, Home and The Homeless, From Dawn to Sunset, and The Last of the Clan. Genre with a Scottish lilt and a strong element of pathos. Faed lived in St John’s Wood, and was a member of the Athenaeum Club. In the early 1890s Tom Faed’s sight began to fail, and he became a retired RA in 1894, which allowed him the privileges of an Academician without the obligations, and the Academy to elect another RA.
This lilting boat was moored at Seward Park, in Andrews Bay, for quite some time during the Covid pandemic. It became a familiar sight that I'd photograph in a variety of conditions.
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Poetry puts off people who consider photography a science a technique and fucked methodical way of capturing only what they saw and duplicating it painfully on the viewers consciousness ..and for people a few like me photography is a moment that pleads to be respectfully captured with the alluring lilting lyrics like a song you play by ear or capture it wordlessly like a Rubaiyat..
I really dont know why I shoot what I shoot my Guru Dronocharya KG Maehshwariji told me many a times I was a crazy impulsive trigger happy photographer and those days expensive days I shot Ilford Delta BW or Sensia Provia Velvia 50.. I made contact sheets and eventually I realized it was the lab people who taught me photography, really it was Huzefar Rassiwala, Bhai Humne Swastik lab Dadar , Surinder Dalvi Mahindar Patl and Vishal Bhende..because they loved photography passionately they gave their inputs and feedback... and big labs like Color Art Mazda took your money gave your prints .. as simple as that.
Giants in the guise of teachers like BW Jatkar living in cubicle pigeon holes called you home saw your work, gave ideas without charging a single dime all that has gone.. sadly..now the person who sees your work has no time for his own work.
Mr Maheshwari too if you called him and met him in the earlier days would give you thorough feedback..but than what destroyed photography was coterie groups and conceit pride and arrogance.. you needed huge expensive lens , great cameras tripods to make pictures , poetry requires none of this shoot a picture as you see it .. it becomes a poem..
I am a street photographer I shot with my Gurus eyes he taught me to see the unseen hidden from normal eyes.. I remember I would go to Lucknow in the old days for Athvi Moharam and the day I arrived in Lucknow I would rush with some of my pictures contact sheet to Mr PC Littles house touch his feet and show him my work, late PC saab a painter a poet camera technician collector historian.. would give his sincere estimation , he was a banyan tree his shade nurtured the poetry in my soul, he knew the Nawabs of Lucknow , he knew old Lucknow Adab Tehzeeb..
He had heard of my grandfather Daroga Nabban saab related to poet Mir Anees he knew Pata Nala he knew the old Imambadas he knew my faith more historically than I knew it he was master weaver of truth , his tales kept me tied up with my past and the city of my birth..
Jisko na Dein Maulah Usko dilwayen AsafuDaulah..
When PC Little sab died it hit me hard , he loved me like his own sons Bhupesh and Avinash..
So a simple picture shot in the rains can lead you to another world of thought as a blog something a print cant do, as clearly as evocatively like this..I dont make prints I dont shoot pictures as prints I never will but yes as a Blog I imprint it with poetry readable understandable on your soul and mine.
Celebrity photographers dont intimidate me but my three and half year old grand daughter Marziya Shakir does without reading Feiring Anselm Adams without attending a photography lecture on light and shade she shoots , and I am amazed at her range her inner thought, I doubt she has inner vision or thought but she is a poet or she would not be shooting what she shoots.. she is not trigger happy like me, I leave my Nikon D 80 on the dining table she will pick it up if inspired take my shot look at it in the monitor smile.. for me this is photography I am unlearning photography from this child and another one waits in the cradle only 8 days old already understanding the nuance of picture taking and imagery, Nerjis Asif Shakir unlike both us will be a thinking street photographer .. she broods while both of us shoot her.. we have two camera bodies one common soul..
ITA:
Riedizione in rosa della foto Fresh water modificata espressamente per il gruppo Pink 2008.
Infatti, per tutto il mese di Ottobre, per ogni foto con un soggetto di colore rosa che verrà inviata al gruppo Pink 2008, Yahoo! donerà 1 € (fino ad un massimo di €30,000) ad associazioni benefiche che sostengono la ricerca contro il cancro.
In Italia LILT utilizzerà questa donazione a sostegno di progetti per la lotta del tumore al seno.
Sei pronto per scattare in rosa?
Per maggiori informazioni, visita il gruppo Pink 2008 e "pensa in rosa!".
ENG:
Pink remake of this shot: Fresh water. The photo was expressly edited for the group Pink 2008.
For each pink photo you add to Pink 2008, Yahoo! for Good will donate €1, up to a maximum of €30,000. We will split the total equally between 5 charities in UK, Germany, France, Spain and Italy.
By simply uploading pink photos, you can contribute to breast cancer research by helping Yahoo! donate some funds to these charities.
Is your camera ready to snap some pink pictures?
For more info, visit the group Pink 2008 and "think in pink!".
Conventionally, a self portrait, as the name suggests, depicts oneself. I chose to portray my self identity rather than physical likeness through this artwork of which the elements it comprises are figurative of myself. Prominent in this artwork are, to some, strangely Pokémon and Mickey Mouse, both of which are well-loved characters that any child can identify. Nevertheless, one may question the rationale behind such seemingly quixotic choices, especially for my age whereby most would have stopped watching cartoons in favour of MTV. To me, however, they symbolise childhood, a precious time of innocence, naivety and carefreeness that I look back on nostalgically today when frequent anxieties and frustrations plague our days, making such happy times a rarity. The other elements – the musical bass clef, a computer mouse as well as the Windows and Harry Potter logos – are representative of my other interests, namely playing the cello, using the computer and the fictional fantasy novel series Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Overall, by the use of lilted pastels and clean, minimalist lines, I hope to convey through this artwork the meaning and value of simplicity and happiness in life.
starlings
Fern Hill
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the cock on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace,
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
Dylan Thomas