The Global Amateur Photography Club.
View allAll Photos Tagged Translation
Title translates to "The Red Tower" located in Mellieha - Malta. This structure was built during the days of the Knights Of Malta (circa 1580) to (a) keep watch over the sea surrounding the Island , and (b) communicate with other towers located along the coast, via smoke signals in case of approaching danger. Thank you for your time to view.
because of our deep need to complain ;-)
Lily Tomlin
Climate Change Matters! Resist the Ignorant Orange Clown Prince!
The Waterfall of the Gods, Viking cruise excursion, Northern Iceland's Natural Treasures
Goðafoss translates from modern Icelandic as "the waterfall of the gods", a nickname said to come from a myth from Iceland's history. According to legend, after converting the country to Christianity, Þorgeir Ljósvetningagoði (one of the main rulers of the island at that time) threw all his pagan idols into the waterfall, thus changing the Viking gods for the Christian god.
Fly across the globe got a flight to catch tomorrow
I've been in Rome next I'm flyin' to Sapporo
Look out the window of a plane and I'm in sorrow
Explore the city then i'll fly back to Toronto
I've got a layover I'm lost up in translation
The jet lag hit me in a morning couldn't face it
I took the red eye so I'm sleeping for a day man
My phone get service when
The plane touch down on pavement
English translation follows
Dans le cas d’un parhélie, les rayons solaires passent à travers des cristaux de glace qui forment les nuages. Il y a alors une réfraction.
C’est un peu le même phénomène lorsqu’on regarde un objet au fond d’une piscine. L’objet ne se trouve pas vraiment là où il semble être. Il y a donc une déviation des rayons du soleil, et une décomposition de la lumière, comme peut le faire un prisme.
Les couleurs plus rouges sont les plus rapprochées du soleil, et les couleurs plus bleues sont situées à l’opposé. C’est visible principalement lorsque le soleil est bas à l’horizon. Les rayons traversent ainsi un plus grand nombre de cristaux de glace et l’effet est alors augmenté.
In the case of a parhelion, the sun's rays pass through ice crystals which form the clouds. There is then a refraction.
It's a bit the same phenomenon when looking at an object at the bottom of a swimming pool. The object is not really where it appears to be. There is therefore a deviation of the rays of the sun, and a decomposition of the light, as a prism can do.
The more red colors are closest to the sun, and the more blue colors are opposite. This is mainly visible when the sun is low on the horizon. The rays thus pass through a greater number of ice crystals and the effect is then increased.
Explored highest position: 44 on Tuesday, September 29, 2020
"Antes que el sueño (o el terror) tejiera
mitologías y cosmogonías,
antes que el tiempo se acuñara en días,
el mar, el siempre mar, ya estaba y era
¿Quién es el mar? ¿Quién es aquel violento
y antiguo ser que roe los pilares
de la tierra y es uno y muchos mares
y abismo y resplandor y azar y viento?
Quien lo mira lo ve por vez primera,
siempre. Con el asombro que las cosas
elementales dejan, las hermosas
tardes, la luna, el fuego de una hoguera.
¿Quién es el mar, quién soy? Lo sabré el día
ulterior que sucede a la agonía."
Jorge Luis Borges
(English translation from rationalleycat.blogspot.com/2010/03/el-mar-traducido-por-...)
Before the dream (or the terror) could weave
Mythologies and cosmogonies,
Before the time could mint itself into days,
The sea, the always sea, it had been and it was.
Who is the sea? Who is that violent
Antique being that gnaws at the pillars
Of the earth and is one and many of the seas
And abyss and splendor and chance and wind?
Who looks on it sees it for the first time.
Always. With that wonder which all things
Elementary leave behind, the beauty
In evenings, the moon, flame of the bonfire.
Who is the sea, who am I? I will know it
In the days to come that follow the agony.
Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo (24 August 1899 – 14 June 1986) was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator, and a key figure in Spanish-language and universal literature. His best-known books, Ficciones (Fictions) and El Aleph (The Aleph), published in the 1940s, are compilations of short stories interconnected by common themes, including dreams, labyrinths, philosophers, libraries, mirrors, fictional writers, and mythology.[3] Borges' works have contributed to philosophical literature and the fantasy genre, and have been considered by some critics to mark the beginning of the magic realist movement in 20th century Latin American literature.[4] His late poems converse with such cultural figures as Spinoza, Camões, and Virgil.
Jorge Francisco Isidoro Luis Borges Acevedo; 24 August 1899 – 14 June 1986) was an Argentine short-story writer, essayist, poet and translator, and a key figure in Spanish-language and universal literature. Borges' works have contributed to philosophical literature and the fantasy genre, and have been considered by some critics to mark the beginning of the magic realist movement in 20th century Latin American literature. His late poems converse with such cultural figures as Spinoza, Camões, and Virgil. (from Wikipedia)
Happy Monochrome Monday, everyone!
Wonderlijk mooi zoals de aster bloem begint te bloeien, zelfs zo laat in de herfst.
---
New England Aster name novae-angliae translates to "New England",[7] and the vernacular name "Michaelmas daisy" derives from the various asters, including this species, that tend to flower around September 29, the Feast of St. Michael.
©Jane Brown2016 All Rights Reserved. This image is not available for use on websites, blogs or other media without explicit written permission
IMPORTANT: for non-pro users who read the info on a computer, just enlarge your screen to 120% (or more), then the full text will appear below the photo with a white background - which makes reading so much easier.
The color version of the photo above is here: www.lacerta-bilineata.com/ticino-best-photos-of-southern-...
THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO:
So far there's only been one photo in my gallery that hasn't been taken in my garden ('The Flame Rider', captured in the Maggia Valley: www.flickr.com/photos/191055893@N07/53563448847/in/datepo... ) - which makes the image above the second time I've "strayed from the path" (although not very far, since the photo was taken only approximately 500 meters from my house).
Overall, I'll stick to my "only-garden rule", but every once in a while I'll show you a little bit of the landscape around my village, because I think it will give you a better sense of just how fascinating this region is, and also of its history.
The title I chose for the photo may seem cheesy, and it's certainly not very original, but I couldn't think of another one, because it's an honest reflection of what I felt when I took it: a profound sense of peace - although if you make it to the end of this text you'll realize my relationship with that word is a bit more complicated.
I got up early that day; it was a beautiful spring morning, and there was still a bit of mist in the valley below my village which I hoped would make for a few nice mood shots, so I quickly grabbed my camera and went down there before the rising sun could dissolve the magical layer on the scenery.
Most human activity hadn't started yet, and I was engulfed in the sounds of the forest as I was walking the narrow trail along the horse pasture; it seemed every little creature around me wanted to make its presence known to potential mates (or rivals) in a myriad of sounds and voices and noises (in case you're interested, here's a taste of what I usually wake up to in spring, but you best use headphones: www.youtube.com/watch?v=AfoCTqdAVCE )
Strolling through such an idyllic landscape next to grazing horses and surrounded by birdsong and beautiful trees, I guess it's kind of obvious one would feel the way I described above and choose the title I did, but as I looked at the old stone buildings - the cattle shelter you can see in the foreground and the stable further up ahead on the right - I also realized how fortunate I was.
It's hard to imagine now, because Switzerland is one of the wealthiest countries in the world today, but the men and women who had carried these stones and constructed the walls of these buildings were among the poorest in Europe. The hardships the people in some of the remote and little developed valleys in Ticino endured only a few generations ago are unimaginable to most folks living in my country today.
It wasn't uncommon that people had to sell their own kids as child slaves - the girls had to work in factories or in rice fields, the boys as "living chimney brushes" in northern Italy - just because there wasn't enough food to support the whole family through the harsh Ticino winters.
If you wonder why contemporary Swiss historians speak of "slaves" as opposed to child laborers, it's because that's what many of them actually were: auctioned off for a negotiable prize at the local market, once sold, these kids were not payed and in many cases not even fed by their masters (they had to beg for food in the streets or steal it).
Translated from German Wikipedia: ...The Piazza grande in Locarno, where the Locarno Film Festival is held today, was one of the places where orphans, foundlings and children from poor families were auctioned off. The boys were sold as chimney sweeps, the girls ended up in the textile industry, in tobacco processing in Brissago or in the rice fields of Novara, which was also extremely hard work: the girls had to stand bent over in the water for twelve to fourteen hours in all weathers. The last verse of the Italian folk song 'Amore mio non piangere' reads: “Mamma, papà, non piangere, se sono consumata, è stata la risaia che mi ha rovinata” (Mom, dad, don't cry when I'm used up, it was the rice field that destroyed me.)... de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaminfegerkinder
The conditions for the chimney sweeps - usually boys between the age of 8 and 12 (or younger, because they had to be small enough to be able to crawl into the chimneys) - were so catastrophic that many of them didn't survive; they died of starvation, cold or soot in their lungs - as well as of work-related accidents like breaking their necks when they fell, or suffocatig if they got stuck in inside a chimney. This practice of "child slavery" went on as late as the 1950s (there's a very short article in English on the topic here: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spazzacamini and a more in depth account for German speakers in this brief clip: www.youtube.com/watch?v=gda8vZp_zsc ).
Now I don't know if the people who built the old stone houses along my path had to sell any of their kids, but looking at the remnants of their (not so distant) era I felt an immense sense of gratitude that I was born at a time of prosperity - and peace - in my region, my country and my home. Because none of it was my doing: it was simple luck that decided when and where I came into this world.
It also made me think of my own family. Both of my grandparents on my father's side grew up in Ticino (they were both born in 1900), but while they eventually left Switzerland's poorest region to live in its richest, the Kanton of Zurich, my grandfather's parents relocated to northern Italy in the 1920s and unfortunately were still there when WWII broke out.
They lost everything during the war, and it was their youngest daughter - whom I only knew as "Zia" which means "aunt" in Italian - who earned a little money to support herself and my great-grandparents by giving piano lessons to high-ranking Nazi officers and their kids (this was towards the end of the war when German forces had occupied Italy).
I never knew that about her; Zia only very rarely spoke of the war, but one time when I visited her when she was already over a 100 years old (she died at close to 104), I asked her how they had managed to survive, and she told me that she went to the local prefecture nearly every day to teach piano. "And on the way there would be the dangling ones" she said, with a shudder.
I didn't get what she meant, so she explained. Visiting the city center where the high ranking military resided meant she had to walk underneath the executed men and women who were hanging from the lantern posts along the road (these executions - often of civilians - were the Germans' retaliations for attacks by the Italian partisans).
I never forgot her words - nor could I shake the look on her face as she re-lived this memory. And I still can't grasp it; my house in Ticino is only 60 meters from the Italian border, and the idea that there was a brutal war going on three houses down the road from where I live now in Zia's lifetime strikes me as completely surreal.
So, back to my title for the photo above. "Peace". It's such a simple, short word, isn't it? And we use it - or its cousin "peaceful" - quite often when we mean nice and quiet or stress-free. But if I'm honest I don't think I know what it means. My grandaunt Zia did, but I can't know. And I honestly hope I never will.
I'm sorry I led you down such a dark road; I usually intend to make people smile with the anecdotes that go with my photos, but this one demanded a different approach (I guess with this latest image I've strayed from the path in more than one sense, and I hope you'll forgive me).
Ticino today is the region with the second highest average life expectancy in Europe (85.2 years), and "The Human Development Index" of 0.961 in 2021 was one of the highest found anywhere in the world, and northern Italy isn't far behind. But my neighbors, many of whom are now in their 90s, remember well it wasn't always so.
That a region so poor it must have felt like purgatory to many of its inhabitants could turn into something as close to paradise on Earth as I can imagine in a person's lifetime should make us all very hopeful. But, and this is the sad part, it also works the other way 'round. And I believe we'd do well to remember that, too.
To all of you - with my usual tardiness but from the bottom of my heart - a happy, healthy, hopeful 2025 and beyond.
Yes, It's beautiful, especially veiled with the fogs we've had hanging over Cheshire for the past few days,
but a structured, rigid beauty, maybe even an elaborate shell,
the energies over the years are strong here.....but I guess a lot of those energies come from their own inner truth.....
I can't help but feel the important essence of what it was once created for has been adapted and shaped by rules, expectations and the interpretations of another.....instead of simply just a space for one's own truth.
In Museum Beelden aan Zee,
Please do not use my images without my explicit permissio
translate.google.nl/#nl/en/translate&quo
Ben Ledi was once mistakenly translated from Gaelic by a local minister of the parish as 'the mountain of God'. It actually means 'hill of the long shoulder' which will probably make sense to anyone who's been up it.
The hill is a little under 3000 feet so too small to be a Munro, but it's a more challenging walk than some Munros due to steep stages near the start and to get onto the shoulder for the easier final section.
This shot was taken just below the top, where there were stunning views on this particular day. Patches of mist and low cloud dotted the hillside and the surrounding landscape, and from the cairn the sun could be seen shining on a beautiful cloud inversion to the west stretching as far as the horizon.
BiG THANKS to EVERYONE for your personal comments and also your support from selected groups.
Awards are always encouraging and especially appreciated from those add my work to their collection of 'faves'.
Cheerz G
I cannot see real objects nowadays but I can see shadows.
And I remeber that the Chinese translation of photography is "capture of shadows".
Happy Spring!
Fuji X-T3
Fuji XF 10-24mm
Velvia Film Simulation
Roughly translated as "Fort on the River Conwy" according to Wikipedia.
Taken early morning from the Conwy Road Bridge. Taken at 200mm creating quite a condensed image, the Great Orme in the distance is a good 3 miles from Deganwy.
I don't think i was to keen on the photo at first but i've grown to like the morning blues.
"We have not a single honest poem, that has not lost its virginity in a ruler's Harem
We grew accustomed to humiliation
Then what is left of man, if he is comfortable with that?
I search the books of history, for men of greatness to deliver us from darkness
I search for men of yesterday, but all I find is frightened cats
Fearing for their souls, from the authority of rats..."
- Nizar Qabbani -
.
We cross our bridges as we come to them and burn them behind us,
with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered
-R&G
.
I'm leaving for Ecuador and Peru in 6 days. I don't know if I've ever been so terrified. I've got about 2 weeks with a class, and then an extra nine days in Peru with a couple of friends, sight-seeing. And I've terribly afraid of being practically on my own in another continent. But I'm also incredibly excited.
It makes me sad this photo is so small, but I don't really think there's much I can do about it. Click to view large!!! You know you want to. :)
For those of you familiar with Jules Dassin’s film you’ll know there are eight million stories in the naked city – well with 33 births a minute, 2,000 an hour, 48,000 a day which translates to nearly 12 million a year, India is one its way to having 1.3 billion stories! The stories are everywhere you look and one of my favorite opportunities for photography is while we are driving getting to glimpse some of those stories.
The Vittoriale degli italiani (English translation: The shrine of Italian victories) is a hillside estate in the town of Gardone Riviera overlooking Lake Garda in province of Brescia, Lombardy. It is where the Italian writer Gabriele d'Annunzio lived after his defenestration in 1922 until his death in 1938. The estate consists of the residence of d'Annunzio called the Prioria (priory), an amphitheatre, the protected cruiser Puglia set into a hillside, a boathouse containing the MAS vessel used by D'Annunzio in 1918 and a circular mausoleum. Its grounds are now part of the Grandi Giardini Italiani.
The house, Villa Cargnacco, had belonged to the German art historian of the Italian Renaissance Henry Thode from whom it was confiscated by the Italian state, including artworks, a collection of books, and a piano which had belonged to Liszt. [2][3] d'Annunzio rented it in February 1921 and within a year reconstruction started under the guidance of architect Giancarlo Maroni. Due to d'Annunzio's popularity and his disagreement with the fascist government on several issues, such as the alliance with Nazi Germany, the fascists did what they could to please d'Annunzio in order to keep him away from political life in Rome. Part of their strategy was to make huge funds available to expand the property, to construct and/or modify buildings, and to create the impressive art and literature collection. In 1924 the airplane that d'Annunzio used for his pamphleteering run over Vienna during World War I was brought to the estate, followed in 1925 by the MAS naval vessel used by him to taunt the Austrians in 1918 in the Beffa di Buccari. In the same year the bow section of the protected cruiser Puglia was hauled up the hill and placed in the woods behind the house, and the property was expanded by acquisition of surrounding lands and buildings.
In 1926 the government donated an amount of 10 million lire, which allowed a considerable enlargement of the Villa, with a new wing named the Schifamondo. In 1931 construction was started on the Parlaggio, the name for the amphitheatre. The mausoleum was designed after d'Annunzio's death but not actually built until 1955, and d'Annunzio's remains were finally brought there in 1963.