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“And sure enough even waiting will end…if you can just wait long enough.”
Quote – William Faulkner
It's oh so quiet and the little cat is enjoying it. ;-))
It reminds me of the song "It's Oh So Quiet". Always thought it was an original song from Björk. But it's not.
Info -WiKi
~~~~ "It's Oh So Quiet" is a song by American singer Betty Hutton, released in 1951 as the B-side to the single "Murder, He Says".
It is a cover of the German song "Und jetzt ist es still", performed by Horst Winter in 1948, with music written by Austrian composer Hans Lang and German lyrics by Erich Meder. The English lyrics were written by Bert Reisfeld.~~~~
Here below you can listen to the three versions! Enjoy ;-))
The original song from 1948: Harry Winter (born Horst Winter) performing "Und jetzt ist es still", with the Wiener Tanzorchester
In 1951 Betty Hutton covered the German version: 'It's Oh So Quiet (Official Audio)'
In 1995 Björk made her version this song 'It's Oh So Quiet'
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The title is a reference to William Faulkner's Nobel Prize acceptance speech, 1949.
This is what the author saw when he looked out at his back yard from the upstairs hallway at his home, Rowan Oak, in Oxford, Mississippi. This window is just outside the office where Faulkner did much of his writing. (See previous post.)
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“The past is never dead. It’s not even past. All of us labor in webs spun long before we were born, webs of heredity and environment, of desire and consequence, of history and eternity.”
― William Faulkner, Requiem for a Nun
Image is cropped to 2.75" W.
c’est un fait à remarquer qu’un homme paresseux,
un homme qui n’aime pas le mouvement,
s’entête toujours à aller de l’avant une fois qu’il est parti
w i l l i a m f a u l k n e r m a u r i c e e d g a r c o i n d r e a u
Personally, I can get away with two of these, but who am I to judge? Also, I'm not saying which two.
Rowan Oak, Willam Faulkner's house in Oxford, MS, where he lived between 1930 and his death in 1962.
More information is available here:
Si hay dolor
Si hay dolor, que sea sólo lluvia,
y ésta sólo dolor de plata por el dolor en sí,
si estos verdes bosques sueñan aquí para despertar
en mi corazón, si yo amaneciera otra vez.
Pero dormiré, pues ¿dónde hay muerte
mientras en estas azules y soñolientas colinas de lo alto
tenga yo como el árbol mi raíz? Aunque esté muerto,
esta tierra que se agarra a mí me encontrará el aliento.
William Faulkner
Quentin, que amaba no el cuerpo de su hermana, sino algún concepto de honor familiar y (él lo sabía bien), temporalmente suspendido en la frágil y diminuta membrana de su virginidad, semejante al equilibrio de una miniatura en la inmensidad de la esfera terrestre sobre el hocico de una foca amaestrada. Quien amaba, no la idea del incesto que no cometería, sino algún presbiteriano concepto de su eterno castigo: él y no Dios, podría arrojarse a sí mismo y a su hermana al infierno, donde eternamente podría protegerla y cuidarla para siempre jamás, invulnerable ante las llamas inmortales. Él que sobre todas las cosas amaba la muerte, y que quizá sólo amaba a la muerte, amó y vivió con deliberada y pervertida curiosidad, tal y como ama un enamorado que deliberadamente se reprime ante el prodigioso cuerpo complaciente, dispuesto y tierno de su amada, hasta que no puede soportarlo y entonces se lanza, se arroja, renunciando a todo, ahogándose.
* * * * *
Quentin, who loved not his sister's body but some concept of Compson honor precariously and (he knew well) only temporarily supported by the minute fragile membrane of her maidenhead as a miniature replica of all the whole vast globy earth may be poised on the nose of a trained seal. Who loved not the idea of the incest which he would not commit, but some presbyterian concept of its eternal punishment: he, not God, could by that means cast himself and his sister both into hell, where he could guard her forever and keep her forevermore intact amid the eternal fires. But who loved death above all, who loved only death, loved and lived in a deliberate and almost perverted anticipation of death as a lover loves and deliberately refrains from the waiting willing friendly tender incredible body of-his beloved, until he can no longer bear not the refraining but the restraint and so flings, hurls himself relinquishing, drowning.
The Sound and the Fury * [ William Faulkner ]
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All the materials contained in my gallery may not be reproduced, copied, edited, published, transmitted or uploaded in any way without my written permission. My images do not belong to the public domain.
This is what William Faulkner saw from the upstairs front-porch windows when he looked out at that amazing double-row of cedars that line the approach to the front entrance ... at Rowan Oak in Oxford, Mississippi.
Created for : Challenge 190 A rose for Emily
~
A ROSE FOR EMILY William Faulkner
WHEN Miss Emily Grierson died, our whole town went to her funeral: the men
through a sort of respectful affection for a fallen monument, the women mostly out of
curiosity to see the inside of her house, which no one save an old man-servant — a
combined gardener and cook — had seen in at least ten years
~
Challenge 190 ~ A rose for Emily
Magnificent Manipulated Masterpieces
nightcafe and gimp
Magnificent Manipulated Masterpieces
Challenge 190 ~ A rose for Emily
www.flickr.com/groups/mmmasterpieces/
A ROSE FOR EMILY William Faulkner
~
Created for : Challenge 190 A rose for Emily
~
And as soon as the old people said, “Poor Emily,” the whispering began. “Do you
suppose it’s really so?” they said to one another. “Of course it is. What else could…”
This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies closed upon
the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team
passed: “Poor Emily.”
~night cafe images manipulated in gimp
Taken @ Delnor-Wiggins Pass State Park
Naples, Florida, USA.
November 5th 2011
Image belong to this album: Naples and Marco Island, FL
Nikon D 5000 - Nikkor 18-200
Texture with my gratitude to Kerstin Frank art: KF -Texture Paintstrokes
I'm always going to be grateful for the use of: FrenchKiss Bruses
First published by Penguin Books in 1938
Penguin Reprint published in 1964.
Cover drawing by André François
This image has been selected as the cover illustration for the upcoming book The Cambridge Introduction to William Faulkner (The cover design is below.)
THE FAULKNER PORTABLE
William Faulkner’s Underwood Universal Portable typewriter, rests on a tiny desk his stepson helped him build. It's the highlight of the Rowan Oak experience for many visitors, even though this room was part of the open back porch until Faulkner spent part of a Random House advance to enclose it in l952, long after he had written his seminal Compson and Sartoris family novels.
He insisted that this room not be called his "study." According to biographer Joseph Blotner, "he did not study in it, so there was no sense in calling it that. It was the 'office,' the traditional name for the room in the plantation houses where the business was transacted."
As to the typewriter itself, Underwood introduced its Universal Portable in the mid-l930's among a full line of portables such as Champion, Noiseless Portable and Junior. Faulkner had a habit of buying used portables locally, wearing them out, then trading them in on more used portables.
This Underwood was one of at least three typewriters in Faulkner`s possession at the time of his death (the University of Virginia has one, too). So, this is no more "the" typewriter any more than those square carpenter`s pencils next to it are "the" pencils. Had Faulkner lived a few more years, this machine would have met the same fate as the rest. Still, the room has a resonance.
Taking the photo:
BOOK magazine was publishing an article of mine on "Yoknapatourism," [see the text of it below] and thinking (mistakenly) that the editors hadn`t already selected a photographer, I returned to Oxford on a rainy October afternoon to make my own pictures for submission. The travel piece was eventually illustrated with sunny-day brochure shots, but I was happy to keep this one for myself.
There was no direct lighting within the office, so I let the film take its time, soaking up faint incandescent glow from the library and main hallway, which neatly balanced the cloudy daylight. I used the camera`s timer so my hand wouldn't jostle the tripod, and I even backed out of the room--in part to let the scarce light do its work and, I think, because I wanted Faulkner`s office truly vacant.
Trivia: The book sitting next to William Faulkner's typewriter is the 1939 edition of Writer's Market
There is a big storm brewing outside, so I thought it would be a nice night for a martini and a good book. Cheers everyone :^)
August Generosity: Cornelian cherries, cakes, tea and honey, accompanied by wild flowers.
"...in August in Mississippi there’s a few days somewhere about the middle of the month when suddenly there’s a foretaste of fall, it’s cool, there’s a lambence, a soft, a luminous quality to the light, as though it came not from just today but from back in the old classic times. It might have fauns and satyrs and the gods and---from Greece, from Olympus in it somewhere. It lasts just for a day or two, then it’s gone. . .the title reminded me of that time, of a luminosity older than our Christian civilization."
William Faulkner, Light in August
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All read, excepting The Conquest of New Spain (edit: now read!) and The Recognitions. Oh, and the second book of Don Quixote.
-------------------------------------------------------------
J.D. Salinger - Franny and Zooey
J.D. Salinger - Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters / Seymour: an Introduction
Simon Callow - Orson Welles: The Road to Xanadu
Richard Farina - Been Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me
Hunter S. Thompson - The Great Shark Hunt
Anthony Burgess - A Clockwork Orange
John Kennedy Toole - A Confederacy of Dunces
Joseph Heller - Catch-22
John Irving - The World According to Garp
J.S. Mill - On Liberty
Cervantes - Don Quixote
Jorge Luis Borges - Labyrinths
Isaiah Berlin - Concepts & Categories
Kurt Vonnegut - Slaughterhouse 5
William Faulkner - The Sound and the Fury
Hunter S. Thompson - Fear and Loathing: on the Campaign Trail '72
Tom Wolfe - The Bonfire of the Vanities
Thomas Pynchon - V
Thomas Pynchon - Gravity's Rainbow
Bernal Diaz - The Conquest of New Spain
Kurt Vonnegut - Cat's Cradle
Albert Camus - The Outsider
William Gaddis - The Recognitions
Ernest Hemingway - A Farewell to Arms
In 1930, William Faulkner purchased what was then known as "The Bailey Place", a primitive Greek Revival house sitting on four acres of hardwood and cedar. Colonel Robert Sheegog, an Irish immigrant planter from Tennessee, had built the home when he settled in the tiny frontier settlement of Oxford in the 1840's. Faulkner renamed it Rowan Oak after the rowan tree, a symbol of security and peace.
Faulkner then optioned the surrounding acreage known as Bailey's Woods, and settled in with his wife, Estelle, and her two children from a previous marriage, Malcolm and Victoria. Within a few years, their daughter, Jill, was born. Rowan Oak was the family home of the Faulkners until 1962, the year of William's death. In 1972, Jill Faulkner Summers sold the house to the University of Mississippi to secure it as a place for people worldwide to learn about her father and his work.
Faulkner's years spent at Rowan Oak were productive as he set stories and novels to paper, ultimately winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1949, and the Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award in 1954 for A Fable. William Faulkner remains one of the most celebrated and studied authors in the world, with conferences, societies and journals dedicated to his life and work.
The large eastern red cedars lining the walkway to Rowan Oak were planted after the yellow fever epidemic that swept the South in the 1870's. It was believed that cedars "cleansed" the air. The eastern red cedar is not native to Mississippi, but thrives in the sandy soil found around the property.
"If I were reincarnated, I'd want to come back a buzzard. Nothing hates him or envies him or wants him or needs him. He is never bothered or in danger, and he can eat anything."
William Faulkner
Have a great start to your week!
The lobby of the Hotel Monteleone in the French Quarter or New Orleans retains most of its historic character. The hotel was built in 1886 and expanded in 1908, 1913, 1928 and again in 1954. The Carousel Bar here, opened in 1949, has been a fixture in a number of stories. I have not stayed overnight here in many years, but should visit again.
Magnificent Manipulated Masterpieces
Challenge 190 ~ A rose for Emily
www.flickr.com/groups/mmmasterpieces/
A ROSE FOR EMILY William Faulkner
~
Created for : Challenge 190 A rose for Emily
~
On a tarnished gilt easel before the fireplace stood a crayon portrait of
Miss Emily’s father.
They rose when she entered — a small, fat woman in black, with a thin gold chain
descending to her waist and vanishing into her belt, leaning on an ebony cane with a
tarnished gold head. Her skeleton was small and spare; perhaps that was why what
would have been merely plumpness in another was obesity in her. She looked bloated,
like a body long submerged in motionless water, and of that pallid hue. Her eyes, lost
in the fatty ridges of her face, looked like two small pieces of coal pressed into a lump
of dough as they moved from one face
~
ai/pixlr/nightcafe
Better known as Pirate's Alley (and officially so since the 1960s), this quaint street next to St. Louis Cathedral was once home to William Faulkner.
" in Palmeiras bravas" William Faulkner
pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Faulkner
... no que foi condiderado o seu melhor discurso de sempre, quando aos 53 anos recebeu o Prémio Nobel, deu como importantes : «das velhas verdades universais — o amor e a honra e a piedade e o orgulho e a compaixão e o sacrifício.»
"Is it possible that despite our discoveries and advances, despite our culture, religion, and science, we have remained on the surface of life? Is it possible that even this surface, which might still have been something, has been covered with an incredibly tedious material, which makes it look like living-room furniture during the summer vacation?"
–– Rilke
*Peter Greenaway and William Faulkner, just met, and locked in a quiet exchange in a New Orleans coffee house, decide that they will collaborate in an architectural practice. On a sticky-sweet summer morning architecture is redefined over beignets and café au lait. I overhear their agreement from the space behind my heart, and afterward walk with them, in a dream's out-of-place out-of-time gift, about what they will make in their new studio on Pirate's Alley.