Quote for January.

“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

I am better with songs (You Tube!) and Pictures (vi.sualize.com!), poems, well, no, I am an avid reader, but I read mostly prose, and as for “speaking a few reasonable words” – maybe? Just maybe, I am there…”Hi, how are you?”  does it seem reasonable enough?  Then let’s say I am on track.

Writing comes alive

Source: http://vi.sualize.us/view/kallini2002/e1d44128a6ea9bd8f85354cfbe7bc979/

Let’s fix some of my shortcomings, LOL.

Poems from the calendar:

January: (the page has gone missing)

February (Theme: Symbols of Love):

Love wants love

Sweet kisses and

Smiling hearts

An ocean of chocolate

A paradise of togetherness

March (Theme: New Thinking):

Fashion meaning

From black and white symbols

Smears of grace

Chiseled into balance

April (Theme: April Fools):

Ferocious caramel universe

You speak like a candy animal

In your corduroy yesterday

Flying through clouds of baby growls

May (Theme: Garden of Possibility):

A moment of delirious skin

Showing up in the garden

Delicate essential languid

Shine for me

June (Theme: A Muse of Fire):

Fortune seek no friend or villain

And forswears naught

Bestowing melancholy and grace

Like a maiden drunk with love

July (Theme: Bottle Rockets):

Summer produces a thousand dreams

Of lazy sleep

And rusting feet

And purple fingers full of delirious juice

I will live for these delicate moments

August (Theme: Beach Ball Game Theory of Relativity):

The fat cats hat

Grows slowly

In the clean green ground

September (Theme: Your Song):

Short story or poetry

What plot illustrates my world

A strange in the library

Creates a novel of me

October (Theme: Shadow History):

Delicate whisper of a garden

Incubate a thousands dreams

A shadow of spring in the fall

November (Theme: Food for Thought):

The memory of a chicken

And a pickle as sour as lime

Make me think of people

And our tremendous emotions

December (Theme: Everyday Celebrations):

Remember the rhythm of the ocean

The animal breathing

Of a delicious universe

Source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/13435753@N03/3518643024

Oh my dear maple

Sergei Yesenin (4 Oct. 1895 – 27 Dec. 1925)

Boris Pasternak (1890 – 1960)

Boris Pasternak (1890 – 1960)

A song from the film “Fate’s Irony”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjRbmBXywH4

Alexandr Blok (1880 – 1921)

A poem about Winter Landscape.

Surprisingly enough, I was thinking what I could write about Winter Landscape.  That was my homework for January.  Yes, that one from the calendar.

And that is what I found.

A Russian romance “In the Moonlight the snow is sparkling”.

Because it is Russian Romance, it is in the Russian language.  Obviously, but that is not the point.  I had to look up the word romance because I was not sure if I used it correctly.  Apparently, I was right and one of the meanings of “romance” is “a short, lyrical composition.”

But then I looked at the origin of the word and that where I lost my conscience. (A joke!)  The word “romance” stems from the word Roma = Rome.  If I take things literally and I do it quite often, just for fun, then a Russian Romance is a contradiction of terms.

So, all these meanings: a love story, a literary genre, the aura of excitement and more simply come back to Rome.  Literally, all roads lead to Rome.  Or rather all ROMANCES originate in Rome.  Or?  Maybe that is the reason why my Italian friend is so amorous all the time.

Coming back to “In the moonlight the snow is sparkling”.  This romance is neither about winter, nor about landscape, it is about Love.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_yFfX-UK9PI&feature=related

В лунном сиянье

слова и музыка Е. Юрьева

Полный текст песни

слова и музыка Е. Юрьева

В лунном сиянье снег серебрится,

Вдоль по дороге троечка мчится.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Колокольчик звенит,

Этот звон, этот звон

О любви говорит.

В лунном сиянье ранней весною

Помнятся встречи, друг мой, с тобою.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Колокольчик звенел,

Этот звон, этот звон

О любви сладко пел.

Помнятся гости шумной толпою,

Личико милой с белой фатою.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Звон бокалов шумит,

С молодою женой

Мой соперник стоит.

В лунном сиянье снег серебрится,

Вдоль по дороге троечка мчится.

Динь-динь-динь, динь-динь-динь —

Колокольчик звенит,

Этот звон, этот звон

О любви говорит.

I decided, at least for a while, to follow Goethe’s advice.

Quote of the month.

“One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words.” (Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

Making a list:

Ö        A Little Song

Ö        A Poem

Ö        A Picture

Ö        A Few Reasonable Words

I love songs and I will start with Batuka“Dame Fuego”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a6kHDBqpVCA

A little analysis.

A song with lyrics already contains a poem, because that is what lyrics are.  Lyrics contain a few reasonable words, or so I hope.  This particular song is in Spanish, that I don’t speak, but I have an online translator.  Translations more often than not are lame or sound quite lame.  But I am trying to extract the reason or meaning, or at least remember a few Spanish words.

A word for today.

“Dame fuego, dame el fuego de tu Corazon”

(Give me fire give me the fire of your heart)

One thing is missing – a Picture.  Or is it?  The video clip is a picture, so homework is done.

Don’t ask me, if I am nuts.  Because the answer is… I will give you multiple choice

1. Yes
2. No
3. Maybe
4. Does it matter?
5. All of the above.

I love this word even though it seems to be somewhat an exaggeration for describing how I feel.  How can I be infatuated with the person I am infatuated with?  Well, I am talking about “my delicate friend” and I am trying to figure out what has happened, why it has happened and what to do.  He dismissed the word “infatuation” as totally wrong or inappropriate.

Well, according to the dictionary “to infatuate” means either make foolish or inspire with a foolish and unreasoning passion.  Frankly, I don’t really see how passion can be reasoning.  But the word infatuation expresses something extreme – extreme adoration, foolish love, or unreasoning fondness.

************************************************************************

Mikhail Lermontov

I am lonenly and sad

I’m lonely and sad, and in moments of bitterest pain

Have no one to look to, alas…

Desires!.. What use to desire without end, without gain,

While all the best years swiftly, fleetingly pass!

To love… Whom?.. If briefly, ’tis not worth the effort…

Fore’er?..

Vain longing, since love cannot last.

Look into your heart: joy and torment – all paltry, and there

Remains not a trace of the past.

The passions?.. Sweet ailment that reason will easily cure,

A cold word of logic arrest.

And life – what is life if you look round you coolly?-

A poor,

An empty and trivial jest!..

1840

************************************************************************

We did not analyze the word “infatuation”.  But we did talk about chemistry.  The one that exists in relationships.  According to the dictionary, “chemistry” is described as “qualities of personality in interaction”.  He did not seem to be too happy that every woman (or so it seems) asks for this elusive concept of chemistry.  He said, that he did not study chemistry.  Well, neither did I, not this chemistry anyways.  We talked about it jokingly and then agreed that we probably should take some lessons.

On my own, I played with some words.  Chemistry versus Physistry (the physistry I did study).  Law of Attraction.  Magnetism.  Hypnosis.  Chain Reaction.  Energy.  Inertia.  Inertia?  That inertia of thinking when you for some reason fall for a certain type.  It is a powerful thing.  The patterns.  But seriously, what is chemistry?

I did look it up on the Internet and the resource that I found is short and sweet and quite to the point.

I am not going to cut and paste, you can read it on your own, provided it still will be available at the moment when you check out the link.  If it won’t, let me know, I save it on my computer just in case.

http://astoundingdatingtips.com/blog/2008/10/08/how-chemistry-is-build-between-a-man-and-a-woman/

The love potion apparently consists of three ingredients:

1)      PEA – phenylethylamine (adrenaline-like neurochemicals) – fireworks, we see stars, walk on air, natural high

2)      Dopamine

3)      Norepinephrine (both chemical cousins of amphetamines, that stimulate production of adrenaline) – euphoria, energy, love sparks

The best part is this – the author calls “chemistry” infatuation.

No, maybe the best part is, that the author dismisses the word love.

“Love? No, just “chemistry” and infatuation!

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -

Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore -

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -

This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; -

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before

But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;

Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -

‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -

Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered -

Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’

Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -

Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore

Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee

Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! -

Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -

On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore -

Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore -

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -

`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted – nevermore!

I wanted to make a different post on Halloween.  A poem by Edgar Allan Poe.  “The Raven”.  I thought it would be more becoming.  More becoming my mood and the spirit of Halloween.

My plans have changed.  They usually do.  Something happened and it was somewhat pleasant, somewhat strange and more becoming my melancholic mood and longing for love.

“Gefunden.”  Some things are just strange.  The only thing that I remember from years of learning German was (is) a poem by Goethe.  “Gefunden” means “Found”.  It is about a flower the author finds in a forest while walking there without a thought in mind.  Instead of picking it and letting the flower die, the author digs it out with all the roots and replants it in his garden. 

Und pflanzt es wieder

Am stillen Ort;

Nun zweigt es immer

Und blüht so fort.

The reason the poem has surfaced again was that I met “a friend of a delicate nature” who claimed that he could read German.  His claim turned out to be somewhat exaggerated, since he could not read nor translate “Gefunden” with the online translator.  But that is quite understandable and, to be honest, is precisely what I assumed at the beginning.  Reading a language without properly learning it seems a tall order.  But this story is not about him.  Well, not entirely.

The poem keeps coming back to me.  And this time I found out that Goethe wrote this poem not about a flower, but about his love for a real woman.

I have a dream.  I want to find my love and I found a flower.  Literally.  Where and when?  I was working and walking in circles in the department store full of misplaced clothes.  Of all days, it was Halloween, my birthday.  I did not expect to find anything.  Yet I did.  I found a red rose, slightly battered, slightly faded, smelling of perfume, still beautiful…

I picked it gently and took it home, treating this red rose as a gift, as a sign, as a new hope.

Some things do come out of the Blue.

And my friend with his beautiful deep eyes, seductive voice and a reminiscence of a true love is only a vision of my longing for something or someone whom I will find.

One day.  Out of the Blue.  On the Halloween?