Monday, November 21, 2016
Ship In The Sky , Woody Guthrie
and this is why we should treat everybody as a king or queen
just as we'd like to be treated and this is how we can sit together
around a table
Missing out, Adam Philipps, quotes
"All love stories are frustration stories.
...
It is as if, oddly, you were waiting for someone but you didn’t know who they were until they arrived. Whether or not you were aware that there was something missing in your life, you will be when you meet the person you want.
.....
However much you have been wanting and hoping and dreaming of meeting the person of your dreams, it is only when you meet them that you will start missing them. It seems that the presence of an object is required to make its absence felt (or to make the absence of something felt). A kind of longing may have preceded their arrival, but you have to meet in order to feel the full force of your frustration in their absence."
..and unfortunately so:
"Falling in love, finding your passion, are attempts to locate, to picture, to represent what you unconsciously feel frustrated about, and by."
https://www.brainpickings.org/2015/10/05/adam-phillips-missing-out-frustration-love/
Eiler Krag 
out of: An ABZ of Love, Inge and Sten Hegeler
To Lay Me Down ,Grateful Dead ,Radio City Music Hall, NY, 10-30-1980
would be ok.. got a bit of migraine..:-)
Enigma ,Amen
"I'm lost, I believe I will be found
In the silence of my nights
I can hear a distant voice
Someone out there is calling my name
Watch out
I'm not afraid"
Friedrich Hölderlin, Mnemosyne
Friedrich Hölderlin
Mnemosyne
Ältere Fassung
| Ein Zeichen sind wir, deutungslos Schmerzlos sind wir und haben fast Die Sprache in der Fremde verloren. Wenn nämlich über Menschen Ein Streit ist an dem Himmel und gewaltig Die Monde gehn, so redet Das Meer auch, und Ströme müssen Den Pfad sich suchen. Zweifellos Ist aber Einer. Der Kann täglich es ändern. Kaum bedarf er Gesetz. Und es tönet das Blatt und Eichbäume wehn dann neben Den Firnen. Denn nicht vermögen Die Himmlischen alles. Nämlich es reichen Die Sterblichen eh an den Abgrund. Also wendet es sich, das Echo, Mit diesen. Lang ist Die Zeit, es ereignet sich aber Das Wahre. Wie aber liebes? Sonnenschein Am Boden sehen wir und trocknen Staub Und tief mit Schatten die Wälder, und es blühet An Dächern der Rauch, bei alter Krone Der Türme, friedsam; und es girren Verloren in der Luft die Lerchen und unter dem Tage weiden Wohlangeführt die Schafe des Himmels. Und Schnee, wie Maienblumen Das Edelmütige, wo Es seie, bedeutend, glänzet mit Der grünen Wiese Der Alpen, hälftig, da ging Vom Kreuze redend, das Gesetz ist unterwegs einmal Gestorben, auf der schroffen Straß' Ein Wandersmann mit Dem andern, aber was ist dies? Am Feigenbaum ist mein Achilles mir gestorben, Und Ajax liegt An den Grotten, nahe der See, An Bächen, benachbart dem Skamandros. Vom Genius kühn ist . . . Windessausen, nach Der heimatlichen Salamis süßer Gewohnheit, in der Fremd Ajax gestorben, Patroklos aber in des Königes Harnisch. Und es starben Noch andere viel. Mit eigener Hand Viel traurige, wilden Muts, doch göttlich Gezwungen, zuletzt, die anderen aber Im Geschicke stehend, im Feld. Unwillig nämlich Sind Himmlische, wenn einer nicht die Seele schonend sich Zusammengenommen, aber er muß doch; dem Gleich fehlet die Trauer.
|
Angela Merkel, Anne Will and ..a "talk" "show"
well i watched this tonight.
Mrs. Merkel going once again for elections as chancellor of our country, mine.
i don't mind. she stands for a way of balance..as much as can be.
i don't like her political party, it doesn't matter.
i don't like politics here or there anyway. they can only be dishonest
and cannot dare to deal with the true powers.
there were other guests, a psychoanalyst and psychiatrist, confused, complaining
about the way of life in our western societies.
The former mayor of Berlin, Klaus Wowereit.
An intelligent intellectual from the well known journal "Die Zeit", Giovanni di Lorenzo,chief editor.
this is a kind of praise, intellectual does not mean intelligent.
Mrs. Kramp-Karrenbauer, president of Saarland, at least clear and direct.
certainly, it was interesting.
it was however more interesting to see that none of all took up
banks and international finance and powerful corporations
questioning their influence on politics and in which way and how far
politicians can really effect any change,
all was about more cosmetic repairs
such as to pension schemes and housing...about how to deal with the AFD and right wing
political streams in this country , with immigration and uprising dictatorship such as in Turkey
and most of all about the qualification of Angela Merkel.
It is all so foreseeable, i wonder why i watched it.
nothing..new or ...better.
just talk, just show.
Mrs. Merkel going once again for elections as chancellor of our country, mine.
i don't mind. she stands for a way of balance..as much as can be.
i don't like her political party, it doesn't matter.
i don't like politics here or there anyway. they can only be dishonest
and cannot dare to deal with the true powers.
there were other guests, a psychoanalyst and psychiatrist, confused, complaining
about the way of life in our western societies.
The former mayor of Berlin, Klaus Wowereit.
An intelligent intellectual from the well known journal "Die Zeit", Giovanni di Lorenzo,chief editor.
this is a kind of praise, intellectual does not mean intelligent.
Mrs. Kramp-Karrenbauer, president of Saarland, at least clear and direct.
certainly, it was interesting.
it was however more interesting to see that none of all took up
banks and international finance and powerful corporations
questioning their influence on politics and in which way and how far
politicians can really effect any change,
all was about more cosmetic repairs
such as to pension schemes and housing...about how to deal with the AFD and right wing
political streams in this country , with immigration and uprising dictatorship such as in Turkey
and most of all about the qualification of Angela Merkel.
It is all so foreseeable, i wonder why i watched it.
nothing..new or ...better.
just talk, just show.
licht ist überall
ich kam aus den bergen, roter schotter und erde
rollten herab mit schwarzen grauen und braunen steinen, mit quarz
und granit und kakteen und schuppenden blättern, ich kam über felsen und hänge.
du warst nicht da. aber unten
in der schlucht sah ich dein rotes langes haar über die kristallen spiegelnden wasser wehen,
ich wartete. ich warte. ich bin da. überall ist licht. licht ist überall.
a journey of passion
he came to the temple.
it found him rather than he had
looked for it, an ancient and secret
place caved under pine trees.
a voice reached him, her voice,
and her fragrance was in the air.
the wind bringing her essence entered his soul, he felt longing for her
who would not show herself. she undressed behind a rock to take
her bath, and meditating in holiness she could not see him, not listen to his call, the words of a mortal man could not touch her.
she was the sybil, the oracle, answering questions or not was up to her.
maybe she was an ugly old hag with warts on her nose and legs like
an elephant's , maybe bald and one eyed.
he couldn't know.
but her voice singing to herself made him feel lonelier than before and he wanted to know if she could shed and burn her skin and come out through the curtains as the princess he had always wished to meet, equal to him and his royal blood.
when the sybil noticed his presence she lit a candle to burn his scent.
her language was foreign and came hoarse and broken through a slit in the ceiling.
ask, she said, i am ready.
but he stayed silent from this day until
the end of his life.
he found nothing to ask.
and language made no more sense to him.
outside he undressed, laid down his shield and armor, his sword, his spear, all under the eye of the sky.
silently he embraced a tree, then walked away into the woods.
when he arrived home naked in his court people feared his eyes and laid down their weapons, some laughed with embarrassment, others wanted to kill him.
but he could not be moved to rule nor to speak, a king to himself and not to others. time passed. one day his folk lifted him dead from his throne like a dried chameleon and buried him in the garden.
nobody ever knew what happened.
stories came and were replaced.
he was struck by a dragon, his throat was torn out by a demon, he was captured by a magician and brought home by a raven. people tried to find a sense. there was no sense, and this is what nobody could see, nobody could believe.
Hearing,Joshua Trotter
HEARING
Mornings after we gave up words, we still loved
to lie and graze the day awakewatching our old chit-chat thatch the street like rain.
Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon
now the dead grow sound limbs to stand upon
nourished by discourse we once loved.
In their sodden crypts they sigh awake
solitary, listening to the rain
heartened by our lost and rousing homilies—the rain
engaging vacant brains it falls upon
until everyone we love or once loved
is dying tonight or lying still awake
listening, for our sake, as rain rains the dead awake.
There’s something diplomatic about rain
strewing cool phrase upon cool phrase upon . . .
But here I pray that none whom once I loved
has held words they loved from rain; I’m held awake
by heavy sentences the rain might lay upon them.
http://briancampbell.blogspot.de/2014/03/sunday-poem.html
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