Tuesday, March 9, 2010













“Still Life and Flowers” by the Italian painter Giuseppe Recco (1634-1695) 

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Three short poems by William Blake (1757-1827)

As I wandered the forest,
The green leaves among,
I heard a Wild Flower
Singing a song.

I slept in the earth
In the silent night,
I murmured my fears
And I felt delight.

In the morning I went
As rosy as morn,
To seek for new joy;
But oh! met with scorn.

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A flower was offered to me,
Such a flower as May never bore;
But I said "I've a pretty rose tree,"
And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

Then I went to my pretty rose tree,
To tend her by day and by night;
But my rose turned away with jealousy,
And her thorns were my only delight.

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The modest Rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble Sheep a threatening horn,
While the Lily white shall in Love delight,
Nor a thorn, nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

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Finally this slide show continues the floral theme.




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Tuesday, March 2, 2010

 

This unusual picture was taken by the American photographer Edward S. Curtis 1868-1952.

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Among North American Indians one legend tells that in the beginning all creatures were spirits living in space. They kept on searching for a place where they could have physical bodies and live settled lives. First they flew up to the sun, but found it unsuitable there; they investigated the moon with no success; they came down to the earth and saw it was completely covered with water. They were on the point of moving on when they saw a huge rock rising out of the water and burst into flames; steam floated upwards, clouds formed and the spirits were delighted to see land appearing with grass and trees. As they landed on firm ground, they were transformed into human beings. There was great rejoicing as they expressed their thanks to Wakonda, the Maker of All Things.

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All plants are our brothers and sisters. They talk to us and, if we listen, we can hear them. (A saying of the Arapaho tribe)

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TWO HUNTERS

There were but two beneath the sky -
The thing I came to kill, and I.
I, under covert, quietly
Watched him sense eternity
From quivering brush to pointed nose
My gun to shoulder level rose.
And then I felt (I could not see)
Far off a hunter watching me.
I slowly put my rifle by,
For there were two who had to die -
The thing I wished to kill, and I. (Anon)

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This slide show consists of a variety of photographs of North American Indians.


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Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is to love and be loved in return.
(from the song “Nature Boy” by Eden Ahbez)


































“Romeo and Juliet” by the English painter Frank Dicksee 1853-1928

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Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved. (William Shakespeare -Sonnet 116)

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Love is a many splendoured thing
It's the April rose
That only grows in the early spring
Love is nature's way of giving
A reason to be living
The golden crown that makes a man a king

Once on a high and windy hill
In the morning mist
Two lovers kissed
And the world stood still
Then your fingers touched
My silent heart and taught it how to sing
Yes, true love's
A many splendoured thing (Paul Francis Webster)

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This video of the violinist Maxim Vengerov playing Liebesfreud (Love’s Joy) by Fritz Kreisler was made available by “Rojaviva” of Venezuela. The accompanist is Lilya Zilberstein.



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Tuesday, February 16, 2010

 

Sunday 14th February was the Chinese New Year and that reminded me that some time ago I made a note of three Chinese poems which I particularly liked. They were written by Li Po (701-762) and here they are - his Mountain poems -

1)
All the birds have flown up and gone.
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Just the mountain and I.

2)
You ask me why I dwell in the green mountain.
I smile and make no reply for my heart is free of care.
As the peach-blossom flows down stream
and is gone into the unknown,
I have a world apart that is not among men.

3)
As down Mount Emerald at eve I came,
The mountain moon went all the way with me.
Backward I looked to see the heights aflame
With a pale light that glimmered eerily.
A little lad undid the rustic latch
As hand in hand your cottage we did gain,
Where green limp tendrils at our cloaks did catch,
And dim bamboos o’erhung a shadowy lane.
Gaily I cried, “here may we rest our fill.”
Then choicest wines we quaffed, and cheerily
“The Wind among the Pines” we sang, until
A few faint stars hung in the Galaxy.
Merrily were you, my friend and drunk was I,
Blissfully letting the world go by.

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Finally this slide show has some lovely Chinese pictures. I believe the music is South American in origin, but for me the tune goes very well with the images.




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Tuesday, February 9, 2010

 

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And “Thou shalt not” writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.
And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires  (William Blake 1757-1827)

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I find one vast garden spread out all over the universe.
All plants, all human beings, all higher mind bodies are about in this garden in various ways, each has its own uniqueness and beauty.
Their presence and variety give me great delight.
Every one of you adds with his special feature to the glory of the garden. (Sri Anandamayi Ma 1896-1827)

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The music here performed by Secret Garden is “Nocturne”. This was the winning entry for Norway in the 1995 Eurovision Song Contest.


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Tuesday, January 26, 2010


















“San Cristoforo, San Michele and Murano from Fondamenta” 
painted by Canaletto (1697-1768)

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Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar. (Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792-1822)

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Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day. (Matthew Arnold 1822-1888)

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This short video features pictures of sakura, the Japanese flowering cherry, and it’s accompanied by Japanese music. 

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Tuesday, January 19, 2010




















They call me a dreamer - well, maybe I am.  (a line from a song by Joan Whitney and Alex Kramer)

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The pianist here  is Tzimon Barto





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We are the music-makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams.
World-losers and world-forsakers,
Upon whom the pale moon gleams;
Yet we are the movers and shakers,
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
 (Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy 1844 - 1881)
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Finally, Fritz Kreisler playes one of his own compositions "Schon Rosmarin", accompanied by Carl Lamson





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