There was a city ...
czwartek, sierpnia 06, 2009
The Raven Edgar Allan Poe Poem - absolutely Great
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 name 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 mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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 blest with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon 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 fancy 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath 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 name Lenore,
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in 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 lamplight 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!
Edgar Allan Poe
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 name 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 mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness 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 blest with seeing bird above his chamber door,
Bird or beast upon 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 fancy 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 lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee- by these angels he hath 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 name Lenore,
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in 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 lamplight 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!
Edgar Allan Poe
środa, sierpnia 05, 2009
Marlene Dietrich quote : I love Quotations
I love quotations because it is a joy to find thoughts one might have, beautifully expressed with much authority by someone recognized wiser than oneself.
MARLENE DIETRICH
MARLENE DIETRICH
Gdy Cię kocha ktoś, kogo ty nie kochasz miłość nieodwzajemniona
Kochać, to jedno szczęście. Kochać i być kochanym to dwa szczęścia; być kochanym przez osobę, której się nie kocha to trzy nieszczęścia.
wtorek, sierpnia 04, 2009
Michael Jackson Good bye ! Memorial Postcard animals monkey singer pop
Just to commemorate some part in our history. I have never been a great fan of his but with his death one chapter was closed and I hate this feeling. I picked one postcard from my humble collection, that I belive should leave Michael remembered the way we would like to. Sleep soundly, Michael.
The Sexiest voice Najseksowniejszy męski głos Lion King Jeremy Irons
Jeremy Irons is nomber one when it comes to the voice matters. I could listen to his voice for hours. Every single movie is great, as long as he has the leading role. He is top of tops.
Gdzie jest ten raj? Poszukiwania raju.
Mieszkamy w raju; ale ponieważ na tej ziemi mieszkają także inni ludzie, nie zdajemy sobie z tego sprawy.
Silvio Berlusconi Sex Joke in the public Italian Prime Minister' gag
It is great and funny video. I love his gags ;)))). If I saw this on the street performed by some unknown lad, I would turn away thinking he was just stupid or insane. But Silvio can gat away with that; when it comes to me at least. His easy manners make Italians go bananas however.
poniedziałek, sierpnia 03, 2009
dlaczego TYLKO ON ? Alchemia duszy tajemnica miłości
Co sprawia, że tak bardzo pragniemy tej jednej jedynej osoby - by czuć ją wplecioną w nas samych, czuc jej skórę i oddech i głaskać jej skórę przyklejoną do naszej; czy ktoś inny by nie wystarczył ? - inne ciało, inna skóra, inny oddech - lecz równie gorące, z bijącym sercem i płynącą krwią - ciało być może piękniejsze, oczy bardziej błękitne; o nie!
Tylko te myśli, które podziwiam chcę czuć wciśnięte w siebie, tylko te uczucia, furie, uniesienia, które znam i są mi bliskie w sposób magiczny . Tak
bliskie, żę je czuję w sobie biologicznie i biologicznie pragnę dotykac, widziec, słyszec, przeżywać, doświadczać. Mieć przy sobie osobę,
nie znaczy stac obok ciała lecz wielbić to co nosi w sobie i tulic do siebie to czego dotknąć nie można, czego nie zastąpi inny oddech i nie powieli inny umysł. Tylko tamto serce i tamten oddech, te jedyne i żadne inne.
To jest alchemia duszy; wszystko inne się nie liczy.
Tylko te myśli, które podziwiam chcę czuć wciśnięte w siebie, tylko te uczucia, furie, uniesienia, które znam i są mi bliskie w sposób magiczny . Tak
bliskie, żę je czuję w sobie biologicznie i biologicznie pragnę dotykac, widziec, słyszec, przeżywać, doświadczać. Mieć przy sobie osobę,
nie znaczy stac obok ciała lecz wielbić to co nosi w sobie i tulic do siebie to czego dotknąć nie można, czego nie zastąpi inny oddech i nie powieli inny umysł. Tylko tamto serce i tamten oddech, te jedyne i żadne inne.
To jest alchemia duszy; wszystko inne się nie liczy.
poniedziałek, lipca 27, 2009
la madre degli stupidi e' sempre incinta
Que bello : la madre degli stupidi e' sempre incinta
Matka głupich jest zawsze ciężarna !!!!!
Boskie.
(znalezione w komentarzach Pesidente del Consiglio Silvio Berlusconiego
http://silvioberlusconi.splinder.com/
Matka głupich jest zawsze ciężarna !!!!!
Boskie.
(znalezione w komentarzach Pesidente del Consiglio Silvio Berlusconiego
http://silvioberlusconi.splinder.com/
niedziela, lipca 26, 2009
Poland Łódź Lodz SLUMS in The Heart of Europe Slamsy w sercu Europy
I am ashamed writing this but whenever I arrive to Łódź I cannot belive what I see. Maybe at first sight you could think it is a city like many other cities
a bit neglected and a bit dirty. The worse is the fact that the deeper you go the worse you see. Uncomplete sidewalks und gutterpipes torn up are drop in an ocean.
Even the main "Boulevard" for pedestrians leaves much to desire while the front elevations are quite acceptable (after being repainted and restored) the brief
looking into the courtyards just behind the gate are usully appllaing just as if you be instantly transported from Paris to Bangladesh. The walls are hardly painted
or in very unskilfull manner; paint and wall structure are falling apart and coming off. Two different worlds. Taking look to the neighbouring streets leaves
you even more perplexed unveiling their post-war lookout. Uncared of, dirty, und repelling; I have never seen any other Polish city with so many caution plates sayin:
"caution, risk of collapsing ! access forbidden". The apartament houses are in deplorable condition - and belive or not it all refers to the 100-year buildings or
older - all of them should be listed in national registry of historic monuments; but who cares - the houses in very bad condition are supported by some
wooden constructions or just pulled down. It all happens in the center of Europe. Łódz could be the most beautiful city of Poland if only we could force ourselves
to help it. There are building of XIX and XX century - Art Nouveau, ARt Deco and Eclectism - it is all we have left after II World War and what Hitler and Stalin
did not manage to finish we are trying to complete by commiting architectural suicide. Staircases are pissed all over, open for onlookers and drunkards, beggars.
The precious architectural elements disappear stolen by smugglers who try to pass them off or just sell it as raw material. People flee from there. no wonder -
the city is poor and dangerous. It's the worse augury for a city. The courtyards
are empty and look abandoned - only the poorest people stay here. The thing I am most afraid of is that foreign emigrats start to settle here
and they just care for nothing. Sorry to say that but look-for-bread-incomers never care for the surroundings. łódź is the treasure but becomes the nestle of devil.
sobota, lipca 25, 2009
nietykalny - wiersz poezja
i spotkałam Cię u kresu dni
jak nietykalny bóg stałeś,
gdy Cię tak dostrzegam w roztopionym od słońca tramwaju
nogi nie chcą mnie nosic i dreszcz mnie zakuwa w kajdany
a Ty jak mój demon się śmiałeś i paląc mocne
tłumaczyłeś coś w gestach, a dym się sączył skrobiąc bałwany
i w obłokach obłędnych odpływam na bali
a wokół mnie jest morze marzeń
i słyszę głosy, co milkną w żelazie
kół toczonych torami
a za szybą spokój, jesień, deszcz i wiatr hula czasami
a Ty mnie u kresu dni nie doprowadź do szaleństwa,
chcę się napic herbaty
chcę spokojnie zasnąc do pracy
jak nietykalny bóg stałeś,
gdy Cię tak dostrzegam w roztopionym od słońca tramwaju
nogi nie chcą mnie nosic i dreszcz mnie zakuwa w kajdany
a Ty jak mój demon się śmiałeś i paląc mocne
tłumaczyłeś coś w gestach, a dym się sączył skrobiąc bałwany
i w obłokach obłędnych odpływam na bali
a wokół mnie jest morze marzeń
i słyszę głosy, co milkną w żelazie
kół toczonych torami
a za szybą spokój, jesień, deszcz i wiatr hula czasami
a Ty mnie u kresu dni nie doprowadź do szaleństwa,
chcę się napic herbaty
chcę spokojnie zasnąc do pracy
piątek, lipca 24, 2009
sobota, lipca 11, 2009
EX Libris von ejm2000 - Probe Marlene Dietrich
Ich habe Ex Libris gemacht ....glaube ich schoen .... nicht sicher ob ich ihn nutzen werde .
Wiersz Powrót I - Stary Wariat
W dzień, jak dziś - On sobie wisiał za oknem na łapach
jak zegar na ścianie, i cmokał wolniutko
i skromnie – jego chrzęst słyszałam rzadko
noc pachniała dorodnie, tajemnicą i pytaniem o swój zapach
świat wyglądał jak migotliwa zabawka
a ja byłam lalką
***
z zielonego drzewka łowiono włosy aniołom
i w zastępstwie słow
widziałam rzeczy piękne
czułam rzeczy mądre
były takie duże, większe ode mnie
i miały własne oczy
i buzie, jak ogromne wiśnie
***
słońce to był taki owoc
o smaku koła
a chmury to policzki, podkrążone na obu czołach
wazon to magiczny garnek
a czołg – samochodzik z trąbą
lub gąsienica z garbem
***
Z Trybuny Ludu taki śmieszny pan w okularach
przyglądał mi się poważnie
i ja go niezgrabnie szkicowałam
i nie był nawet obrażony
na nos za duży, ciut wąskie ramiona
***
i było jeszcze tyle innych spraw, kwestii
dla których nazwy dzisiaj poznikały
zapomniałam ich kształty, i że miały piegi
i nie wiem czy naprawdę kiedyś istaniały
***
świat wyglądał troszkę inaczej
cóż, byliśmy mali
a on troszkę zgłupiał przez te lata
posunął się, postarzał i zdziwaczał
Brigitte Bardot Marilyn Monroe Charlie Chaplin Juego de Cartas Antiguas Cartes Cards Playing
Alguans cartas antiguas del 1983 publicadas como juego de cartas con estrellas del cine.
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