Friday, January 27, 2006
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Geburt und Grah
Ein Weschselnd Weber
Ein glühend leben
So scharf’ ich am sausenden Wehstühlderzeit
Und Wirhe de Gottheit lebe3ndiges Kleid
Birth and death
A changing web
A glowing life
Thus do I work at the humming looms of time
And fashion the living garment of God.”
Song of the Earth Spirit
Image: Waterhouse ‘Boreas’
Posted by PMZ at 1/17/2006 05:56:00 PM
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
'I am the product of long corridors, empty sunlit rooms, upstair indoor silences, attics explored in solitude, distant noises of gurgling cisterns and pipes and the noise of wind under the tiles.
Also, of endless books.
There were books in the study, books in the drawing room, books in the cloakroom, books (two deep)in the great bookcase on the landing, books in a bedroom, books piled as high as my shoulder in the cistern attic, books of all kinds reflecting every transient stage of my parent's interests, books readable and unreadable, books suitable for a child and books most emphatically not. Nothing was forbidden me. In the seeminly endless rainy afternoons I took volume after volume from the shelves...'
C.S Lewis, on his childhood
Image: 'The Bookworm'
Posted by PMZ at 1/11/2006 04:50:00 PM
Monday, January 09, 2006
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.
Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory
All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death,
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.
T. S. Eliot
Image: Velazquez 'Adoration of the Magi' (look at the infant Christ's face!)
Courtesy of Skyminder
Posted by PMZ at 1/09/2006 12:12:00 PM