A thousand rainbow eyes
On one cobweb.
Autumn.
A thousand rainbow eyes
On one cobweb.
Autumn.
Close your eyes and slowly inhale. Hold it to a count of six, then breathe out gradually.
It's often said that each time you do that, you are likely to breathe in a molecule from Julius Caesar's dying breath.
At first sight this is surprising.
But there are an enormous number of molecules in a breath of air. If the molecules in Caesar's last gasp are shared out evenly across the whole of the earth's atmosphere—plausible after 2000 years—then on average the air we inhale with each new breath (about 500 ml) will include one of those molecules.
Julius Caesar could just as well be any person that has ever lived.
Or the last mammoth.
A small crawling thing
On a perilous journey
Not squashed so far.
Scritch scratch at my window.
A sharp clawed one seeking entry.
I must brush up my endgame first.
Shit.
I dropped some poems in the lane.
Where I hope someone finds them.
Somehow I came upon this fascinating cat-lore.
Norse deity Freya rode in a chariot drawn by two cats: "kõttum tveim" in Old Icelandic. The illustration captures their robust spirit well, I feel.
Credit: Ludwig Pietsch, 1865
In the Old Icelandic literature Freya's team are also called "fressa", which probably means "tomcats", who don't piss about. But "fressa" may also mean "bears" though, big guys, and so there was a scholarly debate in the mid 1800s (involving people like Jakob Grimm, of the fairy tales, for example). The modern view supports cats (of course).
I wondered if Freya's cats had names (like Santa's reindeer). One source claimed they were called "Bygul" and "Trejgul" and that may be: I haven't read the Icelandic Eddas. I was doubtful though, because in Latin there are names "Biga" and "Triga": which mean—guess what?—nothing to do with cats. It's the number of wheels on a wagon (i.e. chariot), 2 or 3.
So maybe "Bygul" and "Trejgul" are just a clever joke. I don't know. But then you see the idea that of a Goddess in a chariot pulled by big cats goes back further than the Norse sagas. There are illustrations from Greek and Roman times that show what are plainly leopards and tigers pulling the chariots of the goddesses and gods.
Some of the 19th scholars suggested that Freya's chariot may not have been pulled by north European cats (not even the awesome Norwegian Forest Cats) but by big cats, based on rumors passed on by traders and storytellers who moved between the Mediterranean and northern Europe. It's a long journey but cat power may have made it possible.
Freya's chariot of cats still lives today, as you can see in the clip. This would be a "Quintiga".
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lceSo10_d9Q
Renee Descartes
Awoke with a start.
"I need a pee,
Donc je suis!"
READ MORE
http://www.scientificamerican.com/article/the-philosophical-implications-of-the-urge-to-urinate/
The wind in my hair
And one group of stars.
Hard to get home this autumn.
Go snail, go!
I've superglued the message to your shell.
"Respectfully, Olympians,
We are not impressed."
Sigmund Freud
Was easily annoyed.
Such a big grouch
When he had you on the couch.
Wanting to write about autumn I thought: that many haiku are written in
a simple and forthright way. That reminded me of Hesiod. Of course
my grasp of Ancient Greek is very little but I have often read "Works
and Days" in translation, and thought I'd try to capture something of
the style he uses. This is a rather free version of one of his verses.
Skip that shitwreck
Don't fly off under sail
When autumn is late, dark
Our wine a thin no-hoper.
When I'm burned
All the winds will fight
over my ashes.
1. THE WASTE LAMB
SOUPTEMBER is the gruellest month, brothing
Lentils up with the dead lamb, mixing
Mulligatawnny and dhal, stirring
Dull stews with autumn grain.
Reading glasses
Expand your horizons.
The rainbow's like
The work of a mad painter.
Who always gets it right.
Don't laugh at the chicken
It knows best.
You're on.
Then you're gone.
He penn'd.
Entering an old house,
Cobwebs tug at you.
Like memories.
The shortest poem I know is "Be happy", in ancient Greek "Xere". This is inscribed on many tombstones from the Hellenistic era, and I admire the way the dead person passes their blessing to the living.
This made me think about the meaning of the word "Verkënnen" that I mentioned a post or two back. I like it because of the emphasis on gradualness and because I have always liked the idea that time may bring us better understanding.
In itself it is a poem.
But can it be translated into other languages, as a poem, rather then literally as in the earlier post?
This blogging platform is very limited and that's an irritation quite often.
But some of my favorite watercolorists used a basic palette and working within those constraints made the artists concerned more creative.
I'm reading a Lingo: Language Spotter's Guide, by Gaston Dorren.
(Aside: I think we word spotters should be called worders.)
I like the book very much. It taught me a word I've been missing lately. It's from Luxembourgish.
Verkënnen - "to gradually experience the effects of old age in body and mind".
Isn't that rather beautiful?
PS Verkënnen means something related but a bit different in German and Dutch.
While I think of it:
"Of course I won't marry you!", she bridled unengagingly.
This blog might contain posts that are only visible to logged-in users, or where only logged-in users can comment. If you have an account on the system, please log in for full access.