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About Me
the feeling of beauty is the feeling of 'muga': no-self or ecstasy
Nishida
Nishida
collaboration with Michael Tweed
the beautiful foolishness of things
on-going project uniting my photographs and text by Michael Tweed
on-going project uniting my photographs and text by Michael Tweed
Blog Archive
Labels
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- autumn (38)
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all texts and photographs belong to me unless otherwise noted.
omg..
ReplyDeletethe same ducks I have in here
in Don River.. :-)
you might remember almost same posting of mine posted last spring.
Difference is the season, though..
Beautiful capture of those golden waters of autumn.
ReplyDeleteTired gold, tired blood.
ReplyDeleteAwe.
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes has struck again... the sorceress of light, the magician of molten gold, the dalliance of ducks, the shimmering, the merging of light, color, hope, magic, the red forever Autumn, the drowning; and stretching over the water in the mist of imaginary fog, a floating bridge, of dreams...
ReplyDeletethe rivers and waters of bengal look like this in late autumn. there is a lazyness about autumn here too - once the harvest is gathered and the gods are thanked.
ReplyDeletebut this water does not look so tired. see see its still rippling
And yes, dreams of Transylvanian blood cannot help but come to mind...
ReplyDeletewell what part of "finally a language i understand" do I have to explain as if to a 5 year old (as opposed to french, and german, and romanian and all that greek and latin spoken in this site...).
ReplyDeleteyes i do. but very poorly (from my south cali days you see).
also, before you go and get all exited, I must warn that this usage is very rare indeed. Normally we use el soñador/la soñadora (incidently the root noun sueño for 'dream' is much more commonly used for 'sleep' than the other way round...). But then saying that "I come in fair maidens' dreams" is much better than saying I come in their sleep - which makes me sound kind of creepy...
oops...that was for your earlier post. my apologies (that is the rarest thing one receives from me ;-))
ReplyDeletePeter, are they really the same ducks, travelling from Canada to Europe and the other way round faster than we have managed to? :-) well, not so fast, from last spring to this year's autumn, but faster than us anyway, who knows when and whether i will be able to visit Canada...
ReplyDeletethank you, Tree.
ReplyDeleteyour autumn poems are very beautiful as well (allow me to say this here until i get a chance to comment on your blog, i am very slow these days)...
my dear friend...
ReplyDeletei am so grateful to have you here, merc...
if i were prone to that, my head would spin now, Owen, after reading your panegyric :-)
ReplyDeleteoh but it _is_ spinning with joy, yet my feet are still firm on the ground.
and yes, Transylvanian blood, however haven't i thought of that? :-)
sorry to disappoint, these images were shot in Lyon, actually.
Zuma, this laziness and softness of autumn is one of the things i love most in this world...
ReplyDeletebut you make me think of happy gods and rich harvests and the peaceful gestures of simple people... this is a simple poem, yet very dear to me:
Transfigured Autumn
So the year ends enormously
With golden wine and fruit of the gardens.
All around the forests silence wonderfully
And are the lonely one's companions.
Then the countryman says: it is good.
You evening bells long and quiet
Still give glad courage to the end.
A line of birds greets on the journey.
It is the mild time of love.
In the boat down the blue river
How beautifully image is strung to image -
That declines in rest and silence.
(Georg Trakl)
so i will answer here, dear Zuma, still comfortably resting on the laurels of your apologies :-P (how about this image for expressing the laziness of autumn? :-)
ReplyDeletewhat you seem to forget is that 5 year old ones have an instinctive poetical understanding of things (at least if we believe those romantic poets which always pretended to have learned everything from children) - not for one second could i have imagined that you mean "finally a language i understand" literally, i thought you wanted to express metaphorically the way that portrait or the fair maiden in it spoke to you: a language you understand, as opposed to that of blue turtles, for example :-)
yes, i knew the usual word was "la soñadora", so i wondered a bit...
Ce frumos ... Impossibly rich, the surfaces vibrate with woven and in-woven light ... the final three make me think of byzantine moasics, goldleaf and enamel, "O sages standing in god's holy fire.."
ReplyDeleteGahhh!
ReplyDeletei will say what truly happened looking at this (very embarassing...but) i was so stunned by the color
i said to myself, waaahhwaaa.
like an infant seeing .
.
wow.
Life has no meaning the moment you lose the illusion of being eternal.
ReplyDeleteYou know i'm lost without you dearest
roxana, how are you doing?
Ici Roxana je n'ai pas d'automne il y a que ma mémoire et les photos qui me rappel ma belle France.Cette rivière envie de me vidé les neurones dans une sorte insouciance quintessence traverser par une lumière douce...
ReplyDeleteFélicitation très belle images ou tous est grâce.
Neither does gold stop to shine, nor blood to run - listen, did you hear that sound? did you see that light? - be, remain, upon this floating bright life.
ReplyDeleteJames, you know so well of my love for the lazy, heavy yet slowly dying away byzantine splendour :-)
ReplyDeleteindeed, the perfect quote.
mulţumesc din inimă.
ahhhh mansuetude, how embarrassing indeed! :-P
ReplyDeleteand i am happy like an infant to hear this :-)
Prospero...
ReplyDeletei am here. i am not going away, how could i. "i am cursed to be the garden toward which i move" (from a romanian poet).
i will post tonight about storms and longing (and be nervous while waiting for your reaction), you will see why.
Allan, oui, ces images ont ete prises en France - et je sais combien tu aimes cette lumiere ou tu peux entrevoir la grace et la richesse du monde...
ReplyDeleteje ne pourrais pas vivre sans automne...
Robert, because you know how to listen and how to see - i know that for you gold will never stop shining, and in this light the heavy past will slowly dissolve, to free you for a new life, "within the fire, because of hope to become."
ReplyDeleteRoxana, Hello
ReplyDeleteThe title of your this post is a short poem in itself. i have not commented recently because sometimes i do not know what to say!
i have replied to your comments at my blog. that poem you posted is a monster poem. it reminds me of the Zubac one. i like the rhythm, the movement. i always prefer rhythm to substance. i find smoke, sunsets, longing and reckless passion far more lasting than clearly demarcated safe passions. that poem has everything. you do me wrong if my poem reminds you of the one that you posted....maybe it is your generosity...
anyway...regarding the 'changes' you mention at my blog.....well,not really. i do write about the books i read. it is generally a superfluous exercise but because all the people i know have moved away, dispersed, say, this is occasionally a forum to understand or make sense of what i read. i don't mention all the books i read for that is physically daunting. and sometimes i don't know whether i like what i read? you see...i generally prefer poetry over prose, it bursts,it kills quickly.
when i replied earlier to your comment at my blog, i was distracted by the world around me. now, i think, you have picked on something that makes me feel that your reading is generous....it is written in the 'now', right, but a recreation of a now, a past now. everything is in the past, everything is memory.
sorry for this long comment.
who wrote that poem you posted? you?
C'est trop flou pour moi d'un coup ! Il me faut du temps pour admirer... et déposer quelques mots !...
ReplyDeleteBises Roxana !
Jeff
i am sorry, Prospero, i tried but it isn't ready yet, we will have to wait a little bit longer for what i wanted to show...
ReplyDeleteyou know how impatient i am
ReplyDeletebut would beckett understand
Cette eau si dorée et ces goutellettes rouge, vif, qui semblent s'estomper pour s'en mélanger, "se transfuser" ( coucou Roxana ! ), se mélanger pour s'en fatiguer ?...
ReplyDeleteTa poésie "visuelle" me transporte bien loin vers toi...
Bises,
Jeff
yay! a floating autumn indeed
ReplyDeleteJeff, bien sur, "transfusion", comment est-ce que je n'y ai pas pense avant :-)))
ReplyDeletebisesbises
ffflaneur, very much floating indeed, more floating than that and it would go beyond our perceptive range :-)
ReplyDeleteCe minuni faci tu!splendida cromatica....:)
ReplyDeleteEdith, multumesc, draga mea, cine sa se priceapa mai bine la culori decat tine? :-)
ReplyDelete