Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 9 - El jardin del Amor - Links

El jardín del Amor


Fui hasta el jardín del Amor,
y vi lo que jamás había visto:
una Capilla construida en su centro,
sobre el verde donde de niño jugaba.

Los portales de la Capilla estaban
cerrados,
y escrito sobre la puerta había un
"No lo harás",
así que me volví hacia el jardín del Amor
donde crecían tantas delicias floridas.

Y vi que estaba lleno de tumbas,
con lápidas donde debían verse flores;
y Curas de sotanas negras rondaban
y ponían vallas a mis gozos y deseos.

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 9 - El jardin del Amor - Links 

En Español

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 1 - Introduccion - Respuesta de la Tierra - Cantar de la Niñera  

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 2 - La Mosca - Link

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 3 - The Tiger - Links , Poetry: William Blake - The Tiger

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 4 - La Niñita Perdida - Link

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 5 - La Niñita Encontrada - Link

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 7 - El Pequeño Vagabundo - Jueves Santo - Un Árbol Venenoso - Link

Poesia: William Blake - Cantares de experiencia - Parte 9 - A Tirzah - La Voz del Bardo Anciano - Links

 

In English

Poetry: William Blake - The Fly

Poetry: William Blake - The Tiger

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Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)

NASA: Myanmar - North of Malaysia - Elusive Sprite Captured from the International Space Station

click to enlarge the photo:

acquired April 30, 2012

acquired April 30, 2012 download large ISS031-E-10711 image (220 KB, JPEG, 1440x960)

acquired April 30, 2012 download large ISS031-E-10712 image (224 KB, JPEG, 1440x960)

acquired April 30, 2012 download large ISS031-E-10713 image (221 KB, JPEG, 1440x960)

They were once so elusive that scientists gave them a mystical name. “Red sprites” are short-lived, red flashes that occur about 80 kilometers (50 miles) up in the atmosphere. With long, vertical tendrils like a jellyfish, these electrical discharges can extend 20 to 30 kilometers up into the atmosphere and are connected to thunderstorms and lightning.
These images of a red sprite were captured with a digital camera by Expedition 31 astronauts on the International Space Station as they traveled southeast from central Myanmar (Burma) to just north of Malaysia. The still images are part of a time-lapse movie collected from 13:41 to 13:47 Universal Time on April 30, 2012. (View the entire sequence here.) The sprite occurs about 6 seconds into the video, above a bright, wide lightning flash in the upper right quadrant.
Red sprites are difficult to observe because they last for just a few milliseconds and occur above thunderstorms—meaning they are usually blocked from view on the ground by the very clouds that produce them. They send pulses of electrical energy up toward the edge of space—the electrically charged layer known as the ionosphere—instead of down to Earth’s surface. They are rich with radio noise, and can sometimes occur in bunches.
For decades, pilots reported seeing ephemeral flashes above storms, but it was not until the 1990s that scientists were able to verify the existence of these electrical discharges. A sprite was first photographed by accident from an airplane in 1989, and observers on the space shuttle captured several more images with low-light cameras in 1990 and in subsequent missions. Viewers on the ground can occasionally photograph sprites by looking out on a thunderstorm in the distance (often looking out from high mountainsides over storms in lower plains.)

• Related Reading

• NASA Gateway to Astronaut Photography of Earth. (n.d.) Crew Earth Observations Videos—Southeast Asia. Accessed July 9, 2012.
• NASA. (1997). Sprites and Jets. Accessed July 9, 2012.
• Science@NASA. (1999, June 10). Spirits of Another Sort: Thunderstorms Generate Elusive and Mysterious Sprites. Accessed July 9, 2012.
• University of Alaska–Fairbanks. (n.d.) Red Sprites and Blue Jets. Accessed July 9, 2012.

Astronaut photographs ISS031-E-10711, ISS031-E-10712, and ISS031-E-10713 were acquired on April 30, 2012. Additional images taken by astronauts and cosmonauts can be viewed at the NASA/JSC Gateway to Astronaut Photography of Earth. Caption by Michael Carlowicz.

Instrument: 

ISS - Digital Camera

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Thanks :)

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Gracias :)

Music: Sam Cooke - Wonderful World - The Great Pretender - They Call The Wind Mariah - Lyrics

Wonderful World
by Sam Cooke

Don’t know much about history
Don’t know much about biology
Don’t know much about a science-book
Don’t know much about the French I took
What I do know is that I love you
And I know that if you love me too
What a wonderful world it would be

Refrain:
Now I don’t claim to be an A-student
But I’m trying to be
For maybe by being an A-student, baby
I can win your love for me

Don’t know much about geografy
Don’t know much trigonometry
Don’t know much about algebra
Don’t know what a slide rule is for
What I do know: one and one is two
And if this world should be with you
What a wonderful world this should be

Refrain:
Now I don’t claim to be an A-student
But I’m trying to be
For maybe by being an A-student, baby
I can win your love for me

...............................history
...............................biology
...............................science-book
...............................French I took
What I do know is that I love you
And I know that if you love me too
What a wonderful world it would be

The Great Pretender
Sam Cooke

oh yes, I'm the Great pretender
pretending I'm doing well
my need is such
I pretend too much
I'm lonely but no one can tell

oh yes, I'm the Great pretender
Adrift in a world of my own
I play the game
but to my real shame
You've left me to dream all alone

Too real is this feeling of make-belief
Too real when I feel what my heart can conceal
oh yes, I'm the Great pretender
just laughing and gay like a clown
I seem to be what I'm not, you see
I'm wearing my heart like a crown
Pretending that you're still around

Too real is this feeling of make-belief
Too real when I feel what my heart can conceal
oh yes, I'm the Great pretender
just laughing and gay like a clown
I seem to be what I'm not, you see
I'm wearing my heart like a crown
Pretending that you're still around

Way out west, they got a name
For rain and wind and fire
The rain is Tess, the fire's joe and
They call the wind Mariah

O no, Mariah blows the stars around
And sends the clouds a-flying
Mariah makes the mountain sounds
Like folks were up there dying
Mariah, They call the wind Mariah

Now before I knew Mariahs name
And heard her wail and whining
I had a girl and she had me
And the sun was always shining
O, but then one day I left my girl
I left her far behind me
And now I'm lost, I'm oh so lost
Not even God can find me

Mariah, O, Mariah, They call the wind Mariah
I hear they got a name for rain
and wind and fire only
but when you're lost and all alone
there ain't no words but lonely
And I'm a lost and lonely man
Without a star to guide me
Mariah, blow your love to me
I need my girl beside me
He, Mariah, O, Mariah
I'm lonely can't you see
Mariah, O, Mariah
Please blow my love to me
Mariah, blow my love to me

Music: Sam Cooke - Wonderful World - The Great Pretender - They Call The Wind Mariah - Lyrics

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Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)

Holocaust: Alfred Hitchcock - Holocaust Footage - 7 Vid

2

3

4

5

6

7

Holocaust: Alfred Hitchcock - Holocaust Footage - 7 Vid





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Cuenta Comentarista en el Foro:
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My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect.

Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)

Painter: Picabia Francis - Part 4 - Links

 Francis Picabia - Edtaonisl (Clergyman)

The Embarassment

 adoration du veau 1940-41

 c'est de moi qu'il s'agit 1914

 caraibe 1927

 catch as catch can 1913

 contre tous les academismes, vive la vie

 danse de saint guy (tabac-rat), ficelle et carton dans un cadre 1921

 decaveuse 1921-22

 dessin pour la premiere Aventure de Mr Antipyrine de Tristan Tzara

etude pour la novia 1916-17

Painter: Picabia Francis - Part 4 - Links

Painter: Picabia. Francis. Part 1

Painter: Picabia. Francis. Part 2

Painter: Picabia Francis - Part 3

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Cuenta Comentarista en el Foro:
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Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)

 

NASA: Russia - Fires in Siberia - Yakutia - Khabarovsk Territory - 10.07.12

acquired July 9, 2012 download large image (621 KB, JPEG, 2400x3000)

acquired July 9, 2012 download GeoTIFF file (10 MB, TIFF)

acquired July 9, 2012 download Google Earth file (KMZ)

More than 30 taiga wildfires burned in the Far East of Russia on July 10, 2012. According to the ITAR-TASS news agency, the fires had burned more than 2,200 hectares (9 square miles) in Yakutia and 2,000 hectares in Khabarovsk Territory.
The Moderate Resolution Imaging Spectroradiometer (MODIS) on NASA’s Terra satellite captured this image of the fires on July 9, 2012. Thick smoke billowing from numerous wildfires between the Maya and Aldan rivers is visible blowing northwest. The red outlines indicate hot spots where MODIS detected unusually warm surface temperatures associated with fires.
Russian firefighters have battled uncontrolled fires for months. According to the environmental group Greenpeace, more land in Russia had burned in 2012 than in 2010, a year that intense wildfires affected western Russia. ITAR-TASS reported that more than 1,826 forest fires had burned a total of 195,800 hectares in the Far East of Russia.
It isn’t uncommon for smoke from large wildfires in Siberia to be lofted high enough into the atmosphere that winds push plumes of it across the Pacific Ocean to North America. Significant amounts of smoke arrived in British Columbia in Canada this week, according to CBC News.

• References

• CBC. (2012, July 9). B.C. Thunderstorms Could Spark Forest Fires. Accessed July 10, 2012.
• ITAR-TASS. (2012, July 10). 30 Taiga Fires Reported in Russia’s Far Eastern Regions. Accessed July 10, 2012.
• NASA Earth Observatory. (2012, June 19). Siberia Burns.
• NASA. (2012, June 19). Satellite See Smoke from Siberian Fires Reach the U.S. Coast. Accessed June 29, 2012.
• The Moscow Times. (2012, June 18). State of Emergency Declared Due to Fires in Eastern Regions. Accessed June 18, 2012.

1. Further Reading

2. NASA Earth Observatory. (2010, August 31). Russian Firestorm: Finding a Fire Cloud from Space.

NASA image courtesy Jeff Schmaltz, LANCE MODIS Rapid Response. Caption by Adam Voiland.

Instrument: 

Terra

 

 

NASA: Russia - Fires in Siberia - Yakutia - Khabarovsk Territory - 10.07.12

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Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

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Poesia: Arthur Rimbaud - Poesia Completa - Parte 5 - Versos Escolares - Poemas en Latin - Poemas de Un Corazón bajo una sotana - Poema 138 y 239 - La Brisa - Links

B: POEMAS DE «UN CORAZÓN

BAJO UNA SOTANA»37

138

¡A nuestro lado,

Virgen María

Madre querida

del Jesús manso,

oh Santo Cristo,

ven madre santa,

Virgen preñada,

a redimirnos!

239

¿Acaso no imaginas por qué de amor me muero?

La flor me dice: ¡Hola! ¡Buenos días!, el ave.

Llegó la primavera, la dulzura del ángel.

¡No adivinas acaso por qué de embriaguez hiervo!

Dulce ángel de mi cuna, ángel de mi abuelita,

¿No adivinas acaso que me transformo en ave

que mi lira palpita y que mis alas baten

como una golondrina?

3

LA BRISA40

En su retiro de algodón,

con suave aliento, duerme el aura:

en su nido de seda y lana,

el aura de alegre mentón

Cuando el aura levanta su ala,

en su retiro de algodón

y corre do la flor lo llama

su aliento es un fruto en sazón.

¡Oh, el aura quintaesenciada!

¡Oh, quinta esencia del amor!

¡Por el rocío enjugada,

qué bien me huele en el albor!

Jesús, José, Jesús, María.

Es como el ala de un halcón

que invade, duerme y apacigua

al que se duerme en oración41.

36 Un sexto poema en latín, La Alocución de Sancho Panza a la muerte de su burro, se ha perdido.

Esta composición ganó, sin embargo, el Primer Premio de Versos Latinos, en el Concurso Académico de 1870.

37 La primera alusión a este texto en prosa aparece en una carta de Verlaine a su editor Vannier.

Texto de 1870, probablemente, no será publicado hasta 1924, por los surrealistas A. Breton y L. Aragon, después de muchas dudas sobre su paternidad. Hoy no existen dudas al respecto. Se trata de un texto cuya ingenuidad no consigue ocultar alguna de las grandes preocupaciones religiosas de Rimbaud durante su infancia y su primera adolescencia, a pesar del espíritu sarcástico que lo domina. Adopta la forma paródica del diario íntimo de un seminarista. El texto nos indica hasta é punto es profunda la formación religiosa de Rimbaud, muy en la línea los primeros poemas de Mallarmé ––y tras la huella de Lamartine, en este caso. El texto en prosa sirve de marco para tres poesías que escribe ––y comenta–– el seminarista. Poesías que son objeto de burla obscena por parte de su superior.

38 La frase que precede a este pequeño poema (simple oración) es la siguiente: «... Por ejemplo, ayer ya no aguantaba más: he oído, como el ángel Gabriel, las alas de mi corazón. ¡El soplo del espíritu sagrado ha recomido mi ser! He cogido mi lira y he cantado.»

39 Estos versos aparecen tras la indicación 12 de mayo... y están seguidos de esta frase: «He compuesto estos versos ayer, durante el recreo; he entrado en la capilla; me he encerrado en un confesionario, y allí, mi joven poesía ha podido agitar sus alas y emprender el vuelo, en el sueño y en el silencio, hacia las esferas del amor.»

40 Título que el poeta le da al poema en el texto que lo introduce: «Le doy gracias al Espíritu Santo por haberme inspirado estos versos encantadores: estos versos voy a engastarlos en mi corazón y cuando el cielo me permita volver a ver a Thimothina, se los daré a cambio de sus calcetines. Lo he titulado: La brisa.» Existe una interpretación procaz de estos versos: el aura no sería sino el pene adormecido del niño (i).

Poesia: Arthur Rimbaud - Poesia Completa - Parte 5 - Versos Escolares - Poemas en Latin - Poemas de Un Corazón bajo una sotana - Poema 138 y 239 - La Brisa - Links

 Links:

Poesia: Arthur Rimbaud - Poesia Completa - Parte 1 - Versos Escolares - Poemas en Latin - El sueño del escolar

Poesia: Arthur Rimbaud - Poesia Completa - Parte 2 - Versos Escolares - Poemas en Latin - El angel y el niño - Combate de Hercules y del rio Aquelo - Link

Poesia: Arthur Rimbaud - Poesia Completa - Parte 3 - Versos Escolares - Poemas en Latin - Yugurta - Links

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Diario La Nación
Argentina
Cuenta Comentarista en el Foro:
Capiscum

My blogs are an open house to all cultures, religions and countries. Be a follower if you like it, with this action you are building a new culture of tolerance, open mind and heart for peace, love and human respect.

Thanks :)

Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)

 

Poetry: William Wordsworth - The Thorn - Links

THE THORN

I.
There is a thorn; it looks so old,
In truth you'd find it hard to say,
How it could ever have been young,
It looks so old and grey.
Not higher than a two years' child
It stands erect this aged thorn;
No leaves it has, no thorny points;
It is a mass of knotted joints,
A wretched thing forlorn.
It stands erect, and like a stone
With lichens it is overgrown.

II.
Like rock or stone, it is o'ergrown
With lichens to the very top,
And hung with heavy tufts of moss,
A melancholy crop:
Up from the earth these mosses creep,
And this poor thorn! they clasp it round
So close, you'd say that they were bent
With plain and manifest intent,
To drag it to the ground;
And all had join'd in one endeavour
To bury this poor thorn for ever.

III.
High on a mountain's highest ridge,
Where oft the stormy winter gale
Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds
It sweeps from vale to vale;
Not five yards from the mountain−path,
This thorn you on your left espy;
And to the left, three yards beyond,
You see a little muddy pond
Of water, never dry;
I've measured it from side to side:
'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.

IV.
And close beside this aged thorn,
There is a fresh and lovely sight,
A beauteous heap, a hill of moss,
Just half a foot in height.
All lovely colours there you see,
All colours that were ever seen,
And mossy network too is there,
As if by hand of lady fair
The work had woven been,
And cups, the darlings of the eye,
So deep is their vermillion dye.

V.
Ah me! what lovely tints are there!
Of olive green and scarlet bright,
In spikes, in branches, and in stars,
Green, red, and pearly white.
This heap of earth o'ergrown with moss,
Which close beside the thorn you see,
So fresh in all its beauteous dyes,
Is like an infant's grave in size
As like as like can be:
But never, never any where,
An infant's grave was half so fair.

VI.
Now would you see this aged thorn,
This pond and beauteous hill of moss,
You must take care and chuse your time
The mountain when to cross.
For oft there sits, between the heap
That's like an infant's grave in size
And that same pond of which I spoke,
A woman in a scarlet cloak,
And to herself she cries,
“Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery!”

VII.
At all times of the day and night
This wretched woman thither goes,
And she is known to every star,
And every wind that blows;
And there beside the thorn she sits
When the blue day−light's in the skies,
And when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And to herself she cries,
“Oh misery! oh misery!
Oh woe is me! oh misery;”

VIII.
“Now wherefore thus, by day and night,
In rain, in tempest, and in snow
Thus to the dreary mountain−top
Does this poor woman go?
And why sits she beside the thorn
When the blue day−light's in the sky,
Or when the whirlwind's on the hill,
Or frosty air is keen and still,
And wherefore does she cry?—
Oh wherefore? wherefore? tell me why
Does she repeat that doleful cry?”

IX.
I cannot tell; I wish I could;
For the true reason no one knows,
But if you'd gladly view the spot,
The spot to which she goes;
The heap that's like an infant's grave,
The pond—and thorn, so old and grey.
Pass by her door—tis seldom shut—
And if you see her in her hut,
Then to the spot away!—
I never heard of such as dare
Approach the spot when she is there.

X.
“But wherefore to the mountain−top,
Can this unhappy woman go,
Whatever star is in the skies,
Whatever wind may blow?”
Nay rack your brain—'tis all in vain,
I'll tell you every thing I know;
But to the thorn and to the pond
Which is a little step beyond,
I wish that you would go:
Perhaps when you are at the place
You something of her tale may trace.

XI.
I'll give you the best help I can:
Before you up the mountain go,
Up to the dreary mountain−top,
I'll tell you all I know.
'Tis now some two and twenty years,
Since she (her name is Martha Ray)
Gave with a maiden's true good will
Her company to Stephen Hill;
And she was blithe and gay,
And she was happy, happy still
Whene'er she thought of Stephen Hill.

XII.
And they had fix'd the wedding−day,
The morning that must wed them both;
But Stephen to another maid
Had sworn another oath;
And with this other maid to church
Unthinking Stephen went—
Poor Martha! on that woful day
A cruel, cruel fire, they say,
Into her bones was sent:
It dried her body like a cinder,
And almost turn'd her brain to tinder.

XII.
They say, full six months after this,
While yet the summer leaves were green,
She to the mountain−top would go,
And there was often seen.
'Tis said, a child was in her womb,
As now to any eye was plain;
She was with child, and she was mad,
Yet often she was sober sad
From her exceeding pain.
Oh me! ten thousand times I'd rather,
That he had died, that cruel father!

XIV.
Sad case for such a brain to hold
Communion with a stirring child!
Sad case, as you may think, for one
Who had a brain so wild!
Last Christmas when we talked of this,
Old Farmer Simpson did maintain,
That in her womb the infant wrought
About its mother's heart, and brought
Her senses back again:
And when at last her time drew near,
Her looks were calm, her senses clear.

XV.
No more I know, I wish I did,
And I would tell it all to you;
For what became of this poor child
There's none that ever knew:
And if a child was born or no,
There's no one that could ever tell
And if 'twas born alive or dead,
There's no one knows, as I have said,
But some remember well,
That Martha Ray about this time
Would up the mountain often climb.

XVI.
And all that winter, when at night
The wind blew from the mountain−peak,
'Twas worth your while, though in the dark,
The church−yard path to seek:
For many a time and oft were heard
Cries coming from the mountain−head,
Some plainly living voices were,
And others, I've heard many swear,
Were voices of the dead:
I cannot think, whate'er they say,
They had to do with Martha Ray.

XVII.
But that she goes to this old thorn,
The thorn which I've described to you,
And there sits in a scarlet cloak,
I will be sworn is true.
For one day with my telescope,
To view the ocean wide and bright,
When to this country first I came,
Ere I had heard of Martha's name,
I climbed the mountain's height:
A storm came on, and I could see
No object higher than my knee.

XVIII.
'Twas mist and rain, and storm and rain,
No screen, no fence could I discover,
And then the wind! in faith, it was
A wind full ten times over.
Hooked around, I thought I saw
A jutting crag, and off I ran,
Head−foremost, through the driving rain,
The shelter of the crag to gain,
And, as I am a man,
Instead of jutting crag, I found
A woman seated on the ground.

XIX.
I did not speak—I saw her face,
In truth it was enough for me;
I turned about and heard her cry,
“O misery! O misery!”
And there she sits, until the moon
Through half the clear blue sky will go,
And when the little breezes make
The waters of the pond to shake,
As all the country know
She shudders, and you hear her cry,
“Oh misery! oh misery!”

XX.
“But what's the thorn? and what's the pond?
And what's the hill of moss to her?
And what's the creeping breeze that comes
The little pond to stir?”
I cannot tell; but some will say
She hanged her baby on the tree,
Some say she drowned it in the pond,
Which is a little step beyond,
But all and each agree,
The little babe was buried there,
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

XXI.
I've heard, the moss is spotted red
With drops of that poor infant's blood;
But kill a new−born infant thus!
I do not think she could.
Some say, if to the pond you go,
And fix on it a steady view,
The shadow of a babe you trace,
A baby and a baby's face,
And that it looks at you;
Whene'er you look on it, 'tis plain
The baby looks at you again.

XXII.
And some had sworn an oath that she
Should be to public justice brought;
And for the little infant's bones
With spades they would have sought.
But then the beauteous bill of moss
Before their eyes began to stir;
And for full fifty yards around,
The grass it shook upon the ground;
But all do still aver
The little babe is buried there.
Beneath that hill of moss so fair.

XXIII.
I cannot tell how this may be,
But plain it is, the thorn is bound
With heavy tufts of moss, that strive
To drag it to the ground.
And this I know, full many a time,
When she was on the mountain high,
By day, and in the silent night;
When all the stars shone clear and bright,
That I have heard her cry,
“Oh misery! oh misery!
O woe is me! oh misery!”

Poetry: William Wordsworth - The Thorn - Links

Ricardo M Marcenaro - Facebook

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Mis blogs son una casa abierta a todas las culturas, religiones y países. Se un seguidor si quieres, con esta acción usted está construyendo una nueva cultura de la tolerancia, la mente y el corazón abiertos para la paz, el amor y el respeto humano.

Gracias :)