|
0
registrerede
11
gæster og
225
søgemaskiner online. |
|
Key:
Admin,
Global Mod,
Mod
|
|
|
Skribent: Simon
Emne: Re: Mellemrummet
|
Hej i natten, RM..
Allerførst tre smuksak’er og på rad, som solen gennem lukkede øjenlåg, og dette en lørdag nat; take a bite of them apples!
To a Lady asking foolish
questions
Why am I sorry, Chloe? Because the moon is far:
And who am I to be straitened in a little earthly star?
Because thy face is fair? And what if it had not been,
The fairest face of all is the face I have not seen.
Because the land is cold, and however I scheme and plot,
I can not find a ferry to the land where I am not.
Because thy lips are red and thy breasts upbraid the
snow?
(There is neither white nor red in the pleasance where
I go.)
Because thy lips grow pale and thy breasts grow dun
and fall?
I go where the wind blows, Chloe, and am not sorry
at all
*
Ah, dans ces mornes séjours
Les jamais sont les toujours.
Paul Verlaine
You would have understood me, had you waited;
I could have loved you, dear! as well as he:
Had we not been impatient, dear! and fated
Always to disagree.
What is the use of speech? Silence were fitter:
Lest we should still be wishing things unsaid.
Though all the words we ever spake were bitter,
Shall I reproach you dead?
Nay, let this earth, your portion, likewise cover
All the old anger, setting us apart:
Always, in all, in truth was I your lover;
Always, I held your heart.
I have met other woman who were tender,
As you were cold, dear! with a grace as rare.
Think you, I turned to them, or made surrender,
I who had found you fair?
Had we been patient, dear! ah, had you waited,
I had fought death for you, better than he:
But from the very first, dear! we were fated
Always to disagree.
Late, late, I come to you, now death discloses
Love that in life was not to be our part:
On your low lying mound between the roses,
Sadly I cast my heart.
I would not waken you: nay! this is fitter;
Death and the darkness give you unto me;
Here we who loved so, were so cold and bitter,
Hardly can disagree.
*
Villanelle of Marguerites
For Miss Eugénie Magnus
‘A little, passionately, not at all?’
She cast the snowy petals on the air:
And what care we how many petals fall!
Nay, wherefore seek the seasons to forestall?
It is but playing, and she will not care,
A little, passionately, not at all!
She would not answer us if we should call
Across the years: her visions are to fair;
And what care we how many petals fall!
She knows us not, nor recks if she enthrall
With voice and eyes and fashion of her hair,
A little, passionately, not at all!
Knee-deep she goes in meadow grasses tall,
Kissed by the daisies that her fingers tear:
And what care we how many petals fall!
We pass and go: but she shall not recall
What men we were, nor all she made us bear:
‘A little, passionately, not at all!’
And care we how many petals fall!
- Ernest Dowson.
Møllehave: jeg husker ham for æselørerne (bogen), for hans vrede over uretfærdighed og smålighed, ikke mindst hans forargelse over politisk dumhed - der jo nærmest synes at være proportional med antallet af levebrødspolitikere - men nok, fremfor alt, for hans engagement ud i aktivt at gøre noget for mennesker, hvis mulighed for at gøre noget for sig selv, var ringe. Derfor håber jeg da også at nogen nu gør noget for ham, på det plejehjem han (i mine øjne) desværre er anbragt på. Jeg sku' her ta' meget fejl, forudsat naturligvis at ikke depressionerne er tiltaget, hvis ikke han underholder hele forsamlingen af åbenmundede beundrere; og sku' han i tillæg få listet en sød lille spl op i sengen under foregivende af at ville vise hende sine frimærker, jamen så er det helt fint med mig! ;)
Nå, pjat med mig. Han trissede jævnligt ind hos en ven der på Frb. ejede et lille antikvariat, og min ven der selv er i stand til at fortælle en god historie fortalte, at selv bøgerne rundt omkring ham slog deres æselører ud, når de bøger han havde fundet var betalt og de begyndte at snakke om løst og fast. Der er næppe tvivl om hans store glæde ved SAK og HCA m.f., og det er jo dét jeg synes vi lidt har mistet, denne omvandrende erindringsdatabase der ku' få ganske alvorlige sager fremført på så soleklar og enkelt en måde, at enhver følte sig dybt inspireret til selv at læse det omtalte. Vi har det vist begge lidt på samme måde hvad Søren Ryge angår, der i mine øjne hører til blandt små kulturperler som fx Møllehave er et glimrende exempel på. Det er bare lidt ærgerligt at det altid er når folk er væk, at de værdsættes i befolkningen. Det må forøvrigt ha' været en herlig oplevelse at være medøre (et begreb næppe så fjernt fra madøret) under Kierkegaard-seminaret - og i øvrigt en stor fornøjelse at høre Møllehave læse HCA, hvilken med- og indleven! Ja, han er sgu' en perle...;)
Nå, ha' en herlig søndag, Miss Ryge..;)
mvh
Simon
|
|
|
|
