That's a great story and the article was really touching. I'm glad you posted the link Freckle.
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
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That's a great story and the article was really touching. I'm glad you posted the link Freckle.
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Hes thats definitely too modern a hymn for the old Alfer. I think the most modern hymn we had was Lord of the Dance (not the Michael Flatley vehicle either :rolleyes: ) but the school was very traditional and the Religious Knowldege teacher objected to it and branded it " a work of the Devil" :DQuote:
Originally Posted by Hes
That's lovely Hes, thank you . Did you also read Don Paterson's article in the Guardian Review on Shakespeare's sonnets - quite thought provoking?Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Found this recently....
Take breath away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Do not take away the rose,
the lanceflower that you pluck,
the water that suddenly
bursts forth in your joy,
the sudden wave
of silver born in you.
My struggle is harsh and I come back
with eyes tired
at times from having seen
the unchanging earth,
but when your laughter enters
it rises to the sky seeking me
and it opens for me all
the doors of life.
My love, in the darkest
hour your laughter
opens, and if suddenly
you see my blood staining
the stones of the street,
laugh, because your laughter
will be for my hands
like a fresh sword.
Next to the sea in the autumn,
your laughter must raise
its foamy cascade,
and in the spring, love,
I want your laughter like
the flower I was waiting for,
the blue flower, the rose
of my echoing country.
Laugh at the night,
at the day, at the moon,
laugh at the twisted
streets of the island,
laugh at this clumsy
boy who loves you,
but when I open
my eyes and close them,
when my steps go,
when my steps return,
deny me bread, air,
ligh, spring,
but never your laughter
for I would die.
Pablo Neruda
I have of late, —but wherefore I know not,—
lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises;
and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition
that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory;
this most excellent canopy, the air, look you,
this brave o’erhanging firmament,
this majestical roof fretted with golden fire,
—why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
What a piece of work is man!
How noble in reason!
How infinite in faculties!
In form and moving, how express and admirable!
In action how like an angel!
In apprehension, how like a god!
The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!
And yet, to me, what is this quintessence of dust?
Man delights not me; no,
nor Woman neither
lovely Hes you make writing seem effortless! Mossy I need to check out the Don Paterson article sounds interesting :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
what a brilliant choice Zoot I really enjoyed being reminded of this again this morning...I like the fact that this thread has shades of both light and in this case darkness! and nothing sums up a sense of alienation and disappointment such as this little speech from hamlet.... thankyou!Quote:
Originally Posted by ZootHornRollo
I love Richard E Grant's delivery of it at the end of Withnail & I: bottle of claret in one hand, umbrella in the other, bawling through the railings of regents' park zoo at the wolvesQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Oooo yes! its lush isn't it?..............http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zEVZGuU3BUQuote:
Originally Posted by ZootHornRollo
ps i love this character (the dealer) but can't recall his name....so funny.............http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rydr6...eature=related
Danny: 'Headhunter to his friends.... Headhunter to everyone, he doesn't have any friends ....'Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Just watched Country Tracks and was interested to learn that Sylvia Plath is buried in Heptonstall above Hebden Bridge. She commited suicide at 30 years old and apparantly didn't like Heptonstall so Ted Hughes had her buried there, what a charmer.