Friday, April 04, 2008

Wordy Wednesday III

Another Wordy Wednesday then. And as it is known latest since Donna Hightower's 'This World is a Mess': Why not on a Thursday?

Unlike last week today I shall listen to my stomach (German idiom). And this is what my stomach said the other week: Careful, Sean. Less is more.

Thus, instead of ten remarkable postings and perhaps too much reading stuff, tonight I do commend just five. Here we go:

1. To help us getting in the right mood for this year's Olympic Games, The Little Man let us for 7:04 minutes feel the wonderful spirit of those Olympic Games 72 years ago the 'leaders' of China are absolutely determined to surpass.

2. This is a great pleasure for me. Very probably he will leniently smile when reading 'this man is no blogger; he is a poet'. But that is what he is.
To visit his site every morning has (almost) become a ritual. And I am glad, Floots gave me permission to 'pinch' one of his recent gems. Here it is:




Now, is that poetry?!

3. Back to prosa. Late, only yesterday night, I noticed Ian Appleby's latest post: No nukes are good nukes. As (almost) always: Thought provoking.

4. And now to my badly neglected friend Erkan who's output is such amazing that one could daily spend hours on his site. To cut it short: I do admire his professionalism, his wonderful friendliness - and, just to make him happy - I wish Besiktas to become Turkish champion. :) Some days ago Erkan put the focus on following question: Should Wilders become censored?

5. And finally, a painting by the poet I introduced you to the other week: Janice Thomson. It's to be found on her second blogsite: Gray Sky Over Mountains.

And now, I hope to have found a nice little mixture. Enjoy, and have a marvellous week - until next 'Wordy Wednesday' - and if it will happen to be a Friday. :)

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

A coffee for The Poor Mouth

Hard times. :) Only five days after his birthday, Jams O'Donnell, master of The Poor Mouth, celebrates his blog's second anniversary.

Congratulations, Jams, and voilà, as promised, here's your anti-hangover-coffee.


By turning the mug you'd, of course, read:

When health is bad and your heart feels strange,
And your face is pale and wan,
When doctors say that you need a change,
A PINT OF PLAIN IS YOUR ONLY MAN.

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

Wanderers Night Song

Today's evening thought, posted by the famous Khan Semaj Mahgih spontaneously reminded me of Wandrers Nachtlied / Wanderers Night Song by Goethe.



Über allen Gipfeln
Ist Ruh',
In allen Wipfeln
Spürest du
Kaum einen Hauch.
Die Vöglein schweigen im Walde.
Warte nur, balde
Ruhest du auch.

Over all peaks
Reigns calm,
In all treetops
Senseth thou
Barely a breath.
The birdies keep silent in the wood.
Simply wait, soon
Resteth thou, too.

translated by McSeanagall :)

Flann fooled you, folks

I'll not tell which pseudonym he does currently prefer, but I may again say those few people still taking for granted Flann O'Brien died April 1st 1966, can look back on a remarkable long career as April fools.



Fact is, furthermore, that only last midnight Flanny, Tetrapilotomos and I as well as a certain chap who asked to remain incognito met in, at and around Seanhenge, having some pints of plain and, of course, at one stage of our vivid conversation Flann would raise his voice and not only enjoy our ears, hearts and grey cells but animate the rami zygomatici and rami buccales of nervus facialis to massively innervate our musculi risorii by declaiming following legendary dialogue:
The Plain People of Ireland: Isn't the German very like the Irish? Very guttural and so on?

Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: People say that the German language and the Irish language is very guttural tongues.
Myself: Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: The sounds is all guttural do you understand.
Myself. Yes.
The Plain People of Ireland: Very guttural languages the pair of them the Gaelic and the German.
* * *

And now - although it is most unlikely they exist - to all those who happen to not being in possession of the master's complete œvre: Saddle your ponies, folks, and hurry up. The friendly, most well-educated and -sorted bookseller just round the corner will be happy to fill the gaps of your education and in your bookshelf.