Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sat Mar 28, 2020 11:14 pm

Theories of evolution must provide for the creative acts which brought such theories into existence.”
— Michael Polanyi
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed Apr 22, 2020 8:49 pm

There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to seduce our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’

by Dante Alighieri
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Tue Apr 28, 2020 7:53 pm

Black Death poem anynomous

{ up to 200 million people died from it, }


Black death
Black death

"Death lives, tangled in the forest of darkness.
The black bloodhound stalks
the beasts in your dreaming.
The sun will be sucked from your sight
to blind you..."
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed Apr 29, 2020 3:24 am

.. "was late in December, the sky turned to snow
All round the day was going down slow
Night like a river beginning to flow
I felt the beat of my mind go
Drifting into time passages
Years go falling in the fading light
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
Time passages
There's something back here that you left behind
Oh time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn
Don't know why you should feel
That there's something to learn
It's just a game that you play
Well the picture is changing
Now you're part of a crowd
They're laughing at something
And the music's loud
A girl comes towards you
You once used to know
You reach out your hand
But you're all alone, in those
Time passages
I know you're in there, you're just out of sight
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight".
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed Apr 29, 2020 3:40 am

was late in December, the sky turned to snow
All round the day was going down slow
Night like a river beginning to flow
I felt the beat of my mind go
Drifting into time passages
Years go falling in the fading light
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
Time passages
There's something back here that you left behind
Oh time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn
Don't know why you should feel
That there's something to learn
It's just a game that you play
Well the picture is changing
Now you're part of a crowd
They're laughing at something
And the music's loud
A girl comes towards you
You once used to know
You reach out your hand
But you're all alone, in those
Time passages
I know you're in there, you're just out of sight
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight


https://youtu.be/Hh6V_BqEUjo


was late in December, the sky turned to snow
All round the day was going down slow
Night like a river beginning to flow
I felt the beat of my mind go
Drifting into time passages
Years go falling in the fading light
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
Well I'm not the kind to live in the past
The years run too short and the days too fast
The things you lean on are the things that don't last
Well it's just now and then my line gets cast into these
Time passages
There's something back here that you left behind
Oh time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
Hear the echoes and feel yourself starting to turn
Don't know why you should feel
That there's something to learn
It's just a game that you play
Well the picture is changing
Now you're part of a crowd
They're laughing at something
And the music's loud
A girl comes towards you
You once used to know
You reach out your hand
But you're all alone, in those
Time passages
I know you're in there, you're just out of sight
Time passages
Buy me a ticket on the last train home tonight
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed Apr 29, 2020 6:47 pm

However apparently insignificant the event, whether it be the ring of tobacco ash surrounding the table, the direction from which the wild geese first appeared, or a series of seemingly meaningless human movements, he couldn’t afford to take his eyes off it and must note it all down, since only by doing so could he hope not to vanish one day and fall a silent captive to the infernal arrangement whereby the world decomposes but is at the same time constantly in the process of self-construction.” ― Satantango


Krasznahorkai Laszlo
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed May 06, 2020 11:35 pm

It was amazing, astounding, this loss of communication with the world. It was exactly as if the world had ceased, been blotted out." ~ The Scarlet Plague by Jack London
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sun May 10, 2020 7:06 pm

Anguish

Is it possible that She will have me forgiven for ambitions continually crushed,--
that an affluent end will make up for the ages of indigence,--
that a day of success will lull us to sleep on the shame of our fatal incompetence?
(O palms! diamond!-- Love! strength!-- higher than all joys and all fame!--
in any case, everywhere-- demon, god,-- Youth of this being: myself!)
That the accidents of scientific wonders and the movements of social brotherhood
will be cherished as the progressive restitution of our original freedom?...
But the Vampire who makes us behave orders us to enjoy ourselves
with what she leaves us, or in other words to be more amusing.
Rolled in our wounds through the wearing air and the sea;
in torments through the silence of the murderous waters and air;
in tortures that laugh in the terrible surge of their silence.

by Arthur Rimbaud
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sun May 10, 2020 8:15 pm

The Vampire
You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,
To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
— Infamous bitch to whom I'm bound
Like the convict to his chain,
Like the stubborn gambler to the game,
Like the drunkard to his wine,
Like the maggots to the corpse,
— Accurst, accurst be you!
I begged the swift poniard
To gain for me my liberty,
I asked perfidious poison
To give aid to my cowardice.
Alas! both poison and the knife
Contemptuously said to me:
"You do not deserve to be freed
From your accursed slavery,
Fool! — if from her domination
Our efforts could deliver you,
Your kisses would resuscitate
The cadaver of your vampire!"


Charles Baudelaire
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Wed May 13, 2020 1:17 am

Hymns To The Night : 1

Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living,
sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light -- with its colors, its rays and
undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant-
world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and
floats dancing in its blue flood -- the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the
thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning multiform beast inhales it -- but
more than all, the lordly stranger with the sense-filled eyes, the swaying walk,
and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses
every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable
alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. -- Its
presence alone reveals the marvelous splendor of the kingdoms of the world.
Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world --
sunk in a deep grave -- waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom
blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with
the ashes. -- The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of
childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray
garments, like an evening vapor after the sunset. In other regions the light has
pitched its joyous tents. What if it should never return to its children, who wait
for it with the faith of innocence?
What springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my heart, and stills the soft air
of sadness? Dost thou also take a pleasure in us, dark Night? What holdest thou
under thy mantle, that with hidden power affects my soul? Precious balm drips
from thy hand out of its bundle of poppies. Thou upliftest the heavy-laden wings
of the soul. Darkly and inexpressibly are we moved -- joy-startled, I see a grave
face that, tender and worshipful, inclines toward me, and, amid manifold
entangled locks, reveals the youthful loveliness of the Mother. How poor and
childish a thing seems to me now the Light -- how joyous and welcome the
departure of the day -- because the Night turns away from thee thy servants,
you now strew in the gulfs of space those flashing globes, to proclaim thy
omnipotence -- thy return -- in seasons of thy absence. More heavenly than
those glittering stars we hold the eternal eyes which the Night hath opened
within us. Farther they see than the palest of those countless hosts -- needing no
aid from the light, they penetrate the depths of a loving soul -- that fills a loftier
region with bliss ineffable. Glory to the queen of the world, to the great prophet
of the holier worlds, to the guardian of blissful love -- she sends thee to me --
thou tenderly beloved -- the gracious sun of the Night, -- now am I awake -- for
now am I thine and mine -- thou hast made me know the Night


Novalis
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sat Jun 06, 2020 6:31 pm

It is not right that everyone should read the pages which follow; only a few will be able to savour this bitter fruit with impunity. Consequently, shrinking soul, turn on your heels and go back before penetrating further into such uncharted, perilous wastelands. Listen well to what I say: turn on your heels and go back, not forward,[...]
Comte de Lautréamont
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Fri Jun 26, 2020 4:46 am

At Sea

Poem By Aleister Crowley

As night hath stars, more rare than ships
In ocean, faint from pole to pole,
So all the wonder of her lips
Hints her innavigable soul.

Such lights she gives as guide my barque;
But I am swallowed in the swell
Of her heart's ocean, sagely dark,
That holds my heaven and holds my hell.

In her I live, a mote minute
Dancing a moment in the sun:
In her I die, a sterile shoot
Of nightshade in oblivion.

In her my elf dissolves, a grain
Of salt cast careless in the sea;
My passion purifies my pain
To peace past personality.

Love of my life, God grant the years
Confirm the chrism - rose to rood!
Anointing loves, asperging tears
In sanctifying solitude!

Man is so infinitely small
In all these stars, determinate.
Maker and moulder of them all,
Man is so infinitely great!

by Aleister Crowley
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Fri Jun 26, 2020 6:04 pm

"Men do not accept their prophets and slay them, but they love their martyrs and worship those whom they have tortured to death."

Feodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881), Russian novelist. Father Zossima, in The Brothers Karamazov, bk. 6, ch. 3, sct. H (1879-1880), trans. by David Magarshak (1958).
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Sat Jul 04, 2020 7:00 pm

would you were the hollow ship

fashioned to bear the cargo of my love

the unrelenting glove

hurled in defiance at our blackest world

or that great banner mad unfurled

the poet plants upon the hill of time

or else amphora for the gold of life

liquid and naked as a virgin wife.

Yourself the prize

I gird with Fire

The Great White Ruin

Of my Desire.

I burn to gold

fierce and unerring as a conquering sword

I burn to gold

fierce and undaunted as a lion lord

seeking your Bed

and leave to them the

burning of the dead.



Harry Crosby



>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


13 ways to look at a blackbird :







I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.

II
I was of three minds,
Like a tree
In which there are three blackbirds.

III
The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds.
It was a small part of the pantomime.

IV
A man and a woman
Are one.
A man and a woman and a blackbird
Are one.

V
I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of inflections
Or the beauty of innuendos,
The blackbird whistling
Or just after.

VI
Icicles filled the long window
With barbaric glass.
The shadow of the blackbird
Crossed it, to and fro.
The mood
Traced in the shadow
An indecipherable cause.

VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?

VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.

IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.

X
At the sight of blackbirds
Flying in a green light,
Even the bawds of euphony
Would cry out sharply.

XI
He rode over Connecticut
In a glass coach.
Once, a fear pierced him,
In that he mistook
The shadow of his equipage
For blackbirds.

XII
The river is moving.
The blackbird must be flying.

XIII
It was evening all afternoon.
It was snowing
And it was going to snow.
The blackbird sat
In the cedar-limbs.

-Wallace Stevens




Hungarian Diva playing a gypsy wedding:


https://youtu.be/fJJmd98TBeg


Translated : "Far is the forest, that you flew to from me"
Last edited by Meno_ on Mon Jul 06, 2020 12:48 am, edited 3 times in total.
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby MagsJ » Sat Jul 04, 2020 7:21 pm

Meno_ wrote:"Men do not accept their prophets and slay them, but they love their martyrs and worship those whom they have tortured to death."

Feodor Dostoyevsky (1821-1881), Russian novelist. Father Zossima, in The Brothers Karamazov, bk. 6, ch. 3, sct. H (1879-1880), trans. by David Magarshak (1958).

Never be a martyr.. hated in life, but loved and worshipped in death. That’s no fun.. no fun, in being a Matyr, and for who’s cause?

Dostoyevsky weren’t wrong.
The possibility of anything we can imagine existing is endless and infinite.. - MagsJ

I haven't got the time to spend the time reading something that is telling me nothing, as I will never be able to get back that time, and I may need it for something at some point in time.. Wait, What! - MagsJ


Nobilis Est Ira Leonis | Om Surya Devaay namah | Manus justa nardus
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Re: Der Herbsttag by Johann Heinrich Voss

Postby Meno_ » Mon Jul 06, 2020 7:15 pm

"might have seen, (not on a movie or television screen), but had looked where the mind flickers when I am not there to block the view. In that place, where my dreams see through a darkling glass, skins and organs put on new clothes, mind-bones structure the unfinished scaffolding of forgotten lives. Life-stories just threads in a flying carpet, a legend for a Navaho shaman to drape about his shoulders. Perhaps reincarnation is a book of dreams for insomniacs. I watch for facets in a prism, each one is cut into a hundred views, a casting of what was or could be. There are names and places, all sorts of leasing’s destined to always by-pass each other until all arrive as one in one multifaceted picture. Those faces mean nothing much until the mirror reveals your eyes watching, as if you had just walked through a door in a mega-mansion you helped build. "

Shaman poem
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