Georgeob1, that was wonderful. I was transfixed reading every word.
Memorizing stuff like that was the standard after school punishment for minor infractions in Jesuit schools. I was a bit of a cut up and, as a result, know lots more.
then it was worth the infraction, Georgeob1
Well then Letty here's just one more, this by a then well-known American iconoclast of the 19th century - a bit maudlin, but it makes a point well.
AFTER VISITING THE TOMB OF NAPOLEON
by Robert G. Ingersoll
A little while ago I stood by the grave of Napoleon, a magnificent tomb of gilt and gold, fit almost for a dead deity, and gazed upon the sarcophagus of black Egyptian marble where rests at last the ashes of the restless man. I leaned over the balustrade and thought about the career of the greatest soldier of the modern world. I saw him walking upon the banks of the Seine contemplating suicide; I saw him at Toulon; I saw him putting down the mob in the streets of Paris; I saw him at the head of the army of Italy; I saw him crossing the bridge at Lodi with the tricolor in his hand; I saw him in Egypt in the shadows of the pyramids; I saw him conquer the Alps and mingle the eagle of France with the eagles of the crags. I saw him at Marengo, at Ulm and Austerlitz. I saw him in Russia, where the infantry of the snow and the cavalry of the wild blast scattered his legions like winter's withered leaves. I saw him at Leipsic in defeat and disaster, driven by a million bayonets back upon Paris, clutched like a wild beast, banished to Elba. I saw him escape and retake an Empire by the force of his genius. I saw him upon the frightful field of Waterloo, when chance and fate combined to wreck the fortunes of their former king. And I saw him at St. Helena, with his hands crossed behind him, gazing out upon the sad and solemn sea.
I thought of the orphans and widows he had made; of the tears that had been shed for his glory and of the only woman who had ever loved him pushed from his heart by the cold hand of ambition.
And I said I would rather have been a French peasant and worn wooden shoes. I would rather have lived in a hut with a vine growing over the door and the grapes growing purple in the kisses of the autumn sun. I would rather have been that poor peasant with my loving wife by my side, knitting as the day died out of the sky, with my children upon my knee and their arms about me. I would rather have been that man and gone down to the tongueless silence of the dreamless dust than to have been that imperial impersonation of force and murder known as Napoleon the Great.And so I would ten thousand times. NOTE Robert G. Ingersoll was one of many courageous intellectual giants produced by The United States of America about whom U.S. students are taught little or nothing due to their "politically incorrect" or "controversial" ideas.
George, things don't change much over time, do they. Ingersoll, was indeed a man of courage, and that piece was fantastic. I have never read him, but I see that I have missed something by not doing so.
Tupac Shakur
Tupac Shakur defined the hip-hop scene as we know it today. What made Tupac (also known as 2pac) so special was his enormous talent, his on-screen friendly looks, and the sense that he was 'real' and talked the talk, while walking the walk. Since his death, there's been a deluge of speculation on who and why, and even if, but unfortunately still no concrete answers exist for any of these questions. Born June 16, 1971, Tupac Amaru Shakur, who was named after Tupac Amaru, the Inca Indian that was sentenced to death by the Spaniards, was originally a newborn from Brooklyn, New York. He later was transplanted and grew most of his childhood moving from inner-city town to town. The son of Black Panther political activists Afeni Shakur and Billy Garland (who was Tupac's 'deadbeat dad' and recently lost a judgment to be included in his estate), Tupac was moved from Harlem, Baltimore, and Oakland...
Occupation:
Musician, Actor
Date of Birth:
June 16, 1971
Date of Death:
September 13, 1996
Place of Birth:
Brooklyn, N.Y., USA
Place of Death:
Las Vegas, Nevada, USA-Shot to death.
His poems are read in schools, here are two of his poems.
The Rose That Grew From Concrete
Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it learned to walk without having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else cared.
I Cry
Sometimes when I'm alone I cry
Cause I am on my own.
The tears I cry are bitter and warm
They flow with life but take no form.
I cry because my heart is torn.
I find it difficult to carry on.
If I had an ear to confide in
I would cry among my treasured friends.
But who do you know that stops that long
To help another carry on.
The world moves fast and it would rather pass by
Then to stop and see what makes me cry.
So painful and sad
and sometimes...
I cry and no one cares why.
AE,they are wonderful
i love them very much
Credibility
Who could believe an ant in theory?
a giraffe in blueprint?
Ten thousand doctors of what's possible
could reason half the jungle out of being.
I speak of love, and something more,
to say we are the thing that proves itself
not against reason, but impossibly true,
and therefore to teach reason reason.
- John Ciardi
Yuppi, welcome to A2K and Setanta's recitation room.
Angel, so simple so sweet. I recall seeing the last movie that Tupac Shakur made. It was ironical and humorous.
Ah, George, John Ciardi. Had to read his translation of Dante in college.
Byron
The Prisoner Of Chillon
Sonnet on Chillon
Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind!
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art,
For there in thy habitation is the heart -
The heart which love of thee alone can bind;
And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd -
To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom,
Their country conquers with their martyrdom,
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind.
Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,
And thy sad floor an altar - for t'was trod,
Until his very steps have left a trace
Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,
By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface!
For they appeal from tyrrany to God.
Letty, the movie on Tupac that I would recommend is "Tupac, Resurrection" His story in his own words with news footage of his life, and career. Great movie Biodgraphy!
Thanks, Angel, but this movie that I am thinking about has to do with two guys who are trying to kick a habit and nothing they do turns out right.
sorry to interject, can i?
i shall be rude and just jump in and ill refer to the poetry quoted in previous pages which i must say was all very good so much so i copied almost all of it.
I've just rekindled my love of yeats, (i'm 18 so i recon this will happen at least two more times in my life) and id like to know what you though of one of his most quoted ones "he wishes for the cloths of heaven" i think its just so beautiful it just makes me smile everytime i read it, which is a lot.
Had i the heavens'embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But i, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
The Women Troubadours
From "The Women Troubadours" By Meg Bogin
The Women Troubadours, medieval singer-poets of the south of France. Roughly in the twelfth and Thirteenth centuries.
Not all troubadours were lute-strumming wanderers, or men. Some were serious court poets, and women.
The Troubadours-the word meaning "finder", "inventor"-distilled their rhymes from older sources, they were among the earliest to elevate vernacular speech to the status of a literary language. They wrote in lenga d'oc, now generally called Provencal, a language that has more in common with Portuguese or Spanish than it does with modern French.
Tibors
Born c. 1130
Tibors is probably the earliest of the women troubadours. She was the sister of the troubadour Raimbaut d'Orange and the wife of Bertrand de Baux, who was an important patron of the troubadours and lord of one of the most powerful families of Provence. This fragment is the only poem of hers to survive.
Sweet handsome friend, I can tell you truly
that I've never been without desire
since it pleased you that I have you as my courtly lover;
nor did a time ever arrive, sweet handsome friend,
when I didn't want to see you often;
nor did I ever feel regret,
nor did it ever come to pass, if you went off angry,
that I felt joy until you had come back;
nor....
Bels dous amics, ben vos posc en ver dir
que anc non fo qu'ieu estes ses desir
pos vos conven que.us tenc per fin aman;
ni anc no fo qu'ieu non agues talan,
bel dous amics, qu'ieu soven no.us vezes;
ni anc no fo sazons que m'en pentis,
ni anc no fo, se vos n'anes iratz,
qu'ieu agues joi tro que fosetz tornatz;
ni....
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Garsenda
Born c. 1170
Garsenda de Forcalquier, belong by birth to one of the leading families of Provence, by marriage to another. Her husband was Alphonse II, lord of Provence and brother of the King of Aragon. After his death she ruled Provence. Her partner in this tension remains anonymous.
You're so well-suited as a lover,
I wish you wouldn't be so hesitant;
but I'm glad my love makes you the penitent,
otherrwise I'd be the one to suffer.
Still, in the long run it's you who stands to lose
if you're not brave enough to state your case,
and you'll do both of us great harm if you refuse.
For the lady doesn't dare uncover
her true will, lest those around her think her base.
Good lady, it's your rank that makes me shudder,
your high birth that thwarts my good intent-
because of that alone I'm reticent.
You know I'd rather serve you as a brother
than do anything that would abuse you
(you see, I do know how to state my case).
If only deeds were messengers to you,
and you accepted them in wooing's place;
for noble deeds, as much as words, deserve your grace.
Vos que.m semblatz dels corals amadors,
ja non volgra que fossetz tan doptanz;
e platz me molt quar vos destreing m'amors,
qu'atressi sui eu per vos malananz.
Ez avetz dan en vostre vulpillatge
quar no.us ausatz de preiar anardir,
e faitz a vos ez a mi gran dampnatge;
que ges dompna non ausa dexcobrir
tot so qu'il vol per paor de faillir.
Bona dompna, vostr' onrada valors
mi fai temeros estar, tan es granz,
e no.m o tol negun' autra paors
qu'eu non vos prec; que.us volria enanz
tan gen servir que non fezes oltratge-
qu'aissi.m sai eu de preiar enardir-
e volria que.l faich fosson messatge,
e presessetz en loc de precs servir;
qu'us honratz faitz deu be valer un dir.
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Bieiris de Romans
First half of the 13 century?
Nothing at all is known about Bieiris de Romans except her birthplace. Romans, northeast of Montélimar, produced another troubadour, Folquet de Romans, who flourished in the first half of the thirteenth century. This chanson is addressed to another woman, named Maria, whose identity is unknown.
Lady Maria, in your merit and distinction,
joy, intelligence and perfect beauty,
hospitality and honor and distinction,
your noble speech and pleasing company,
your sweet face and merry disposition,
the sweeet look and loving expression
that exist in you without pretension
cause me to turn toward you with a pure heart.
Thus I pray you, if it please you that true love
and celebration and sweet humility
should bring me such relief with you,
if it please you, lovely woman, then give me
that which most hope and joy promises
for in you lie my desire and my heart
and from you stems all my happiness,
and because of you I'm often sighing.
And because merit and beauty raise you high
above all others (for none surpasses you),
I pray you, please, by this which does you honor,
don't grant your love to a deceitful suitor.
Lovely woman, whom joy and noble speech uplift,
and merit, to you my stanzas go,
for in you are gaiety and happiness,
and all good things one could ask of a woman.
Na Marie, pretz e fina valors,
e.l joi e.l sen e la fina beutatz,
e l' aculhir e.l pretz e las onors,
e.l gent parlar e l'avinen solatz,
e la dous car' e la gaja cuendansa,
e.l dous esgart e l'amoros semblan
que son en vos, don non avetz engansa,
me fan traire vas vos ses cor truan.
Per que vos prec, si.us platz que fin' amors
e gausiment e dous umilitatz
me posca far ab vos tan de socors,
que mi donetz, bella domna, si.us platz,
so don plus ai d'aver joi e 'esperansa;
car en vos ai mon cor e mon talan,
e per vos ai tot so qu'ai d'alegransa
e per vos vauc mantas vetz sospiran.
E car beutatz e valor vos enansa
sobra totas, qu'una no.us es denan,
vos prec, si.us platz, per so que.us es onransa,
que non ametz entendidor truan.
Bella domna, cui pretz e joi enansa
e gen parlar, a vos mas coblas man,
car en vos es gajess' e alegranssa,
e tot lo ben qu'om en domna deman.
Sorry for any mistakes. AE
Re: The Women Troubadours
AngeliqueEast wrote:E car beutatz e valor vos enansa
sobra totas, qu'una no.us es denan,
vos prec, si.us platz, per so que.us es onransa,
que non ametz entendidor truan.
Bella domna, cui pretz e joi enansa
e gen parlar, a vos mas coblas man,
car en vos es gajess' e alegranssa,
e tot lo ben qu'om en domna deman.
I love this part...
Glad you liked it Francis. Did I make many mistakes?
I would say it like this but I'm no expert...
"E car beautatz e valors vos enança
Sobre totas, qu'una n'us es denan,
Vos prèc, si'us platz, per çò que'us es onrança,
Que non ametz entendidor truan.
Bèla dòmna, cui Prètz et Jòis enança,
E gent parlar, a vos mas coblas man,
Car en vos es gaess' e alegrança
E tot lo ben qu'òm en dòmna deman."
I think I have to sift out the Provencal from the French today to better understand it. That is, how much of each the translators used. I will copy what you wrote and compare.
Thanks Francis, and have a nice day/evening. *smiles*
