Inference based on observables
30 julho, 2025
27 julho, 2025
Parece que estou a ouvir #503
Weigenlied
Brahms, 1868
Guten Abend, gut' Nacht,
mit Rosen bedacht,
mit Näglein besteckt,
schlupf' unter die Deck':
Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,
wirst du wieder geweckt.
Guten Abend, gut' Nacht,
von Englein bewacht,
die zeigen im Traum
dir Christkindleins Baum:
schlaf nun selig und süß,
schau im Traum's Paradies.
___________
Good evening, good night,
With roses covered,
With cloves adorned,
Slip under the covers.
Tomorrow morning, if God wills,
you will wake once again.
Good evening, good night.
By angels watched,
Who show you in your dream
the Christ-child's tree.
Sleep now blissfully and sweetly,
see paradise in your dreams.
Brahms, 1868
Guten Abend, gut' Nacht,
mit Rosen bedacht,
mit Näglein besteckt,
schlupf' unter die Deck':
Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,
wirst du wieder geweckt.
Guten Abend, gut' Nacht,
von Englein bewacht,
die zeigen im Traum
dir Christkindleins Baum:
schlaf nun selig und süß,
schau im Traum's Paradies.
___________
Good evening, good night,
With roses covered,
With cloves adorned,
Slip under the covers.
Tomorrow morning, if God wills,
you will wake once again.
Good evening, good night.
By angels watched,
Who show you in your dream
the Christ-child's tree.
Sleep now blissfully and sweetly,
see paradise in your dreams.
25 julho, 2025
24 julho, 2025
23 julho, 2025
22 julho, 2025
21 julho, 2025
Palavras lidas #631
This is my letter to the World...
by Emily Dickinson
This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me—
The simple News that Nature told—
With tender Majesty
Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see—
For love of Her—Sweet—countrymen—
Judge tenderly—of Me
by Emily Dickinson
This is my letter to the World
That never wrote to Me—
The simple News that Nature told—
With tender Majesty
Her Message is committed
To Hands I cannot see—
For love of Her—Sweet—countrymen—
Judge tenderly—of Me
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
20 julho, 2025
Ditto #626
To restore the human subject at the center, we must deepen a case history to a narrative or tale; only then do we have a ‘who’ as well as a ‘what,’ a real person, a patient, in relation to disease.
--Oliver Sacks
19 julho, 2025
18 julho, 2025
17 julho, 2025
Parece que estou a ouvir #502
La Folie
The Stranglers
Bonsoir
Ton véhicule n'a pas l'air d'avoir de passager
Peux-tu, veux-tu me recevoir
Sans trop te déranger
Mes bottes ne feront pas trop d'échos dans ton couloir
Pas de bruit avec mes adieux
Pas pour nous les moments perdus
En attendant un incertain au revoir
Parce que j'ai la folie
Oui j'ai la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Il était une fois un étudiant
Qui voulait fort, comme en littérature
Sa copine, elle était si douce
Qu'il pouvait presque, en la mangeant
Rejeter tous les vices
Repousser tous les mals
Détruire toutes beautés
Qui par ailleurs, n'avait jamais été ses complices
Parce qu'il avait la folie
Il avait la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Et si parfois l'on fait des confessions
À qui les raconter
Même le bon Dieu nous a laisse tomber
Un autre endroit, une autre vie
Eh oui, c'est une autre histoire
Mais à qui tout raconter
Chez les ombres de la nuit
Au petit matin, au petit gris
Combien de crimes ont été commis
Contre les mensonges et soi disant les lois du cœur
Combien sont là à cause de la folie
Parce qu'ils ont la folie
Ils ont la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
La folie
La folie
La folie
La folie
La folie
The Stranglers
Bonsoir
Ton véhicule n'a pas l'air d'avoir de passager
Peux-tu, veux-tu me recevoir
Sans trop te déranger
Mes bottes ne feront pas trop d'échos dans ton couloir
Pas de bruit avec mes adieux
Pas pour nous les moments perdus
En attendant un incertain au revoir
Parce que j'ai la folie
Oui j'ai la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Il était une fois un étudiant
Qui voulait fort, comme en littérature
Sa copine, elle était si douce
Qu'il pouvait presque, en la mangeant
Rejeter tous les vices
Repousser tous les mals
Détruire toutes beautés
Qui par ailleurs, n'avait jamais été ses complices
Parce qu'il avait la folie
Il avait la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Et si parfois l'on fait des confessions
À qui les raconter
Même le bon Dieu nous a laisse tomber
Un autre endroit, une autre vie
Eh oui, c'est une autre histoire
Mais à qui tout raconter
Chez les ombres de la nuit
Au petit matin, au petit gris
Combien de crimes ont été commis
Contre les mensonges et soi disant les lois du cœur
Combien sont là à cause de la folie
Parce qu'ils ont la folie
Ils ont la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
Oui c'est la folie
La folie
La folie
La folie
La folie
La folie
16 julho, 2025
15 julho, 2025
14 julho, 2025
13 julho, 2025
12 julho, 2025
11 julho, 2025
Palavras lidas #630
Carrying Water to the Field
by Joyce Sutphen
And on those hot afternoons in July,
when my father was out on the tractor
cultivating rows of corn, my mother
would send us out with a Mason jar
filled with ice and water, a dish towel
wrapped around it for insulation.
Like a rocket launched to an orbiting
planet, we would cut across the fields
in a trajectory calculated to intercept—
or, perhaps, even—surprise him
in his absorption with the row and the
turning always over earth beneath the blade.
He would look up and see us, throttle
down, stop, and step from the tractor
with the grace of a cowboy dismounting
his horse, and receive gratefully the jar
of water, ice cubes now melted into tiny
shards, drinking it down in a single gulp,
while we watched, mission accomplished.
by Joyce Sutphen
And on those hot afternoons in July,
when my father was out on the tractor
cultivating rows of corn, my mother
would send us out with a Mason jar
filled with ice and water, a dish towel
wrapped around it for insulation.
Like a rocket launched to an orbiting
planet, we would cut across the fields
in a trajectory calculated to intercept—
or, perhaps, even—surprise him
in his absorption with the row and the
turning always over earth beneath the blade.
He would look up and see us, throttle
down, stop, and step from the tractor
with the grace of a cowboy dismounting
his horse, and receive gratefully the jar
of water, ice cubes now melted into tiny
shards, drinking it down in a single gulp,
while we watched, mission accomplished.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
10 julho, 2025
08 julho, 2025
07 julho, 2025
Parece que estou a ouvir #501
Beautiful James
Placebo
Bring me back to life
Never let me go
Your troubles and your heart strife
I saw them
Take me by the hand
As we cross through battlefields
Nobody understands
'Cause there's nobody at the wheel
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you
Everybody lies
One-hundred times a day
The silence in your hard eyes
Is far too rare to give away
And it's exactly why I stay
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you
Though I may have to
I may have to
I may have to
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you
Placebo
Bring me back to life
Never let me go
Your troubles and your heart strife
I saw them
Take me by the hand
As we cross through battlefields
Nobody understands
'Cause there's nobody at the wheel
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you
Everybody lies
One-hundred times a day
The silence in your hard eyes
Is far too rare to give away
And it's exactly why I stay
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you
Though I may have to
I may have to
I may have to
Beautiful James
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you (don't wanna wake you)
Beautiful James (don't wanna wake you)
I don't wanna wake you
06 julho, 2025
05 julho, 2025
03 julho, 2025
02 julho, 2025
Palavras lidas #629
The Months
by Linda Pastan
March
When the Earl King came
to steal away the child
in Goethe's poem, the father said
don't be afraid,
it's just the wind...
As if it weren't the wind
that blows away the tender
fragments of this world—
leftover leaves in the corners
of the garden, a Lenten Rose
that thought it safe
to bloom so early.
April
In the pastel blur
of the garden,
the cherry
and redbud
shake rain
from their delicate
shoulders, as petals
of pink
dogwood
wash down the ditches
in dreamlike
rivers of color.
May
Mayapple, daffodil,
hyacinth, lily,
and by the front
porch steps
every billowing
shade of purple
and lavender lilac,
my mother's favorite flower,
sweet breath drifting through
the open windows:
perfume of memory-conduit
of spring.
by Linda Pastan
March
When the Earl King came
to steal away the child
in Goethe's poem, the father said
don't be afraid,
it's just the wind...
As if it weren't the wind
that blows away the tender
fragments of this world—
leftover leaves in the corners
of the garden, a Lenten Rose
that thought it safe
to bloom so early.
April
In the pastel blur
of the garden,
the cherry
and redbud
shake rain
from their delicate
shoulders, as petals
of pink
dogwood
wash down the ditches
in dreamlike
rivers of color.
May
Mayapple, daffodil,
hyacinth, lily,
and by the front
porch steps
every billowing
shade of purple
and lavender lilac,
my mother's favorite flower,
sweet breath drifting through
the open windows:
perfume of memory-conduit
of spring.
Etiquetas:
Palavras lidas,
Poesia-Poetry
01 julho, 2025
Ditto #624
Each culture has its own new possibilities of self-expression which arise, ripen, decay and never return.
--Oswald Spengler
Subscrever:
Mensagens (Atom)