"When you have faults, do not fear to abandon them."

Nina Simone - Evr'y time we say goodbye

Ελευθερία Αρβανιτάκη ~ Έφυγες νωρίς

Alone - Sara Teasdale

I am alone, in spite of love,
In spite of all I take and give—
In spite of all your tenderness,
Sometimes I am not glad to live.

I am alone, as though I stood
On the highest peak of the tired gray world,
About me only swirling snow,
Above me, endless space unfurled;

With earth hidden and heaven hidden,
And only my own spirit's pride
To keep me from the peace of those
Who are not lonely, having died.

Ερωτας και θάνατος - Δημήτρης Λιαντίνης

Κάθε φορά που ερωτεύονται δύο άνθρωποι, γεννιέται το σύμπαν. Ή, για να μικρύνω το βεληνεκές, κάθε φορά που ερωτεύουνται δύο άνθρωποι γεννιέται ένας αστέρας με όλους τους πρωτοπλανήτες του.

Και κάθε φορά που πεθαίνει ένας άνθρωπος, πεθαίνει το σύμπαν. Ή, για να μικρύνω το βεληνεκές, κάθε φορά που πεθαίνει ένας άνθρωπος στη γη, στον ουρανό εκρήγνυται ένας αστέρας supernova.

Έτσι, από την άποψη της ουσίας ο έρωτας και ο θάνατος δεν είναι απλώς στοιχεία υποβάθρου. Δεν είναι δύο απλές καταθέσεις της ενόργανης ζωής.

Πιο πλατιά, και πιο μακρυά, και πιο βαθιά, ο έρωτας και ο θάνατος είναι δύο πανεπίσκοποι νόμοι ανάμεσα στους οποίους ξεδιπλώνεται η διαλεκτική του σύμπαντος. Το δραστικό προτσές δηλαδή ολόκληρης της ανόργανης και της ενόργανης ύλης. Είναι το Α και το Ω του σύμπαντος κόσμου και του σύμπαντος θεού. Είναι το “είναι” και το “μηδέν” του όντος. Τα δύο μισά και αδελφά συστατικά του.

Έξω από τον έρωτα και το θάνατο πρωταρχικό δεν υπάρχει τίποτα άλλο. Αλλά ούτε είναι και νοητό να υπάρχει. Τα ενενήντα δύο στοιχεία της ύλης εγίνανε, για να υπηρετήσουν τον έρωτα και το θάνατο. Και οι τέσσερες θεμελιώδεις δυνάμεις της φύσης, ηλεκτρομαγνητική, ασθενής, ισχυρή, βαρυτική, λειτουργούν για να υπηρετήσουν τον έρωτα και το θάνατο.

Όλα τα όντα, τα φαινόμενα, και οι δράσεις του κόσμου είναι εκφράσεις, σαρκώσεις, μερικότητες, συντελεσμοί, εντελέχειες του έρωτα και του θανάτου.

Γι αυτό ο έρωτας και ο θάνατος είναι αδελφοί κα ομοιότητες, είναι συμπληρώματα, και οι δύο όψεις του ιδίου προσώπου.

Le rendez-vous - Paul Claudel

Forêt profonde...
Il fait si sombre...
J'entends quelqu'un avec moi qui marmotte
et qui fait des gestes,
Quelle est cette ombre?
La pluie qui tombe.
Le viellard marche tout noir entre les arbres
gigantesques.

L'oiseau s'est tû.
J'ai trop vécu.
C'est la nuit et non plus le jour.
Fille du ciel
La tourterelle
Chante le désespoir et l'amour.

La mer d'Irlande,
Brocéliande,1
J'ai quitté la vague et la grève.
La plainte lourde,
La cloche sourde,
Tout cela n'est plus qu'un rêve.

Bois ténébreux,
Temple de Dieu,
Que j'aime votre silence!
Mais c'est plus beau
Quand de nouveau
S'élève ce soupir immense!

Au fond du monde
La foudre gronde,
Tout est menace et mystère.
Mais plein de goût
Du rendez-vous,
Je marche vers le tonnerre!

Ο ΓΛΑΡΟΣ ΙΩΝΑΘΑΝ ΛΙΒΙΝΓΚΣΤΟΝ

Sieste - Paul Claudel

Deux heures après diner
Il est temps de se reposer

Ni mouvement aucun bruit
Deux heures après midi

Un chien prudent vient inspecter
La terrasse du café

Tout est fermé à la Mairie
Item à la gendarmerie

Dans le vide de l'église
Le crucifix agonise

Le jet d'eau chez le notaire
Suit son rêve protocolaire

Mais la chambre silencieuse
Dégage une odeur ombreuse

De feuillage et de lilas
De cire et de chocolat.

Dans la corbeille à ouvrage
Le livre abandonné surnage

Et l'œil sous le long cil éteint
Tenant sa main avec sa main

Insensible à travers le store
Au rayon qui la colore

Sommeille dans le demi-soleil
Une jeune fille vermeille.

Keep a green tree in your heart and perhaps a singing bird will come.

The Voice - Sara Teasdale

Atoms as old as stars,

mutation on mutation,

millions and millions of cells

dividing yet still the same,

from ancient Eastern rivers,

from turquoise tropic seas,

unto myself I came.

My spirit like my flesh

sprang from a thousand sources,

from cave-man, hunter and sheperd,

from Karnak, Cyprus, Rome;

The living thoughts in me

spring from dead men and women,

forgotten time out of mind

and many as bubbles of foam.

Here for a moment's space

into the light out of darkness,

I come and they come with me

finding words with my breath;

From the windsom of many life-times

I hear them cry: "Forever

Seek for Beauty, she only

Fight with man against Death!"

Since there is no escape - Sara Teasdale

My body will be utterly destroyed,

This hand I love as I have loved a friend,

This body I tended, wept with and enjoyed;

Since there is no escape even for me

Who love life with a love too sharp to bear:

The scent of orchards in the rain, the sea

And hours alone too still and sure for prayer --

Since darkness waits for me, then all the more

Let me go down as waves sweep to the shore

In pride; and let me sing with my last breath;

In these few hours of light I lift my head;

Life is my lover -- I shall leave the dead

If there is any way to baffle death.

somewhere i have never travelled - e.e. cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture

compels me with the colour of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens; only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

I have loved hours at sea - Sara Teasdale

I have loved hours at sea, gray cities,

The fragile secret of a flower,

Music, the making of a poem

That gave me heaven for an hour;

First stars above a snowy hill,

Voices of people kindly and wise,

And the great look of love, long hidden,

Found at last in meeting eyes.

I have loved much and been loved deeply --

Oh when my spirit's fire burns low,

Leave me the darkness and the stillness,

I shall be tired and glad to go.

To A Stranger - Walt Whitman

Passing stranger! you do not know

How longingly I look upon you,

You must be he I was seeking,

Or she I was seeking

(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surely

Lived a life of joy with you,

All is recall’d as we flit by each other,

Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,

Were a boy with me or a girl with me,

I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become

not yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,

face, flesh as we pass,

You take of my beard, breast, hands,

in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you

when I sit alone or wake at night, alone

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Unquiet Grave - Kate Rusby

Wild Mountain Thyme - Kate Rusby

I am a sculptor, a molder of form.

In every moment I shape an idol.

But then, in front of you, I melt them down

I can rouse a hundred forms

and fill them with spirit,

but when I look into your face,

I want to throw them in the fire.

My souls spills into yours and is blended.

Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,

I cherish it.

Every drop of blood I spill

informs the earth,

I merge with my Beloved

when I participate in love.

In this house of mud and water,

my heart has fallen to ruins.

Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.

It is the soul's light which is natural intelligence.

Hazarat Inayat Knan

Les chambres intérieures de l'âme sont comme la chambre noire du photographe. On ne peut y séjourner longtemps, sinon cela devient la cellule du névrosé.

...I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing facade are all being rolled away–
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious but conscious of nothing–
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth...

T.S. Eliot (East Coker)

Ace Of Bace - Life is a Flower

Rumi: Sufi Poem

Rumi: Say I Am You (Sufi poem)

"What strikes the oyster shell does not damage the pearl"

Rumi

"Ο άνθρωπος σήμερον αναπτύσσεται τεραστίως. Εις ηλικίαν ολίγων ετών γνωρίζει όσα δεν εγνώριζαν οι γέροι των περασμένων γενεών. Νέος ακόμη έχει χλωμιάσει απάνω σε ογκώδη βιβλία κι έχει δηλητηριασθεί με τους μεγάλους πόθους και με τη δίψα τη μεγάλη των νεώτερων ψυχών... Πως μπορεί να νοιώσει κανείς σήμερα την αφελή χαράν των προγόνων;

Εκουραστήκαμεν από τη σοφία των βιβλίων, έρχονται και παρέρχονται οι ποιηταί και μας αφίνουν τα δάκρυά των και τις αμφιβολίες των κι εκουραστήκαμε πλειά να διαβάζομε και να ρωτούμε και να περιμένομεν απαντήσεις.

Ποιός μπορεί ν'αγαπήση σήμερα τη μεγάλη αγάπη των πατέρων του, τη φαιδράν αγάπη των προγόνων του, αφού μέσα στα βιβλία και τις ψυχολογικές αναλύσεις των νεωτέρων συγγραφέων είδε διακεκορευμένα όλα τα μυστικά της αγάπης;

'Οταν τα χείλη της πλησιάζουν τα χείλη μου ξέρω -μου είπαν- τι σκέπτεται, τι όργια πλάσσονται κάτω από το δέρμα της.

'Οταν πηγαίνω στην Εκκλησιά ξέρω -μου είπαν- τι κρύβεται μέσα στο άγιο Δισκοπότηρο, τι σκέπτονται τα μάτια των ιερέων και γιατί πηγαίνουν οι γυναίκες.

'Ολα τα ξέρει ο σημερινός άνθρωπος. Τίποτε δεν αφήκαν παρθένο στη ψυχή μας. Η εξουσία, η Επιστήμη, η δόξα δεν μας αρκούν πλειά. Κάτι άλλο ζητούμε."

ΝΙΚΟΣ ΚΑΖΑΝΤΖΑΚΗΣ, 1906, σε ηλικία μόλις 23 ετών...

Nous voyageons pour chercher d'autres états, d'autres vies, d'autres âmes.

Anaïs Nin

MI MANCHI - Andrea Bocelli live

Resta Qui (Stay with me) - Andrea Bocelli

La creazione degli animali - Tintoretto

Il Cantico delle Creature - San Francesco di Assisi

Il Cantico delle Creature - Angelo Branduardi

Iacopone da Todi

Iacopone da Todi από τον Paolo Uccello

'Amore, Amore' grida tutto 'l mondo,
'Amore, Amore' onne cosa clama.
Amore, Amore, tanto si prefondo,
chi plu t'abraccia, sempre plu t'abrama!
Amor, Amor, tu si cerchio retundo,
con tutto cor, chi c'entra, sempre t'ama;
ché tu si stam'e trama, chi t'ama per vistire,
cun sì dolce sentire che sempre grida 'Amore!'
Amore, Amore, quanto tu me fai,
Amore, Amore, no 'l pozzo patere!
Amore, Amore, tanto me tte dài,
Amore, Amor, ben credo morire!
Amore, Amore, tanto preso m'ài,
Amore, Amore, famme en te transire!
Amor, dolce languire, morir plu delettoso,
Amor medecaroso, anegam'enn amore....

Iacopone da Todi 1233-1306

Angelo Branduardi - Vanità di Vanità

Vivere A. Bocelli ---G. Trovato

Andrea Bocelli - Canto Della Terra

Silent Moon

Roxette - Listen To Your Heart

It Must Have Been Love by Roxette

Ανδριάνα Μπάμπαλη - Είσαι Εσύ Ο Άνθρωπός Μου (Το Νησί)

Neville Brothers - Bird On A Wire

Support beings with your whole nature and protect them like your own body. Indifference towards beings must be avoided like poison!

Nagarjuna

Lisa - Certe storie d'amore

Nikko Patrelakis | Voyage

James Taylor - Fire and Rain, Live 1970

Highest Love - IRIS Corporation

Where It Hurts - Pain of Salvation

Burnt Norton - TS Eliot

I

Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.

If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable.

What might have been is an abstraction

Remaining a perpetual possibility

Only in a world of speculation.

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

Footfalls echo in the memory

Down the passage which we did not take

Towards the door we never opened

Into the rose-garden. My words echo

Thus, in your mind.

But to what purpose

Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves

I do not know.

Other echoes

Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?

Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,

Round the corner. Through the first gate,

Into our first world, shall we follow

The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.

There they were, dignified, invisible,

Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,

In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,

And the bird called, in response to

The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,

And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses

Had the look of flowers that are looked at.

There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.

So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,

Along the empty alley, into the box circle,

To look down into the drained pool.

Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,

And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,

And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,

The surface glittered out of heart of light,

And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.

Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.

Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,

Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.

Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind

Cannot bear very much reality.

Time past and time future

What might have been and what has been

Point to one end, which is always present.

II

Garlic and sapphires in the mud

Clot the bedded axle-tree.

The trilling wire in the blood

Sings below inveterate scars

Appeasing long forgotten wars.

The dance along the artery

The circulation of the lymph

Are figured in the drift of stars

Ascend to summer in the tree

We move above the moving tree

In light upon the figured leaf

And hear upon the sodden floor

Below, the boarhound and the boar

Pursue their pattern as before

But reconciled among the stars.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.

And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.

The inner freedom from the practical desire,

The release from action and suffering, release from the inner

And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded

By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,

Erhebung without motion, concentration

Without elimination, both a new world

And the old made explicit, understood

In the completion of its partial ecstasy,

The resolution of its partial horror.

Yet the enchainment of past and future

Woven in the weakness of the changing body,

Protects mankind from heaven and damnation

Which flesh cannot endure.

Time past and time future

Allow but a little consciousness.

To be conscious is not to be in time

But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,

The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,

The moment in the draughty church at smokefall

Be remembered; involved with past and future.

Only through time time is conquered.

III

Here is a place of disaffection

Time before and time after

In a dim light: neither daylight

Investing form with lucid stillness

Turning shadow into transient beauty

With slow rotation suggesting permanence

Nor darkness to purify the soul

Emptying the sensual with deprivation

Cleansing affection from the temporal.

Neither plenitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker

Over the strained time-ridden faces

Distracted from distraction by distraction

Filled with fancies and empty of meaning

Tumid apathy with no concentration

Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind

That blows before and after time,

Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs

Time before and time after.

Eructation of unhealthy souls

Into the faded air, the torpid

Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,

Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,

Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here

Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.

Descend lower, descend only

Into the world of perpetual solitude,

World not world, but that which is not world,

Internal darkness, deprivation

And destitution of all property,

Desiccation of the world of sense,

Evacuation of the world of fancy,

Inoperancy of the world of spirit;

This is the one way, and the other

Is the same, not in movement

But abstention from movement; while the world moves

In appetency, on its metalled ways

Of time past and time future.

IV

Time and the bell have buried the day,

The black cloud carries the sun away.

Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis

Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray

Clutch and cling?

Chill

Fingers of yew be curled

Down on us? After the kingfisher's wing

Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still

At the still point of the turning world.

V

Words move, music moves

Only in time; but that which is only living

Can only die. Words, after speech, reach

Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,

Can words or music reach

The stillness, as a Chinese jar still

Moves perpetually in its stillness.

Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,

Not that only, but the co-existence,

Or say that the end precedes the beginning,

And the end and the beginning were always there

Before the beginning and after the end.

And all is always now. Words strain,

Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,

Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,

Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,

Will not stay still. Shrieking voices

Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,

Always assail them. The Word in the desert

Is most attacked by voices of temptation,

The crying shadow in the funeral dance,

The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

The detail of the pattern is movement,

As in the figure of the ten stairs.

Desire itself is movement

Not in itself desirable;

Love is itself unmoving,

Only the cause and end of movement,

Timeless, and undesiring

Except in the aspect of time

Caught in the form of limitation

Between un-being and being.

Sudden in a shaft of sunlight

Even while the dust moves

There rises the hidden laughter

Of children in the foliage

Quick now, here, now, always—

Ridiculous the waste sad time

Stretching before and after.

Jules Massenet-Meditation

The Alan Parsons Project- Silence And I

Jean Sibelius, Valse Triste (orch.Herbert von Karajan)

Reverie - Claude Debussy

The Zen Mind - An Introduction

Interview with Dr. Masaru Emoto about the magic of Water

Water, Consciousness & Intent: Dr. Masaru Emoto

Natasha Bedingfield - Soulmate

Doukissa - Eirtha ki apopse sta skalopatia sou (Here I am again tonight ...

ΔΟΥΚΙΣΣΑ ΠΟΥ ΠΑΣ ΧΩΡΙΣ ΑΓΑΠΗ

Η Δούκισσα πέθανε σήμερα.

A Farewell to False Love - Sir Walter Raleigh

Farewell false love, the oracle of lies,
A mortal foe and enemy to rest,
An envious boy, from whom all cares arise,
A bastard vile, a beast with rage possessed,
A way of error, a temple full of treason,
In all effects contrary unto reason.

A poisoned serpent covered all with flowers,
Mother of sighs, and murderer of repose,
A sea of sorrows whence are drawn such showers
As moisture lend to every grief that grows;
A school of guile, a net of deep deceit,
A gilded hook that holds a poisoned bait.

A fortress foiled, which reason did defend,
A siren song, a fever of the mind,
A maze wherein affection finds no end,
A raging cloud that runs before the wind,
A substance like the shadow of the sun,
A goal of grief for which the wisest run.

A quenchless fire, a nurse of trembling fear,
A path that leads to peril and mishap,
A true retreat of sorrow and despair,
An idle boy that sleeps in pleasure's lap,
A deep mistrust of that which certain seems,
A hope of that which reason doubtful deems.

Sith* then thy trains my younger years betrayed, [since]
And for my faith ingratitude I find;
And sith repentance hath my wrongs bewrayed*, [revealed]
Whose course was ever contrary to kind*: [nature]
False love, desire, and beauty frail, adieu.
Dead is the root whence all these fancies grew.

I'm Outta Time - Oasis

ΛΟΥΔΟΒΙΚΟΣ ΤΩΝ ΑΝΩΓΕΙΩΝ - ΠΟΥ Η ΑΓΑΠΗ ΚΑΤΟΙΚΕΙ

Φτελιά - Σύλβια Πλαθ

Εγώ τον ξέρω τον βυθό, λέει. Τον έχω γνωρίσει με την πιό βαθειά μου ρίζα:
Είναι αυτό που φοβάσαι.
Εγώ δεν το φοβάμαι: Εχω βρεθεί εκεί.

Να' ναι η θάλασσα που αφουγκράζεται μέσα μου;
Η πικρία της;
Η ή φωνή του κενού, που πάντα σε τρέλλαινε;

Ο έρωτας είναι μιά σκιά.
Πως ψεύδεσαι και θρηνείς στο κατόπι του
Ακου: αυτές είναι οι οπλές του: έφυγε τρέχοντας, σαν άλογο.

Ετσι κι' εγώ όλη την νύχτα θα καλπάζω ορμητικά,
Μέχρι να γίνει πέτρα το κεφάλι σου, το μαξιλάρι σου ένας μικρός ιππόδρομος,
Που θ' αντηχεί, που θ' αντηχεί.

Η θα' θελες να σου' φερνα του φαρμακιού τον ήχο;
Τώρα ακούγεται η βροχή, αυτή η απέραντη σιωπή.
Κι' αυτός είναι ο καρπός της: λευκός σαν δηλητήριο.

Εγώ έχω υποστεί τις θηριωδίες της δύσεως.
Καμένη ως τη ρίζα
Τα πυρακτωμένα ηλεκτρικά μου νήματα καιόμενα, ορθά, ένα συρμάτινο χέρι.

Τώρα γίνομαι κομμάτια, ραβδιά που εκτινάσσονται.
Ανεμος τέτοιας βιαιότητας
Δεν θα ανεχτεί παρατηρητές: Πρέπει να ουρλιάξω.

Η άγονη σελήνη, είναι κι' αυτή ανελέητη
Ασπλαχνα θα μ' έφερνε κοντά της,
Η λάμψη της με τραυματίζει. Η μπορεί να την έχω εγώ αιχμαλωτίσει.

Την αφήνω να φύγει. Την αφήνω να φύγει.
Φθίνουσα κι' επίπεδη, σαν να' χει υποστεί ριζική επέμβαση.
Πως μ' έχεις έτσι προικίσει με τους εφιάλτες σου που με κατέχουν.

Με κατοικεί μιά κραυγή.
Κάθε βράδυ φτεροκοπά προς τα έξω
Ψάχνοντας, με τ' αγκίστρια της, κάτι ν' αγαπήσει.

Πως με τρομάζει αυτό το σκοτεινό πράγμα
Που μέσα μου κοιμάται
Ολημερίς νοιώθω τις απαλές, ανάλαφρες δονήσεις τους, τη μοχθηρία του.

Σύννεφα περνούν και διασκορπίζονται.
Αυτά είναι τα πρόσωπα του έρωτα, αυτά τα χλομά κι' αλύτρωτα;
Γι' αυτά λοιπόν ταράζεται η καρδιά μου;

Είμαι ανίκανη γιά περισσότερη γνώση.
Τι είναι αυτό, αυτό το πρόσωπο
Τόσο δολοφονικό μέσα στο βρόχο των κλαδιών του;

Με τα φιδίσια οξέα του φιλιά.
Μαρμαρώνει τη θέληση. Αυτά είναι τα απομονωμένα, αργόσυρτα σφάλματα
Που σκοτώνουν, σκοτώνουν, σκοτώνουν.




Μετάφραση Κατερίνα & Ελένη Ηλιοπούλου

Ανοιξα μανταρινι

photographs - Barbara Guest

Ιn the past we listened to photographs. They heard our voice speak.

Alive, active. What had been distance was memory. Dusk came,

Pushed us forward, emptying the laboratory each night undisturbed by

Erasure.

In the city of X, they lived together. Always morose, her lips

soothed him. The piano was arranged in the old manner, light entered the

window, street lamps at the single tree.

Emotion evoked by a single light on a subject is not transferable to

photographs of the improved city. The camera, once

commented freely amid rivering and lost gutters of treeless parks or avenue.

The old camera refused to penetrate the unknown. Its heart was soft,

unreliable.

Now distributed is photography of new government building. We are

forbidden to observe despair silent in old photographs.

Reckless the end

Fauré Requiem - Libera me

Fauré Requiem - In Paradisum

In paradisum deducant te angeli,
in tuo adventu
suscipiant te martyres,
et perducant te
in civitatem sanctam Jerusalem.
Chorus angelorum te suscipiat,
et cum Lazaro quondam paupere
aeternam habeas requiem.

Fauré plays Fauré Pavane, op 50

Fauré - Pierre-Alain Volondat - Barcarolle No 1 in A minor, op 26

Gabriel Fauré - 2 Romances sans paroles en la bémol majeur op.17

Alkistis Protopsalti ΒΡΑΧΟΣ - ΑΛΚΗΣΤΙΣ ΠΡΩΤΟΨΑΛΤΗ

my sad captains - Thom Gunn

Vladimir Kush

One by one they appear in

the darkness: a few friends, and

a few with historical

names. How late they start to shine!

but before they fade they stand

perfectly embodied, all

the past lapping them like a

cloak of chaos. They were men

who, I thought, lived only to

renew the wasteful force they

spent with each hot convulsion.

They remind me, distant now.

True, they are not at rest yet,

but now they are indeed

apart, winnowed from failures,

they withdraw to an orbit

and turn with disinterested

hard energy, like the stars.

cat island - Thom Gunn

Cats met us at

the landing-place

reclining in the sun

to check us in

with a momentary glance,

concierges

of a grassy island.

(Attila's Throne,

the Devil's Bridge,

and "the best Byzantine

church in the world",

long saints admonitory

on kiln-like inner walls.)

And lunch in a shady court

where cats now

systematically worked

the restaurant, table

by table, gazing into eyes

pleading "I'm hungry

and I'm cute", reaching

front paws up to knees

and always getting

before zeroing in

on the next table, same

routine, same result.

Sensible bourgeois

wild-cats working

with the furred impudence

of those who don't pretend

to be other than whores,

they give you not

the semblance of love

but simply

a look at their beauty

in return for food.

Models, not escorts.

They lack, too,

the prostitute's self-pity,

being beyond shame.

And we lack

what they have.

Mozart - Linea...

Cythère - Paul Verlaine

Un pavillon à claires-voies
Abrite doucement nos joies
Qu'éventent des rosiers amis;

L'odeur des roses, faible, grâce
Au vent léger d'été qui passe,
Se mêle aux parfums qu'elle a mis ;

Comme ses yeux l'avaient promis,
Son courage est grand et sa lèvre
Communique une exquise fièvre ;

Et l'Amour comblant tout, hormis
La Faim, sorbets et confitures
Nous préservent des courbatures.

Perhaps Love - John Denver

considering the snail - Thom Gunn

The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth's dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,

pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail's fury? All
I think is that if later

I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.

Haris Alexiou-Ximerwnei

touch - Thom Gunn

You are already
asleep. I lower
myself in next to
you, my skin slightly
numb with the restraint
of habits, the patina of
self, the black frost
of outsideness, so that even
unclothed, it is
a resilient chilly
hardness, a superficially
malleable, dead
rubbery texture.

You are a mound
of bedclothes, where the cat
in sleep braces
its paws against your
calf through the blankets,
and kneads each paw in turn.

Meanwhile and slowly
I feel a is it
my own warmth surfacing or
the ferment of your whole
body that in darkness beneath
the cover is stealing
bit by bit to break
down that chill.

You turn and
hold me tightly, do
you know who
I am or am I
your mother or
the nearest human being to
hold on to in a
dreamed pogrom.

What I, now loosened,
sink into is an old
big place, it is
there already, for
you are already
there, and the cat
got there before you,
it is hard to locate.
What is more, the place is
not found but seeps
from our touch in
continuous creation, dark
enclosing cocoon round
ourselves alone, dark
wide realm where we
walk with everyone.

Spring is like a perhaps hand - ee cummings

Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere) arranging
a window, into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here) and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there) and

without breaking anything.

Κάπου υπάρχει η αγάπη μου

le pont Mirabeau - Apollinaire

Vladimir Kush

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu'il m'en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine.

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l'onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

L'amour s'en va comme cette eau courante
L'amour s'en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l'Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l'heure
Les jours s'en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Lovesong-The Cure

Γιώτα Νέγκα - Με τα μάτια κλειστά

“If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.”

Emily Dickinson

Ένα καλοκαίρι Αφροδίτη Μάνου

Sail Away

Evanescence - Bring Me To Life

how can you see into my eyes like open doors
leading you down into my core
where I’ve become so numb without a soul my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
until you find it there and lead it back home

L'equilibrista - Eros Ramazzotti

μου το έστειλε η Αννα ΙΙ

Ειλικρίνεια

Οι άνθρωποι πιστεύουν ότι όταν μιλάνε ανοικτά για τις κακές προθέσεις, τα συναισθήματα, ή τις πράξεις τους, αυτό είναι πράξη ειλικρίνειας. Αλλά η ειλικρίνεια είναι αρετή. Πώς μπορείς να είσαι κλέφτης και συγχρόνως ένα έντιμο πρόσωπο; Η ειλικρίνεια σχετίζεται με την έκφραση της εσωτερικής ομορφιάς σας, και όχι με την απόκρυψη των απαντήσεων ή αντιδράσεών σας στις σκέψεις, τις δράσεις ή τα συναισθήματα των άλλων ανθρώπων. Ένα ειλικρινές πρόσωπο είναι αυτό που εκπέμπει το φως του, χωρίς να το εμποδίζει ή να το κρύβει.

Aura, Shield of Protection & Glory
Torkom Saraydarian

Pachelbel Canon in D major - Violin (eXquisite version)

OH WINDS, OH WAVES!

μου το έστειλε η Αννα

O βαθύτερος φόβος μας δεν είναι ότι είμαστε ανεπαρκείς. Ο βαθύτερος φόβος μας είναι ότι είμαστε ισχυροί πέραν του μέτρου. Είναι το φως μας, όχι το σκοτάδι μας, που οι περισσότεροι φοβούνται. Αναρωτιόμαστε, ποιος είμαι εγώ για να είμαι λαμπρός, υπέροχος, ταλαντούχος, καταπληκτικός; Στην πραγματικότητα, ποιος είσαι για να μην είσαι; Είσαι παιδί του Θεού. Το μικρό σου παιχνίδι δεν εξυπηρετεί τον κόσμο. Δεν βοηθάει καθόλου να συρρικνώνεσαι τόσο, ώστε οι άλλοι άνθρωποι να μην αισθάνονται ανασφαλείς γύρω σου. Σκοπός όλων μας είναι να λάμπουμε, όπως κάνουν τα παιδιά. Γεννιόμαστε για να κάνουμε πρόδηλη τη δόξα του Θεού που βρίσκεται μέσα μας. Δεν βρίσκεται μόνο σε μερικούς από εμάς, βρίσκεται σε όλους μας. Και καθώς αφήνουμε το φως μας να λάμπει, επιτρέπουμε ασυνείδητα στους άλλους ανθρώπους να κάνουν το ίδιο. Καθώς ελευθερωνόμαστε από το φόβο μας, η παρουσία μας απελευθερώνει αυτόματα τους άλλους.

Nelson Mandela

Saint-Saens : The Swan ( Le Cygne ) - Carnival of the Animals

Tchaikovsky - None But The Lonely Hearts

NONE BUT THE LONELY HEART
Pyotr Tchaikovsky
(based on a poem by J.W. von Goethe)

None but the lonely heart
Can know my sadness
Alone and parted
Far from joy and gladness
Heaven's boundless arch I see
Spread about above me
O what a distance dear to one
Who loves me
None but the lonely heart
Can know my sadness
Alone and parted
Far from joy and gladness
Alone and parted far
From joy and gladness
My senses fail
A burning fire
Devours me
None but the lonely heart
Can know my sadness

Jason Mraz - Life is wonderful (with lyrics)

and it takes no time to fall in love but it takes you years to know what love is - -Life is wonderful

Xoris Pnoh - Χωρίς Πνοή (Breathless-Dan Wilson)

Locomondo- Me Wanna Dance

Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence original (not live)

Words like violence
Break the silence
Come crashing in
Into my little world

How to Meditate - Jack Kerouac

-lights out-
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
i hap-down and hold all my body parts
down to a deadstop trance-Healing
all my sicknesses-erasing all-not
even the shred of a 'I-hope-you' or a
Loony Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it off, you fake it, and
it fades, and thought never comes-and
with joy you realize for the first time
'thinking's just like not thinking-
So I don't have to think
any
more'

sometimes i am alive because with - e.e cummings

sometimes i am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which i will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we shall attain the Springsmelling
intense large togethercoloured instant

the moment pleasantly frightful

when, her mouth suddenly rising, wholly
begins with mine fiercely to fool
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant
a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she
carries in a gesture of her hips)

in time of daffodils - e. e. cummings

in time of daffodils(who know
the goal of living is to grow)
forgetting why,remember how

in time of lilacs who proclaim
the aim of waking is to dream,
remember so(forgetting seem)

in time of roses(who amaze
our now and here with paradise)
forgetting if,remember yes

in time of all sweet things beyond
whatever mind may comprehend,
remember seek(forgetting find)

and in a mystery to be
(when time from time shall set us free)
forgetting me,remember me

now is a ship - ee cummings

now is a ship

which captain am
sails out of sleep

steering for dream