Friday 20 April 2012
Thursday 19 April 2012
E.B.Browning
How Do I Love Thee? - Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee to the level of every day's Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
Wednesday 18 April 2012
A Rose in Your Heart
LYRICS: You with the sad eyes Don't be discouraged Oh, I realize It's hard to take courage In a world full of people You can lose sight of it all And the darkness inside you Can make you feel so small But I see your true colors Shining through I see your true colors And that's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colors True colors are beautiful Like a rainbow Show me a smile then, Don't be unhappy, can't remember When I last saw you laughing If this world makes you crazy And you've taken all you can bear You call me up Because you know I'll be there And I'll see your true colors Shining through I see your true colors And that's why I love you So don't be afraid to let them show Your true colors True colors are beautiful Like a rainbow
Tuesday 17 April 2012
Monday 16 April 2012
Sunday 15 April 2012
Khalil Gibran The Prophet(Music book) deutsch
Khalil Gibran - The Prophet (Music Book) - YouTube
Khalil Gibran's timeless poetry interpreted musically and produced by Andrew Lucas. Linguistically implemented by famous artists and voice actors. Release: 2005 01 PROLOG - Frank Glaubrecht .. 2'28 min. 02 OF LOVE - Frank Glaubrecht .. 5'11 min. 03 OF THE CHILDREN - Maximilian Schell .. 5'41 min. 04th OF CRIME AND PUNISHMENT - Frank Glaubrecht .. 4'21 min. 05th INTERLUDE .. 1'58 min. 06th FROM PAIN - Sebastian Koch .. 3'49 min. 07th OF FRIENDSHIP - Frank Glaubrecht .. 5'25 min. 08th THE DEAL - Joy Denalane .. 5'43 min. 09th OF THE FREEDOM - Rolf Schult .. 5'09 min. 10th FROM THE MARRIAGE - Maria Furtwängler .. 4'12 min. 11th THE BEAUTY - Sebastian Koch .. 3'15 min. 12th BY THE TIME - Sebastian Koch .. 8'55 min. 13th FROM DEATH - Maximilian Schell .. 3'26 min. 14th THE FAREWELL - Rolf Schult .. 11'02 min. (from about 1:05:00 to 1:07:00 silence, then "hidden part")
Das ist fur meine freunde.Gutte nacht!
Ode to A Nightingale
John Keats - Ode To A Nightingale - Bright Star - YouTube
Ode To A Nightingale by John Keats (1795-1821) My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, -- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth! O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs, Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light, Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -- To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: -- Do I wake or sleep?
A Thing of Beauty by J.Keats
John Keats - A Thing Of Beauty - YouTube
A Thing Of Beauty From Endymion - Book I by John Keats (1795-1821) A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing A flowery band to bind us to the earth, Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth Of noble natures, of the gloomy days, Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon, Trees old, and young, sprouting a shady boon For simple sheep; and such are daffodils With the green world they live in; and clear rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms: And such too is the grandeur of the dooms We have imagined for the mighty dead; All lovely tales that we have heard or read: An endless fountain of immortal drink, Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink. Nor do we merely feel these essences For one short hour; no, even as the trees That whisper round a temple become soon Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon, The passion poesy, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast That, whether there be shine or gloom o'ercast, They always must be with us, or we die.
On Beauty-The Prophet
Khalil Gibran - On Beauty - YouTube
On Beauty The Prophet - Chapter 25 by Khalil Gibran (1883-1931) And a poet said, "Speak to us of Beauty." And he answered: Where shall you seek beauty, and how shall you find her unless she herself be your way and your guide? And how shall you speak of her except she be the weaver of your speech? The aggrieved and the injured say, "Beauty is kind and gentle. Like a young mother half-shy of her own glory she walks among us." And the passionate say, "Nay, Beauty is a thing of might and dread. Like the tempest she shakes the earth beneath us and the sky above us." The tried and the weary say, "Beauty is of soft whisperings. She speaks in our spirit. Her voice yields to our silences like a faint light that quivers in fear of the shadow." But the restless say, "We have heard her shouting among the mountains, and with her cries came the sound of hoofs, and the beating of wings and the roaring of lions." At night the watchmen of the city say, "Beauty shall rise with the dawn from the east." And at noontide the toilers and the wayfarers say, "We have seen her leaning over the earth from the windows of the sunset." In winter say the snow-bound, "She shall come with the spring leaping upon the hills." And in the summer heat the reapers say, "We have seen her dancing with the autumn leaves, and we saw a drift of snow in her hair." All these things have you said of Beauty. Yet in truth you spoke not of her but of needs unsatisfied. And beauty is not a need but an ecstasy. It is not a mouth thirsting nor an empty hand stretched forth, but rather a heart inflamed and a soul enchanted. It is not the image you would see nor the song you would hear, but rather an image you see though you close your eyes and a song you hear though you shut your ears. It is not the sap within the furrowed bark, nor a wing attached to a claw, but rather a garden for ever in bloom and a flock of angels for ever in flight. People of Orphalese, Beauty is life when life unveils her holy face. But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror. But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
Nightingale's voice
Mind, Heart, Spirit.
Mind
Every colour, every season observed I give reason and voice to. I proclaim my conclusions, and wonder. The rainbow colours of the Earth, and the philosophies of other voices. I broaden my understanding of what is possible, and my intellect sings. My learning is infinite, more endless than the boundaries of the universe. To grow in understanding forever; to fulfil my potential for becoming. And always, to question, to seek enlightenment in the unexpected places of life and beyond. My Mind is always questing, on a voyage to the epic places of discovery.
Spirit
A plane never opened wings with the freedom of a bird. So my Spirit, reflects the nightingale. Always about to fly, to the vast mystery of sky within soul. My Spirit has no end and no beginning. Born out of eternity, to the cloudless sky with a thousand morning stars. Fly anywhere and everywhere, in a moment with no measure. Hover over deserts and oceans, and perch on mountain summits. Respire with the phases of the grass and the forest. Unfurl with the skyward branch, and whisper with the breeze over a summer landscape. My Spirit is limitless in a spectrum of truth.
Heart
Emotion is found in the contemplation of compassionate life, and love; my heart seeks her own expression of what she finds. She has no cage. She gives because her song is of giving. And she loves because her gift is her loving. She can break forever, but her breaking is into hope, and her tears fall towards a more infinite form of giving. She keeps intuition, trust, faith; she is the pride of my Mind and my Spirit. She is the essence of the nectar in a flower and a young tree, the cadence of birdsong, the always shattering sparkle on the water of a travelling brook. My mind took flight, and my spirit soared, when my heart found her wings.
Once, I imagined I was on a river bank, watching the water current flow towards its immense destination and source of ocean. Then I saw, across the river, my Heart, waiting in the shimmering light. I wanted to follow, but wondered what lay beyond, over the river, on the unfamiliar bank. I knew I must make the journey, and discover other miracles to contemplate. And my Heart, in her courage, had journeyed before me.
Love Thee
Maksim Mrvica Plays Chopin Nocturne in D-flat Op.27 No.2 - YouTube
On the soft sandy beach, played a four-year old boy, filling his bucket with sand. With a serious expression on his face hit his hands in the sand, pushed, pulled over and empty cans, always disappointed that so little of sand fell out of his clenched fist. What he is determined he caught and pressed harder, to be more sand to seep between the fingers, rather than it arrived in the bucket. It would not help him all the accumulated anger that never occurred to turn the palms to shovel, so the open palm managed to insert much more sand than the clenched fist. Theorem which occurred this child, the lesson of life. Life is like sand. Much more it fits on the open palm, rather than the fist. When you want to have a narrow clutching him, and with the egoistic certainty to keep embracing him, then he just collapsed from a solid grip, and arm remain eerily empty. Just when life receive with open arms and wearing his wealth in the hands of open storage of eternity, can be considered to have true wealth. If you're so gave their lives, he secured himself more offspring than there are sands on the seashore.
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