tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post7090460536414182721..comments2023-10-03T07:01:41.144-05:00Comments on Always On Watch: Semper Vigilans: Musical InterludeAlways On Watchhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08192688822955022541noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-50365562339157183462020-07-20T11:18:27.311-05:002020-07-20T11:18:27.311-05:00____ TO A SKYLARK ____
Hail to thee, blithe Spiri...<b>____ TO A SKYLARK ____<br /><br /><i>Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!<br />Bird thou never wert,<br />That from Heaven, or near it,<br />Pourest thy full heart<br />In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.<br /><br />Higher still and higher<br />From the earth thou springest<br />Like a cloud of fire;<br />The blue deep thou wingest,<br />And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.<br /><br />In the golden lightning<br />Of the sunken sun,<br />O'er which clouds are bright'ning,<br />Thou dost float and run;<br />Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.<br /><br />The pale purple even<br />Melts around thy flight;<br />Like a star of Heaven,<br />In the broad day-light<br />Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,<br /><br />Keen as are the arrows<br />Of that silver sphere,<br />Whose intense lamp narrows<br />In the white dawn clear<br />Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.<br /><br />All the earth and air<br />With thy voice is loud,<br />As, when night is bare,<br />From one lonely cloud<br />The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflow'd.<br /><br />What thou art we know not;<br />What is most like thee?<br />From rainbow clouds there flow not<br />Drops so bright to see<br />As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.<br /><br />Like a Poet hidden<br />In the light of thought,<br />Singing hymns unbidden,<br />Till the world is wrought<br />To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:<br /><br />Like a high-born maiden<br />In a palace-tower,<br />Soothing her love-laden<br />Soul in secret hour<br />With music sweet as love, <br />which overflows her bower:<br /><br />Like a glow-worm golden<br />In a dell of dew,<br />Scattering unbeholden<br />Its a{:e}real hue<br />Among the flowers and grass, <br />which screen it from the view:<br /><br />Like a rose embower'd<br />In its own green leaves,<br />By warm winds deflower'd,<br />Till the scent it gives<br />Makes faint with too much sweet <br />those heavy-winged thieves:<br /><br />Sound of vernal showers<br />On the twinkling grass,<br />Rain-awaken'd flowers,<br />All that ever was<br />Joyous, and clear, and fresh, <br />thy music doth surpass.<br /><br />Teach us, Sprite or Bird,<br />What sweet thoughts are thine:<br />I have never heard<br />Praise of love or wine<br />That panted forth a flood <br />of rapture so divine.<br /><br />Chorus Hymeneal,<br />Or triumphal chant,<br />Match'd with thine would be all<br />But an empty vaunt,<br />A thing wherein we feel <br />there is some hidden want.<br /><br />What objects are the fountains<br />Of thy happy strain?<br />What fields, or waves, or mountains?<br />What shapes of sky or plain?<br />What love of thine own kind? <br />what ignorance of pain?<br /><br />With thy clear keen joyance<br />Languor cannot be:<br />Shadow of annoyance<br />Never came near thee:<br />Thou lovest: but ne'er knew <br />love's sad satiety.<br /><br />Waking or asleep,<br />Thou of death must deem<br />Things more true and deep<br />Than we mortals dream,<br />Or how could thy notes <br />flow in such a crystal stream?<br /><br />We look before and after,<br />And pine for what is not:<br />Our sincerest laughter<br />With some pain is fraught;<br />Our sweetest songs are those <br />that tell of saddest thought.<br /><br />Yet if we could scorn<br />Hate, and pride, and fear;<br />If we were things born<br />Not to shed a tear,<br />I know not how thy joy <br />we ever should come near.<br /><br />Better than all measures<br />Of delightful sound,<br />Better than all treasures<br />That in books are found,<br />Thy skill to poet were, <br />thou scorner of the ground!<br /><br />Teach me half the gladness<br />That thy brain must know,<br />Such harmonious madness<br />From my lips would flow<br />The world should listen then, <br />as I am listening now.</i></b><br /><br />~ Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br /><br />Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-6693827808925359322020-07-19T12:28:49.969-05:002020-07-19T12:28:49.969-05:00More 'Green' language.
;pMore '<a href="https://farmersletters.blogspot.com/2020/07/simplificationbeautification-context.html" rel="nofollow">Green</a>' language.<br /><br /><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Language_of_the_birds" rel="nofollow">;p</a>-FJ the Dangerous and Extreme MAGA Jewhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16745768408538827278noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-2211295959750647262020-07-19T12:25:45.159-05:002020-07-19T12:25:45.159-05:00...derived from a Roman myth of humans (Philomela,......derived from a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philomela" rel="nofollow">Roman myth</a> of humans (Philomela, Procne-swallow, Tereus-hoopoe) transformed into birds.-FJ the Dangerous and Extreme MAGA Jewhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16745768408538827278noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-4683988220974420232020-07-19T09:25:46.421-05:002020-07-19T09:25:46.421-05:00Jayhawk,
How lovely! Thank you for alerting me to...Jayhawk,<br />How lovely! Thank you for alerting me to that rendition.Always On Watchhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08192688822955022541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-3117752351596037582020-07-19T09:10:32.783-05:002020-07-19T09:10:32.783-05:00Though I llove the mystery and the musicality inhe...Though I llove the mystery and the musicality inherent in the reference I feel compelled to explain that PHILOMELA is an old English word meaning NIGHTINGALE.Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-37619505240694468442020-07-19T09:04:20.589-05:002020-07-19T09:04:20.589-05:00How cleverly onomatopoetic!
How do you manage alw...How cleverly onomatopoetic!<br /><br />How do you manage always to find recondite material that so oftn piques our interest? You are a Master at Disovering and Uncovering the AbstruseFranco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-17967592856944265782020-07-19T08:54:42.281-05:002020-07-19T08:54:42.281-05:00Thank you, dear friend. I've corrected and rev...Thank you, dear friend. I've corrected and revised it, since writing it here in place yesterday. Here for your archives is the improved version:<br /><br /><b>A Birdie on the Windowsill<br /><br /><i>A quiet winter’s day ––<br />The sky a luminescent gray ––<br />A light dusting of snow <br />Adding to the winter’s glow<br />Covered the icy bricks upon my kitchen window sill<br /><br />Little sparrows darted to and fro <br />Perching on the branches white with snow<br />Joining them a tiny finch or two<br />shared the branches too<br />In the frosty winter air. Their twittering not shrill<br /><br />Was delightful up until <br />I saw on that old window sill<br />One of the little finches ––<br />Not larger than two inches ––<br />Charming till I noticed that he only had one leg!<br /><br />My heart went out to him ––<br />So tiny on the rim –-<br />Where warmth and comfort waited<br />To welcome this ill-fated<br />Little fellow much too brave and dignified to beg.<br /><br />I wanted him inside<br />Where with me he could abide<br />In the safety of a cage<br />with no fear of Nature’s rage ––<br />A vain impractical idea I knew, but even so<br /><br />My empathy for him would grow<br />Until it filled me with great woe,<br />But the finch thought all my pain<br />Was perfectly inane ––<br />So abruply off he flew to live back in the snow!</i></b><br /><br />~ FreeThinke (7/18/2020)<br />Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-19589800975805063392020-07-19T08:37:45.011-05:002020-07-19T08:37:45.011-05:00I'll do it for you AOW, "No politics toda...I'll do it for you AOW, <i>"No politics today, please."</i><br /><br />Here's a nice piece of violin for today. I kind of fell in love with this young lady the other day. She has quite a lot on YouTube, but <i>"Sound of Silence"</i> is my favorite.<br /><br />https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Buu5AgGnUzk&t=36sJayhawkhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/00756807802218022043noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-48347627205775533902020-07-19T08:37:33.871-05:002020-07-19T08:37:33.871-05:00When icicles hang by the wall,
__ And Dick the s...<b><i>When icicles hang by the wall, <br />__ And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, <br />And Tom bears logs into the hall, <br />__ And milk comes frozen home in pail, <br />When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, <br />Then nightly sings the staring owl, <br />________ To-whoo; <br />To-whit, to-whoo, a merry note, <br />While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. <br /> <br />When all aloud the wind doth blow, <br /> __ And coughing drowns the parson’s saw, <br />And birds sit brooding in the snow, <br />__ And Marian’s nose looks red and raw, <br />When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, <br />Then nightly sings the staring owl, <br />_______ To-whoo; <br />To-whit, to-whoo, a merry note, <br />While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.</i></b><br /><br />~ William Shakespeare (1564-1616)<br />from “Love’s Labor ’s Lost,” Act V. Sc. 2. <br /> <br /> Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-24321432924587213622020-07-19T06:19:52.929-05:002020-07-19T06:19:52.929-05:00This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.Edgethohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11435538907921191724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-30033991918178267322020-07-18T16:21:39.795-05:002020-07-18T16:21:39.795-05:00Very nice!Very nice!Always On Watchhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08192688822955022541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-51747032024948228822020-07-18T16:01:08.883-05:002020-07-18T16:01:08.883-05:00Thank you for that beautiful quotation from Shelle...<br />Thank you for that beautiful quotation from Shelley. FJ. It's a keeper.<br /><br />I have found that even in my darkest hours a determination to focus on beautiful thoughts, beautiful images, and beautiful music can transport me to higher realms where joy and gladness prevail. <br /><br />And as Thomas Gray said in his famous Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard<br /><br /><b><i>"If ignorance is bliss<br />'Tis folly to be wise."</i></b><br /><br />The ever-wry, but eminently tender-hearted Oscar Wilde put it this way:<br /><br /><b><i>"Illusion sthe greatest of all pleasures."</i></b><br /><br />I don't like to think of Beauty as illusory, however. Most probably don't think this way, but I have found that PRAYER has the same tonic effect as the contemplation of Beauty in Nature, and the Poetry, Music Objects of Art it has inspired. Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-47692685478438090482020-07-18T15:33:18.351-05:002020-07-18T15:33:18.351-05:00A Birdie on the Windowsill
A quiet winter’s day –...<b>A Birdie on the Windowsill<br /><br /><i>A quiet winter’s day ––<br />The sky a luminescent gray ––<br />A light dusting of snow <br />Adding to the winter’s glow<br />Covered the bricks on my kitchen window sill<br /><br />Little sparrows darted to and fro <br />Perching on the branches white with snow<br />Joining them a tiny finch or two<br />shared the branches too<br />In the frosty air. Their twittering not shrill<br /><br />Was delightful up until <br />I saw upon that kitchen window sill<br />One of the little finches ––<br />Not larger than two inches ––<br />Charming till I saw he’d just one leg!<br /><br />My heart went out to him<br />So tiny on the rim<br />Where warmth and comfort waited<br />To welcome this ill-fated<br />Little fellow much too dignified to beg.<br /><br />I wanted him inside<br />Where with me could abide<br />In the safety of a cage<br />with no fear of Nature’s rage ––<br />An impractical idea I knew, but even so<br /><br />My empathy for him would grow<br />Until it filledme with great woe,<br />But the finch thought all my pain<br />Was perfectly inane<br />So off he flew to live back in the snow!</i></b><br /><br />~ FreeThinke (7/18/2020)Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-1632731601016221202020-07-18T15:17:33.384-05:002020-07-18T15:17:33.384-05:00Thomas Morley (1557-1602/3), "Madrigal":...Thomas Morley (1557-1602/3), "<a href="https://youtu.be/W33_QM4Cjak" rel="nofollow">Madrigal</a>":<br />Though Philomela lost her love<br />fresh note she warbleth yes again<br />Fa la la la fa la la la...<br /><br />He is a fool that lovers prove<br />and leaves to sing, to live in pain<br />Fa la la la fa la la ...-FJ the Dangerous and Extreme MAGA Jewhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16745768408538827278noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-54572845257682694072020-07-18T15:15:22.557-05:002020-07-18T15:15:22.557-05:00"A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness...<i>"A poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.”</i><br />- Percy Shelly, "Defense of Poetry"-FJ the Dangerous and Extreme MAGA Jewhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16745768408538827278noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-79359986011907131212020-07-18T15:14:42.723-05:002020-07-18T15:14:42.723-05:00Chew-chew chew-chew" and higher still,
"...<i>Chew-chew chew-chew" and higher still,<br />"Cheer-cheer cheer-cheer" more loud and shrill,<br />"Cheer-up cheer-up cheer-up"—and dropped<br />Low—"Tweet tweet jug jug jug"—and stopped<br />One moment just to drink the sound<br />Her music made, and then a round<br />Of stranger witching notes was heard<br />As if it was a stranger bird:<br />"Wew-wew wew-wew chur-chur chur-chur<br />Woo-it woo-it"—could this be her?<br />"Tee-rew tee-rew tee-rew tee-rew<br />Chew-rit chew-rit"—and ever new—<br />"Will-will will-will grig-grig grig-grig."</i><br />- John Clare, "The Progress of Rhyme"-FJ the Dangerous and Extreme MAGA Jewhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16745768408538827278noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-68084313041048487192020-07-18T14:24:26.555-05:002020-07-18T14:24:26.555-05:00_____________ STILLNESS _____________
No sound be...<b>_____________ STILLNESS _____________<br /><br /><i>No sound beyond the dropping of the leaves<br />Or shushing in the treetops of the stirring<br />In the air and periodic whirring<br />Soft of wings and bundling of sheaves ––<br /><br />Every now and then a bird may call<br />Looking for or longing for his mate;<br />Escaping still the hunter’s dinner plate.<br />Scythes swish steadily as grain grown tall<br /><br />Submits to delicate compelling force.<br />Workers silently bent to their task<br />Over whom hot sunshine spills its rays<br /><br />Reap swiftly knowing pain could come, of course.<br />Later, in the afterglow they’ll bask<br />Dreaming –– foolishly –– of better days.</i></b><br /><br />~ FreeThinke <br /><br /><i>[NOTE: This poem was inspired by Pieter Brueghel's painting The Reapers c.1555,]</i><br />Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-60279106800760278172020-07-18T14:15:38.396-05:002020-07-18T14:15:38.396-05:00A Bird, came down the Walk --
He did not know I s...<b><i>A Bird, came down the Walk -- <br />He did not know I saw ––<br />He bit an Angle Worm in halves<br />And ate the fellow, raw, <br /> <br />And then, he drank a Dew<br />From a convenient Grass ––<br />And then hopped sidewise to the Wall<br />To let a Beetle pass ––<br /> <br />He glanced with rapid eyes,<br />That hurried all abroad ––<br />They looked like frightened Beads, I thought,<br />He stirred his Velvet Head. ––<br /> <br />Like one in danger, Cautious,<br />I offered him a Crumb,<br />And he unrolled his feathers, <br />And rowed him softer Home ––<br /> <br />Than Oars divide the Ocean,<br />Too silver for a seam,<br />Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,<br />Leap, plashless as they swim.</i></b> <br /><br />~ Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-18258296208260338532020-07-18T14:06:41.445-05:002020-07-18T14:06:41.445-05:00__ To A Superior Parrot - January 24, 2010 __
Res...<b>__ To A Superior Parrot - January 24, 2010 __<br /><br /><i>Rest softly in your plumage, golden friend. <br />I found you warm, yet lifeless, though your eyes <br />Pierced my heart as though you wished to send <br />Longings still my way. A rude surprise <br />It was to find that you so quickly passed –– <br />Taken leave –– without the faintest sound. <br />The twenty years we had went by so fast. <br />Love grew slowly ‘tween us, but once found <br />Evolved into a rather poignant thing. <br />Despite your squawks, and shrill, ill-timed demands, <br />Even your envy of the cats was touching. <br />Vain, inane, your comical commands <br />Inspired chuckles, while your innocence <br />Leaves a scar upon my conscience.</i></b><br /><br />~ FreeThinke - January 26, 2010Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-52982707277856474782020-07-18T13:54:18.891-05:002020-07-18T13:54:18.891-05:00_______ A MINOR BIRD _______
I have wished a bird...<b>_______ A MINOR BIRD _______<br /><br /><i>I have wished a bird would fly away,<br />And not sing by my house all day;<br /><br />Have clapped my hands at him from the door<br />When it seemed as if I could bear no more.<br /><br />The fault must partly have been in me.<br />The bird was not to blame for his key.<br /><br />And of course there must be something wrong<br />In wanting to silence any song.</i></b><br /><br />~ robert Frost (1874-1963)<br /> <br /><br /><br />Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-47373984574300877082020-07-18T07:55:00.606-05:002020-07-18T07:55:00.606-05:00Amen..... loved the beautiful sounds of Nature'...Amen..... loved the beautiful sounds of Nature's best singers..Bunkervillehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14427978686579892380noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-68582609634233944082020-07-18T06:14:05.268-05:002020-07-18T06:14:05.268-05:00Franco,
My friend, let's stay on topic. This ...Franco,<br />My friend, let's stay on topic. This blog post is a break from the news cycle.Always On Watchhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08192688822955022541noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4320479736034351430.post-62663755627002606292020-07-18T06:02:27.947-05:002020-07-18T06:02:27.947-05:00OFF-TOPIC, BUT IMPORTANT TO NOTE IN THE INTERESTS ...OFF-TOPIC, BUT IMPORTANT TO NOTE IN THE INTERESTS OF BASIC DECENCY. CANCER IS THE COMMON ENEMY OF ALL MANKIND. IT RESPECTS NO RACE, RELIGION, AGE, SEX, SOCIAL POSITIN, OR DEGREES OF BEAUTY OR UGLINESS, NO POLITICAL PARTY OR IDEOLOGICAL POINT OF VIEW. <br /><br />In honor of Congressman and Civil Rights Activist John Lewis (1940-2020) who died last night of pancreatic cancer at the age of eighty. May he Rest In Peace.<br /><br /><b>For Whom the Bell Tolls<br /><br /><i>No man is an island,<br />Entire of itself.<br />Each is a piece of the continent,<br />A part of the main.<br />If a clod be washed away by the sea,<br />Europe is the less.<br />As well as if a promontory were.<br />As well as if a manor of thine own<br />Or of thine friend's were.<br />Each man's death diminishes me,<br />For I am involved in mankind.<br />Therefore, send not to know<br />For whom the bell tolls,<br />It tolls for thee.</i></b><br /><br />~ John Donne (1572-1631)<br />Franco Aragostahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/11088635482766081825noreply@blogger.com