June 20, 2017

It is early, like six or so. Outside, the crow is very engaged in its own loud chanticle to Summertime.

A tribute to the more discreet hummingbird surreptitiously comes back to mind; magic flight in reverse, this is one by the lonesome Emily D., written long ago:

A Route of Evanescence, 

With a revolving Wheel – 

A Resonance of Emerald 

A Rush of Cochineal – 

And every Blossom on the Bush 

Adjusts its tumbled Head – 

The Mail from Tunis – probably, 

An easy Morning’s Ride –

Finding beauty in unsuspected places… oh, Life Surprising!


May 31, 2017

Fed by the Amish, slept on a treehouse, greeted some giraffes and a golden pheasant, and now thinking of slippery sphalerons and flavorful quantum numbers; what an exciting week!  And now here’s wondering, surrounded by extraordinary blessings, if the baryonic conundrum is what prompted Pasteur to say that the Universe is definitely asymetric… seeing the astonishing depth of his writing, that would not startle me one bit.


May 19, 2017

Immerse in warm water, the intimacy of the bathtub, diving through Cayley-Dickson’s. So much left for catching up, so little time left… And in the meantime, erratic governments hustle or struggle and (most) dogs hustle or rest, happily undisturbed by power-associative calculations happening around them. Well – it will require more than sheer sedenions to figure that one out!

Today was a beautiful day.


April 12, 2017

«Leid, milde ljos, igjennom skodde-eim,
leid du meg fram!
Eg gjeng i myrke natt langt frå min heim,
leid du meg fram!».

~ Norwegian psalm sang for the unknown woman buried in Møllendal cemetery on February 5, 1971 – une espionne?

An edit, a few days later: Thanks to the strontium isotopes stuck in her enamel, we now know she probably spent some time, in her early childhood, at Nuremberg and part of her youth somewhere between Vercelli and Milano… and somewhere around Merzig and Nancy? Was she born in Lubljana? Doesn’t look like it, when you check the result maps…


March 9, 2017

Last verses of a poem in Dutch by the beautiful  Caribbean poetess Aletta Beaujon (1933-2001) ~ maybe someday in the future enough boldness and energy will coincide and attempt a decent translation:

Als ik straks dalen ga
rollen de stenen naar beneden
ik ben zo moe en zo bang
om voort te gaan
waarom kan ik hier niet blijven
zo rustig is het nergens
de wind zoemt
langs de toppen van de rotsen
en brengt zo nu en dan
het schreeuwen van de vogels
in de bomen daar beneden
zelfs een schot van de jager
een echo wordt gefluister
in de bergen
Ik wou dat ik elk plekje kende
in de verte