Friday, October 28, 2011

The Tongue-Cut Sparrow, a japanese fairytale



There was once an old man who had a wife with a very bad temper. She had never borne him any children, and would not take the trouble to adopt a son. So for a little pet he kept a tiny sparrow, and fed it with great care. The old dame, not satisfied with scolding her husband, hated the sparrow.

Now the old woman's temper was especially bad on wash days, when her old back and knees were well strained over the low tub, which rested on the ground. It happened once that she had made some starch, and set it in a red wooden bowl to cool. While her back was turned, the sparrow hopped down on the edge of the bowl, and pecked at some of the starch. In a rage the old hag seized a pair of scissors and cut the sparrow's tongue out. Flinging the bird in the air she cried out, "Now be off." So the poor sparrow, all bleeding, flew away.

When the old man came back and found his pet gone, he made a great ado. He asked his wife, and she told him what she had done and why. The sorrowful old man grieved sorely for his pet, and after looking in every place and calling it by name, gave it up as lost.

Long after this, old man while wandering on the mountains met his old friend the sparrow. They both cried "Ohio!" (good morning) to each other, and bowing low offered many mutual congratulations and inquiries as to health, etc. Then the sparrow begged the old man to visit his humble abode, promising to introduce his wife and two daughters.

The old man went in and found a nice little house with a bamboo garden, tiny waterfall, stepping stone, and everything complete. Then Mrs. Sparrow brought in slices of sugar-jelly, rock-candy, sweet potato custard, and a bowl of hot starch sprinkled with sugar, and a pair of chopsticks on a tray. Miss Suzumi, the elder daughter brought the tea caddy and teapot, and in a snap of the fingers had a good cup of tea ready, which she offered on a tray, kneeling.

"Please take up and help yourself. The refreshments are very poor, but I hope you will excuse our plainness," said Mother Sparrow. The delighted old man, wondering in himself at such a polite family of sparrows, ate heartily, and drank several cups of tea. Finally, on being pressed he remained all night.

For several days the old man enjoyed himself at the sparrow's home. He looked at the landscapes and the moonlight, feasted to his heart's content, and played go(the game of 360 checkers) with Ko-Suzumi the little daughter. In the evening Mrs. Sparrow would bring out the refreshments and the wine, and seat the old man on a silken cushion, while she played the guitar. Mr. Sparrow and his two daughters danced, sung, and made merry. The delighted old man leaning on the velvet armrest forgot his cares, his old limbs, and his wife's tongue, and felt like a youth again.

On the fifth day the old man said he must go home. Then the sparrow brought out two baskets made of plaited rattan, such as are used in traveling and carried on men's shoulders. Placing them before their guest, the sparrow said, "Please accept a parting gift."

Now one basket was very heavy, and the other very light. The old man, not being greedy, said he would take the lighter one. So with many thanks and bows and good-byes, he set off homewards.

He reached his hut safely, but instead of a kind welcome the old hag began to scold him for being away so long. He begged her to be quiet, and telling of his visit to the sparrows, opened the basket, while the scowling old woman held her tongue, out of sheer curiosity.

Oh, what a splendid sight! There were gold and silver coin, and gems, and coral, and crystal, and amber, and the never-failing bag of money, and the invisible coat and hat, and rolls of books, and all manner of precious things.

At the sight of so much wealth, the old hag's scowl changed to a smile of greedy joy. "I'll go right off and get a present from the sparrows," said she.

So binding on her straw sandals, and tucking up her skirts, and adjusting her girdle, tying the bow in front, she seized her staff and set off on the road. Arriving at the sparrow's house she began to flatter Mr. Sparrow by soft speeches. Of course the polite sparrow invited her into his house, but nothing but a cup of tea was offered her, and wife and daughters kept away. Seeing she was not going to get any good-bye gift, the brazen hussy asked for one. The sparrow then brought out and set before her two baskets, one heavy and the other light. Taking the heavier one without so much as saying "thank you," she carried it back with her. Then she opened it, expecting all kinds of riches.

She took off the lid, when a horrible cuttlefish rushed at her, and a horned oni snapped his tusks at her, a skeleton poked his bony fingers in her face, and finally a long, hairy serpent, with a big head and lolling tongue, sprang out and coiled around her, cracking her bones, and squeezing out her breath, till she died.

After the good old man had buried his wife, he adopted a son to comfort his old age, and with his treasures lived at ease all his days.

Throwing away


Silence speaks volumes...

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Lies, OST from the movie Once.




O Re Piya - Oh beloved...




[O Re Piya] Oh beloved

Why does my weary soul want to fly?
Where did this courage come from?
O beloved (was it because of you?)

The wind teases and taunts me, oh, the cruel winds play havoc with me.
Even the raindrops won't fall here anymore (to ease the suffering)
It is as if the whole world is part of the conspiracy,
The whole universe (against me).
Still I hold on to hope, and kindle the ambers.

Oh beloved...

The glances are telling, the world knows.
The story of my heart, oh, the story of my heart.
Love prays, love wishes for a hurricane (to stir the life within).
A story of love, a feeling till now unknown to me slowly walks in.
The first tender promise you gave was to be forever as one.

Oh beloved...

Beneath my bare feet is a path of burning coal (of misfortune)
All my life I have lived a stranger among strangers (such loneliness)
Take me to your country (to the places you call home).
For this ignorant world wishes to be my enemy (I seek salvation in you)

Oh beloved... 

Aziza, by Hossam Ramzy




Thursday, October 20, 2011

Sad autumn...

Have you ever...


I lived for art, I lived for love... - Tosca.



Vissi d'arte, vissi d'amore,
non feci mai male ad anima viva!
Con man furtiva quante miserie conobbi aiutai.
Sempre con fè sincera 
la mia preghiera ai santi tabernacoli salì.
Sempre con fè sincera 
diedi fiori agli altar.
Nell'ora del dolore 
perché, perché, Signore,
perché me ne rimuneri così?
Diedi gioielli della Madonna al manto,
e diedi il canto agli astri, al ciel,
che ne ridean più belli.
Nell'ora del dolore,
perché, perché, Signore,
ah, perché me ne rimuneri così?



I lived for art, I lived for love,
I never did harm to a living soul!
With a secret hand I relieved as many misfortunes as I knew of.
Ever in true faith
My prayer rose to the holy shrines.
Ever in true faith
I gave flowers to the altar.
In the hour of grief
Why, why, Lord,
Why do you reward me thus?
I gave jewels for the Madonna's mantle,
And songs for the stars, in heaven,
That shone forth with greater radiance.
In the hour of grief
Why, why, Lord,
Ah, why do you reward me thus?

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Mirror.


She still thinks
flowers and bees are her family
her cat is her best friend
She can't see yet clearly
She thinks the other woman
it was all her fault, she is convincing herself
Poor stupid woman
She should look in a mirror
to see
how empty her face
how void her heart
the mirror will tell
that for one life together
she was too little
and how she loved only herself
So
she breaks all the mirrors in the house
and thinks everything is ok
So sad
to know
you are not loved anymore
you may lay in the same bed
with a faceless man
and be happy with a lie
but under closed eyelids
the truth will echo and echo and echo
You 
never 
loved.... 

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Prince's Progress, by Christina Rossetti



Ophelia, by John Everett Millais
Slip past, slip fast,

         Uncounted hours from first to last,
                                                        Many hours till the last is past, 
                                                        Many hours dwindling to one —
                                                            One hour whose die is cast, 
                                                                 One last hour gone.

      Come, gone-gone for ever — 

       Gone as an unreturning river — 
                                                           Gone as to death the merriest liver —  
                                                           Gone as the year at the dying fall — 
                                                            Tomorrow, today, yesterday, never — 
                                                                  Gone once for all.     

Hamlet

Dirk Bell
"Wolf Hamlet Madonna Elmex"


 To be, or not to be--that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles

And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep--

No more--and by a sleep to say we end

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep--

To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub,

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause. There's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life.

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office, and the spurns

That patient merit of th' unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprise of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry

And lose the name of action.