tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26346072056226144242024-03-13T23:15:32.343+05:30Random Musings ..Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.comBlogger163125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-48707435295069933842021-01-13T13:02:00.001+05:302021-01-13T13:06:25.180+05:30The Gift : Li-Young Lee<p><span face="canada-type-gibson" style="background-color: white; font-size: 28px; font-weight: 600;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmLgoPC4-HLhCF4J3finF5JGmykg9g3Z2NCd6M0qzMOjIF4R5JutAs9nyTK0kbSuMZGQqET5jSuqpkqaxDJX0fneMfOxla5mGAdtvdRjaViGHACtlNdEq0i6KyyhEANQnV_QH3x6L61g/s1300/70223987-black-and-white-picture-of-father-and-son-walking-on-road-between-wheat-field-backview-of-man-with-o.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="1300" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsmLgoPC4-HLhCF4J3finF5JGmykg9g3Z2NCd6M0qzMOjIF4R5JutAs9nyTK0kbSuMZGQqET5jSuqpkqaxDJX0fneMfOxla5mGAdtvdRjaViGHACtlNdEq0i6KyyhEANQnV_QH3x6L61g/w400-h266/70223987-black-and-white-picture-of-father-and-son-walking-on-road-between-wheat-field-backview-of-man-with-o.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span face="canada-type-gibson" style="background-color: white; font-size: 28px; font-weight: 600;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span face="canada-type-gibson" style="background-color: white; color: #04ff00; font-size: 28px; font-weight: 600;">The Gift</span></p><div class="o-vr o-vr_12x" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro; margin: 0px 0px 60px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="c-feature" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.231; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="c-feature-bd" style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.3; margin: 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>To pull the metal splinter from my palm</b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>my father recited a story in a low voice.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>I watched his lovely face and not the blade.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>Before the story ended, he’d removed<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>the iron sliver I thought I’d die from.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>I can’t remember the tale,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>but hear his voice still, a well<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>of dark water, a prayer.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>And I recall his hands,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>two measures of tenderness<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>he laid against my face,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>the flames of discipline<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>he raised above my head.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>Had you entered that afternoon<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>you would have thought you saw a man<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>planting something in a boy’s palm,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>a silver tear, a tiny flame.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>Had you followed that boy<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>you would have arrived here,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>where I bend over my wife’s right hand.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>Look how I shave her thumbnail down<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>so carefully she feels no pain.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>Watch as I lift the splinter out.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>I was seven when my father<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>took my hand like this,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>and I did not hold that shard<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>between my fingers and think,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b><em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Metal that will bury me,</em><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>christen it Little Assassin,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>Ore Going Deep for My Heart.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>And I did not lift up my wound and cry,<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b><em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Death visited here!</em><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>I did what a child does<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-size: medium;"><b>when he’s given something to keep.<br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">I kissed my father.</span><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">~ </span><span style="color: #04ff00; font-size: large;"><b><i>Li-Young Lee</i></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><span face="canada-type-gibson" style="color: #767676; text-indent: 0px;">(Li-Young Lee, “The Gift” from '</span><span face="canada-type-gibson" style="border: 0px; color: #767676; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Rose')</span></span></b></div></div></div></div></div><div class="o-grid" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; font-family: adobe-garamond-pro; font-size: 22px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="o-grid-col o-grid-col_10of12" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; float: left; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline; width: 638.365px;"></div></div>Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-53083610094193112312020-11-02T16:11:00.000+05:302020-11-02T16:11:11.486+05:30Maya C. Popa : Dear Life..<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fZTBbnUFqPnDlKOqZ0tkS4virpJEZv6Aih71N_MJNlxN8yvU8BHt7jrQENGSvxqlqRvISFdPcfhP4C9Wzg2GsGbv_QaB4U-HFRNBksS-141N1Aq1XG80TPpAOwlorVcWx4DoPRj3_EU/s1500/Popa%252BMaya%252BCatherine%252Bcc%252BSam%252BNester.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fZTBbnUFqPnDlKOqZ0tkS4virpJEZv6Aih71N_MJNlxN8yvU8BHt7jrQENGSvxqlqRvISFdPcfhP4C9Wzg2GsGbv_QaB4U-HFRNBksS-141N1Aq1XG80TPpAOwlorVcWx4DoPRj3_EU/w400-h266/Popa%252BMaya%252BCatherine%252Bcc%252BSam%252BNester.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="c-feature-hd" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 22px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 4px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><h1 class="c-hdgSans c-hdgSans_2 c-mix-hdgSans_inline" style="border: 0px; display: inline; font-family: canada-type-gibson; font-size: 1.75rem; font-style: inherit; line-height: 1.231; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Dear Life</h1></div><div class="c-feature-sub c-feature-sub_vast" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 33px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 22px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-indent: -1em;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-indent: -1em;"><span style="font-size: large;">I can’t undo all I have done unto myself,</span></span></div></div><div class="c-feature-bd" style="border: 0px; line-height: 1.3; margin: 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="o-poem isActive" data-view="PoemView" style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">what I have let an appetite for love do to me.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">I have wanted all the world, its beauties<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">and its injuries; some days,<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">I think that is punishment enough.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Often, I received more than I’d asked,<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">which is how this works—you fish in open water<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">ready to be wounded on what you reel in.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Throwing it back was a nightmare.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Throwing it back and seeing my own face<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">as it disappeared into the dark water.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Catching my tongue suddenly on metal,<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">spitting the hook into my open palm.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dear life: I feel that hook today most keenly.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">Would you loosen the line—you’ll listen<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">if I ask you,<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">if you are the sort of life I think you are.<br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br style="background-color: white;" /></div><div style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div><div style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 1em; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><b><i>~ Maya C. Popa</i></b></span></div></div></div>Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-41736961377492454982020-10-19T15:08:00.001+05:302020-10-19T15:08:10.728+05:30Before You Came.. ~ Faiz Ahmed Faiz<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYJp7dUL2-HoEAKpbM77Y2W9_h3kMg949T8JT0TaVOtQpWWIWZtt2ev3ZFb8K7edsQQaXEjW5yYAxEhreb3xRyIdrxEPxw_83YQZqxM6mNa-tV1hzCumtdqT3FnjrlG5nZzXz5xHPySk/s720/Faiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="720" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOYJp7dUL2-HoEAKpbM77Y2W9_h3kMg949T8JT0TaVOtQpWWIWZtt2ev3ZFb8K7edsQQaXEjW5yYAxEhreb3xRyIdrxEPxw_83YQZqxM6mNa-tV1hzCumtdqT3FnjrlG5nZzXz5xHPySk/s320/Faiz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i>Faiz Ahmed Faiz with Alys Faiz</i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">Before you came things were just what they were:</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the road precisely a road, the horizon fixed,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the limit of what could be seen,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">a glass of wine was no more than a glass of wine.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">With you the world took on the spectrum</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">radiating from my heart: your eyes gold</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">as they open to me, slate the color</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">that falls each time I lost all hope.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">With your advent roses burst into flame:</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">you were the artist of dried-up leaves, sorceress</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">who flicked her wrist to change dust into soot.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">You lacquered the night black.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">As for the sky, the road, the cup of wine:</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">one was my tear-drenched shirt,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the other an aching nerve,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the third a mirror that never reflected the same thing.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">Now you are here again—stay with me.</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">This time things will fall into place;</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the road can be the road,</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the sky nothing but sky;</span><br style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;" /><span style="color: #141823; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">the glass of wine, as it should be, the glass of wine.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">~ <b>Faiz Ahmed Faiz </b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">(1911 ~ 1984)</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: start;">Translated from Urdu by </span><b style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #141823; font-family: Roboto, "Droid Sans", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; text-align: left;">Naomi Lazard</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><p></p>Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-10939882067126469082020-10-13T17:54:00.002+05:302020-10-13T17:54:40.466+05:30Hilda Hilst : Nameless Songs<p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOt48VNyn53mM_dvcMpVNTsO-RB06YRiKrpHnXP9WgA0XN2GI_7FaDJbYlWOcpmKbJ4W9Ja_lR8KRTSKqJn2h9KhAhx4qAPTW28iGfvh0nhdqe6wdF63ss5TnsSw2XnIbtnEeVIfv1KE/s500/1500x500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOt48VNyn53mM_dvcMpVNTsO-RB06YRiKrpHnXP9WgA0XN2GI_7FaDJbYlWOcpmKbJ4W9Ja_lR8KRTSKqJn2h9KhAhx4qAPTW28iGfvh0nhdqe6wdF63ss5TnsSw2XnIbtnEeVIfv1KE/w400-h320/1500x500.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Hilda Hilst</b></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">May this love neither
blind me nor follow me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And may it never notice
me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">May it spare me from
being pursued<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And from torment.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">From only being so that
he knows me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">May the gaze not lose
itself among the tulips<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Because such perfect
forms of beauty<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Spring from the glare of
shadows.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And my Lord inhabits the
glimmering dark<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">From a clutter of ivies
on a high wall.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">May his love only make me
discontent<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">And tired of tiredness.
And may I<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Shrink before so many
weaknesses. Small and soft<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Like spiders and ants.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">May this love see me only
in parting.</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">~ Hilda Hilst</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>(1930 ~ 2004)</i></span></p><p>
(<span style="font-family: arial;">Translated by Lavinia Saad</span>)</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-23756050299838292192020-01-16T13:37:00.000+05:302020-01-16T13:37:09.725+05:30The Unknown Citizen : W.H.Auden<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="font-weight: normal;">'Study For A Head' </i><span style="font-weight: normal;">: </span>Francis Bacon</span><span style="font-size: 1.6em;"> </span></h1>
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The Unknown Citizen</h2>
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<span style="font-weight: 400;">A Poem by </span>Wystan H. Auden</h2>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />One against whom there was no official complaint,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And all the reports on his conduct agree<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />saint,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Except for the War till the day he retired<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />He worked in a factory and never got fired,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Yet he wasn't a scab or odd in his views,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />For his Union reports that he paid his dues,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And our Social Psychology workers found<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />That he was popular with his mates and liked a drink.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />The Press are convinced that he bought a paper every day<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Instalment Plan<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Our researchers into Public Opinion are content<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />When there was peace, he was for peace: when there was war, he went.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />He was married and added five children to the population,<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />generation.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />And our teachers report that he never interfered with their<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />education.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Was he free? Was he happy? The question is absurd:<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.</span></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-62325786139011631232018-09-18T15:29:00.000+05:302018-09-18T15:29:06.770+05:30Vasily Grossman : 'Life and Fate'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>Vasily Grossman</i></b></div>
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<i>(1905~1964)</i></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; text-align: start;">Somehow you could sense spring more vividly in this cool forest than on the sunlit plain. And there was a deeper sadness in this silence than in the silence of autumn. In it, you could hear both a lament for the dead and the furious joy of life itself. It was still cold and dark, but soon the doors and shutters would be flung open. Soon the house would be filled with the tears and laughter of children, with the hurried steps of a loved woman and the measured gait of the master of the house. They stood there, holding their bags, in silence.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><b>~ 'Life and Fate'</b></span></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-72321896397846636742018-09-11T17:00:00.000+05:302018-09-12T10:45:25.505+05:30Edgar Allan Poe : A Dream Within A Dream <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b>Edgar Allan Poe </b></div>
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<i>(1809 ~ 1849)</i></div>
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<i>(With his wife Viginia Clemm and</i></div>
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<i>her kitty Catarina perched on him)</i></div>
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Take this kiss upon the brow!<br />
And, in parting from you now,<br />
Thus much let me avow-<br />
You are not wrong, who deem<br />
That my days have been a dream;<br />
Yet if hope has flown away<br />
In a night, or in a day,<br />
In a vision, or in none,<br />
Is it therefore the less gone?<br />
All that we see or seem<br />
Is but a dream within a dream.<br />
<br />
I stand amid the roar<br />
Of a surf-tormented shore,<br />
And I hold within my hand<br />
Grains of the golden sand-<br />
How few! yet how they creep<br />
Through my fingers to the deep,<br />
While I weep- while I weep!<br />
O God! can I not grasp<br />
Them with a tighter clasp?<br />
O God! can I not save<br />
One from the pitiless wave?<br />
Is all that we see or seem<br />
But a dream within a dream? </div>
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~ <a href="https://www.poemhunter.com/edgar-allan-poe/poems/" style="color: #005d93; text-decoration-line: none;">Edgar Allan Poe</a></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-36808917720903688872018-05-02T14:48:00.000+05:302018-05-02T14:48:09.733+05:30Adam Zagajewski : Impossible Friendships<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Friendship</i> ~ <i><b>Pablo Picasso</b></i> (1908)</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: canada-type-gibson; font-size: 28px; font-weight: 600;">Impossible Friendships</span><br />
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For example, with someone who no longer is,</div>
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who exists only in yellowed letters.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Or long walks beside a stream,</div>
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whose depths hold hidden</div>
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<br /></div>
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porcelain cups—and the talks about philosophy</div>
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with a timid student or the postman.</div>
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A passerby with proud eyes</div>
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whom you'll never know.</div>
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Friendship with this world, ever more perfect</div>
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(if not for the salty smell of blood).</div>
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<br /></div>
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The old man sipping coffee</div>
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in St.Lazare, who reminds you of someone.</div>
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Faces flashing by</div>
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in local trains—</div>
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<br /></div>
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the happy faces of travelers headed perhaps</div>
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for a splendid ball, or a beheading.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And friendship with yourself</div>
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—since after all you don't know who you are.</div>
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~ <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/adam-zagajewski" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #e81c23; font-family: canada-type-gibson; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: 1.4px; margin: 0px; outline: rgb(232, 28, 35) dotted thin; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; text-transform: uppercase; transition: color 250ms cubic-bezier(0.215, 0.61, 0.355, 1); vertical-align: baseline;">ADAM ZAGAJEWSKI</a></div>
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<b>(Translated by Clare Cavanagh)</b></div>
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('Eternal Enemies' </div>
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2008, Farrar, Straus and Giroux)</div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-67094146239329199412017-12-27T13:22:00.000+05:302017-12-30T17:54:02.320+05:30Marina Tsvetaeva : An Attempt at Jealousy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Seated Woman : Pablo Picasso (1960)</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<br />
<b>AN ATTEMPT AT JEALOUSY</b><br />
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How is your life with that other one?</div>
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Simpler, is it? A stroke of the oars</div>
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and a long coastline—</div>
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and the memory of me</div>
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<br /></div>
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is soon a drifting island</div>
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(not in the ocean—in the sky!)</div>
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Souls—you will be sisters—</div>
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sisters, not lovers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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How is your life with an<em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"> ordinary</em></div>
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woman? without the god inside her?</div>
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The queen supplanted—</div>
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<br /></div>
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How do you breathe now?</div>
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Flinch, waking up?</div>
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What do you do, poor man?</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Hysterics and interruptions—</div>
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enough! I’ll rent my own house!”</div>
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How <em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">is </em>your life with that other,</div>
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you, my own.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Is the breakfast delicious?</div>
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(If you get sick, don’t blame me!)</div>
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How is it, living with a postcard?</div>
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You who stood on Sinai.</div>
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<br /></div>
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How’s your life with a tourist</div>
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on Earth? Her rib (<em style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">do</em> you love her?)</div>
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is it to your liking?</div>
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<br /></div>
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How’s life? Do you cough?</div>
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Do you hum to drown out the mice in your mind?</div>
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<br /></div>
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How do you live with cheap goods: is the market rising?</div>
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How’s kissing plaster-dust?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Are you bored with her new body?</div>
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How’s it going, with an earthly woman, </div>
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with no sixth sense?</div>
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<br /></div>
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Are you happy?</div>
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No? In a shallow pit—how is your life,</div>
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my beloved? Hard as mine</div>
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with another man?</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="attribution" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="attribution" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;">~ </span><span class="attribution" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><b>Marina Tsvetaeva</b></i></span></div>
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<i>(1924)</i></div>
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<span data-offset-key="8jgo3-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-text="true" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="8jgo3-0-0"><span data-text="true" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>(Translated from the Russian by Ilya Kaminsky & Jean Valentine)</i></span></span></div>
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<span class="attribution" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyu08rbFgl817Gi799oxHynEXKXztjUciS5ChEqT0AJMhtCORZQsG1iHWzFualA-S2AQLidYXrfd_eBOlt5VvGTxifiJiXr_dn9DEL2BCSs18Dh333tokqIISW5SVGM6VGO7ZZlNsbfjc/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyu08rbFgl817Gi799oxHynEXKXztjUciS5ChEqT0AJMhtCORZQsG1iHWzFualA-S2AQLidYXrfd_eBOlt5VvGTxifiJiXr_dn9DEL2BCSs18Dh333tokqIISW5SVGM6VGO7ZZlNsbfjc/s320/1.jpg" width="271" /></a></i></span></div>
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</i></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="attribution" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><i> Marina Tsvetaeva</i></span></div>
<span class="attribution" style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-indent: -1em; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWpMXru34BjVLkS_oLBQ68J_PazA1LSm6WuRckS8s352xlL-GaGx9G4m0ZnjPbK3Won7SWLQJD9URyrEz1IqqgMRsVT7MDSaqWElRMjOKfvZoGmxHdZic5vE3e6vqeW4jl3GVCy0Yi_Q/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="253" data-original-width="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSWpMXru34BjVLkS_oLBQ68J_PazA1LSm6WuRckS8s352xlL-GaGx9G4m0ZnjPbK3Won7SWLQJD9URyrEz1IqqgMRsVT7MDSaqWElRMjOKfvZoGmxHdZic5vE3e6vqeW4jl3GVCy0Yi_Q/s1600/2.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold;"> </span>Marina</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPn7CLai0mguc0tiuRrJbN4i6a9TAfSWgvuLFRCc6McdcCwGPUGxmoyz2ajAxEcS92_a7k88yz4VtQlsDmlSj7HEv2NnWlwf2V-fMkPhLTFX1SgtD1de1pa74jESLjqgaDk6gyzOdjz2s/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="542" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPn7CLai0mguc0tiuRrJbN4i6a9TAfSWgvuLFRCc6McdcCwGPUGxmoyz2ajAxEcS92_a7k88yz4VtQlsDmlSj7HEv2NnWlwf2V-fMkPhLTFX1SgtD1de1pa74jESLjqgaDk6gyzOdjz2s/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_mKYLBBwTPcrjHTMjnyeyYEENxFex0BgCaW1ZPU9T6gBVuv9kRsI52H_FoQT8Xo7nMC7Zsh6HqbmRWIGUvb90siYBe-s6LfM8QCE9zKS2QPP-dfu3pmrmfzjH_-0BisQrjWA-WlG5to/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="695" data-original-width="468" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9_mKYLBBwTPcrjHTMjnyeyYEENxFex0BgCaW1ZPU9T6gBVuv9kRsI52H_FoQT8Xo7nMC7Zsh6HqbmRWIGUvb90siYBe-s6LfM8QCE9zKS2QPP-dfu3pmrmfzjH_-0BisQrjWA-WlG5to/s320/4.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -1em;">Marina Tsvetaeva</i></div>
</i><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TrIM42cYAtdb3yQFXtkF-IgFy-U8wa1tdCraq3So0eFg6fMS235N8amf0gRoS52W_AKDkBLn5Plmr7avA3plwa4dbmMyd2v8LEbA0exk1yntB21EKGD58O4_Y1_oW6kE7CVyHn44K-I/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4TrIM42cYAtdb3yQFXtkF-IgFy-U8wa1tdCraq3So0eFg6fMS235N8amf0gRoS52W_AKDkBLn5Plmr7avA3plwa4dbmMyd2v8LEbA0exk1yntB21EKGD58O4_Y1_oW6kE7CVyHn44K-I/s400/5.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<i style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -1em;"><b style="font-size: 20px; font-weight: bold;"> </b>Portrait of Marina Tsvetaeva : By Magda Nachman-Acharya (1913)</i></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-36361125901689131162017-12-26T13:31:00.000+05:302017-12-30T17:46:56.957+05:30Ludwig Steinherr : A Good Likeness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: orange;"><b>A GOOD LIKENESS</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>There are no</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>good photos of me:</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>there’s always something</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>wrong</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>the lighting the distance</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>friends look for</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>likenesses</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>in vain –</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>Only that one</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>you triggered by chance</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>while hanging the camera</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>round your neck</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>(me slantwise from behind</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>across the overturning</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>mountain path plunging</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>out of the picture) –</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>but there, in turn,</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>I’m too much</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>like myself</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><b>for anyone to</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><b>recognise me</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13.013px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
<span style="color: orange;">~ Ludwig Steinherr </span></div>
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<div style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px;">
(Translated from German by Richard Dove)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3nyQ7QD_WcStMNbqWogRZjmUI3XmBTbOEg78ns7KHq0Glnd49IUAMNRK58OeJ7iNphnJLrgHTqxgKHEV6UmQqD_aM6vvck3Y0IDAuq2s84JKNpGJPqBYlz-ZtxllAaxXz13cKkE8rdo/s1600/Ludwig+Steinherr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="670" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd3nyQ7QD_WcStMNbqWogRZjmUI3XmBTbOEg78ns7KHq0Glnd49IUAMNRK58OeJ7iNphnJLrgHTqxgKHEV6UmQqD_aM6vvck3Y0IDAuq2s84JKNpGJPqBYlz-ZtxllAaxXz13cKkE8rdo/s320/Ludwig+Steinherr.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Verdana, sans-serif; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
<b><i>Ludwig Steinherr</i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-421612274460404862017-11-27T18:17:00.000+05:302018-03-15T18:21:41.789+05:30Black Stone on top of a White Stone : César Vallejo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIB9jcL4Fuf2CWYiNFoNsfYKP8abXJiZ9Oke6y47KwQLd2G6NzuVpsChFC_UIwsmkETFq7ssOPAjo-leKLeVSqhiMf_SIPUhgvZLeCgcfdsAhx65BP96LXSCzY_v4jE2dMNs8hhy_qeI/s1600/cesar-vallejo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1231" data-original-width="794" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIB9jcL4Fuf2CWYiNFoNsfYKP8abXJiZ9Oke6y47KwQLd2G6NzuVpsChFC_UIwsmkETFq7ssOPAjo-leKLeVSqhiMf_SIPUhgvZLeCgcfdsAhx65BP96LXSCzY_v4jE2dMNs8hhy_qeI/s400/cesar-vallejo.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "arial" , , sans-serif;"><b>César Vallejo</b></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">I shall die in Paris, in a rainstorm,</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">On a day I already remember.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Doubtless on a Thursday, like today, in autumn.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">To the evil. Never like today have I turned,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And headed my whole journey to the ways where I am alone.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">César Vallejo is dead. They struck him,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">With the end of a rope. Witnesses are: the Thursdays,</span></div>
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The shoulder bones, the loneliness, the rain, and the roads. </div>
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<b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "roboto" , sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">~ </span><span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "arial" , , sans-serif; text-align: center;">César Vallejo </span></b></div>
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<span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "arial" , , sans-serif; text-align: center;"> (1892 ~ 1938)</span></div>
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<b><span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "arial" , , sans-serif; text-align: center;">(Translated from Spanish by Thomas Merton)</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: rgba(0 , 0 , 0 , 0.87); font-family: "arial" , , sans-serif; text-align: center;">(Thanks : Ken Bullock)</span></b></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-54163699514340761422017-11-17T14:39:00.000+05:302017-11-27T18:29:04.892+05:30So Long, Marianne! ~ Leonard Cohen<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">If opposites attract, it’s no wonder that the brooding poet </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">and singer-songwriter Leonard Cohen was enchanted by the blond beauty Marianne </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ihlen. A radiant young mother with long slender legs and hipbones jutting over </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">her bikini bottom, she was light to his darkness, a bright sunny presence in </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">his memorably gloomy days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">In March 1960, Cohen, a law school dropout and budding </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">poet, left dismal London for the sunny paradise of Hydra, Greece. The Greek </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">isle was at the time a haven for the era’s nascent hippie culture, with </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">wanderers fashioning themselves as bohemian artists alongside such moneyed </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">elite as Aristotle Onassis and Princess Margaret. The Canadian poet, lonely and </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">despondent, found himself admiring a handsome couple strolling along, their </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">arms linked in seemingly loving companionship. As Cohen himself would later </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">say: “I had no idea I’d spend the next decade with this man’s wife.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Cohen didn’t know that the man was the Norwegian novelist </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Axel Jensen, about to abandon the beautiful Marianne Ihlen, then 25, and their </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">toddler son, for another woman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Later Cohen ran into the blonde at a market, where she was </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">shopping. He invited her to join his friends outside. Cohen, then 26, was </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">immediately entranced, but their courtship was slow and luxurious. “Though I </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">loved him from the moment we met, it was a beautiful, slow movie,” Ihlen </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">recalled.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">“We met when we were almost young,” Cohen would write in </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">his famous love song inspired by his blonde muse, “So Long, Marianne,” in 1967. </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Deep in the green lilac park/You held on to me like I was a crucifix/As we </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">went kneeling through the dark.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The two had little money, but led a romantic life of </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">reading poetry, playing with Ihlen’s son on the beach, and singing in tavernas </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">at night. After Cohen drove with Ihlen to Oslo so she could file for divorce </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">from Jensen, he returned to his hometown of Montreal for the publication of a </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">critically acclaimed book of poetry, </span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The Spice-Box of the Earth</i><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">. </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">But he was lonely, and wanted his muse by his side. He sent Ihlen a telegraph: </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Have a flat. All I need is my woman and her child.” She heeded his call, and </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">flew to Montreal with her young son.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Cohen and Ihlen remained entangled for the next seven </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">years, but their relationship was tempestuous. Neither was faithful, both were </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">jealous. Ihlen would become enraged with the attention Cohen received. He spent </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">time at the Chelsea Hotel in New York City, strumming his guitar, hanging out </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">at Andy Warhol’s Factory, and setting the stage for his future as a </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">singer-songwriter. She preferred the sun and gleaming white sands of Hydra.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">During this time Cohen, sensing their was more money in </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">music than literature, began a natural transition from poet to </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">singer-songwriter. He compiled the songs for his for his debut album, </span><i style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Songs </i></div>
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<i style="font-size: 14pt;">of Leonard Cohen,</i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> released in 1967, which includes “So Long, Marianne.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was not meant as a good-bye letter, but it certainly foreshadowed their</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14pt;">ultimate breakup. “Oh, so long, Marianne,” Cohen sang. “It’s time that we began </span><span style="font-size: 14pt;">to laugh/And cry and cry and laugh about it all again.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">The couple finally cracked apart in 1972, when Cohen’s </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">girlfriend, Suzanne Eldrod, gave birth to his son. He tried to talk Ihlen into </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">accepting the unconventional situation, but she refused and walked away from </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">him for good. Ihlen remarried in 1979.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Though their romantic relationship ended then, Cohen and </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Ihlen eventually managed to arrive at a place of affection for each other. When </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">he heard she was dying of leukemia in 2016, he wrote a sweet letter to her, </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">according to the CBC, which read: “Well, Marianne, it’s come to this time when </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">hand, I think you can reach mine. And you know that I’ve always loved you for </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">your beauty and for your wisdom … but now, I just want to wish you a very good </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">journey. Goodbye old friend. Endless love, see you down the road.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Marianne Ilhen died two days later, on July 29, 2016. </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">Leonard Cohen died three months later, on November 7, 2016, in his sleep, </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">following a fall. He was 82. His song lyrics seem like an appropriate requiem: </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">“Oh, so long, Marianne/It’s time that we began to laugh/And cry and cry and </span><span style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;">laugh about it all again.”</span></div>
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<i><b>Leonard Cohen with Marianne</b></i></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-90783025202740270042017-10-31T12:13:00.000+05:302017-10-31T12:13:00.375+05:30Annabel Lee ~ Edgar Allan Poe<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"><b><span style="color: orange;"><i>Lovers In The Moonlight</i></span><span style="color: blue;"> ~ </span><span style="color: orange;">Marc Chagall</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"><b>ANNABEL LEE</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">It was many and many a year ago,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In a kingdom by the sea,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">That a maiden there lived whom you may know</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">By the name of ANNABEL LEE; </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And this maiden she lived with no other thought</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Than to love and be loved by me.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">I was a child and she was a child,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In this kingdom by the sea; </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">But we loved with a love that was more than love-</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">I and my Annabel Lee; </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Coveted her and me.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And this was the reason that, long ago,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In this kingdom by the sea,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">My beautiful Annabel Lee; </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">So that her highborn kinsman came</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And bore her away from me,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">To shut her up in a sepulchre</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In this kingdom by the sea.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">The angels, not half so happy in heaven,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Went envying her and me-</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In this kingdom by the sea) </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">That the wind came out of the cloud by night,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">But our love it was stronger by far than the love</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Of those who were older than we-</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Of many far wiser than we-</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And neither the angels in heaven above,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Nor the demons down under the sea,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Can ever dissever my soul from the soul</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; </span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In the sepulchre there by the sea,</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;">In her tomb by the sounding sea.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"><br /><b>~ EDGAR ALLAN POE </b></span><br />
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-74708275426315490272016-10-27T16:28:00.001+05:302016-10-27T16:30:37.372+05:30The Rain ~ Kenji Miyazawa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Be not defeated by the rain. Nor let the wind prove your better.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Succumb not to the snows of winter. Nor be bested by the heat of summer.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Be strong in body. Unfettered by desire. Not enticed to anger. Cultivate a quiet joy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Count yourself last in everything. Put others before you.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Watch well and listen closely. Hold the learned lessons dear.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">A thatch-roof house, in a meadow, nestled in a pine grove's shade.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">A handful of rice, some </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">miso</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">, and a few vegetables to suffice for the day.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">If, to the East, a child lies sick: Go forth and nurse him to health.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">If, to the West, an old lady stands exhausted: Go forth, and relieve her of burden.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">If, to the South, a man lies dying: Go forth with words of courage to dispel his fear.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">If, to the North, an argument or fight ensues: </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Go forth and beg them stop such a waste of effort and of spirit.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In times of drought, shed tears of sympathy. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">In summers cold, walk in concern and empathy.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Stand aloof of the unknowing masses:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Better dismissed as useless than flattered as a "Great Man".</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">This is my goal, the person I strive to become.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.3333px;">~ </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "arial";"><span style="color: blue;"><i>Kenji Miyazawa</i></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.3333px;"> (1896 ~ 1933)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.3333px;">(Translated By David Sulz)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial";"><i>Early Morning Rains : Holly Duane </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 13.3333px;">(<i>Courtesy : www.hollyduane.com</i>)</span></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-35002028189471556572016-01-25T15:47:00.000+05:302016-01-25T15:47:36.176+05:30Africa.. ~ Sebastião Salgado <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOORvEraj02jw7dWvuK_2FG-h7K4xjrdBjzujydc_YcZbNGs0lL6MxZYLfX8uIfza1MZNyTxoB2zykXsG0kMU-eJlV8FX_L6cCV22Umdj-1DIDD__yjUdHu1Fh17yitXeSuHDPjEw12xA/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOORvEraj02jw7dWvuK_2FG-h7K4xjrdBjzujydc_YcZbNGs0lL6MxZYLfX8uIfza1MZNyTxoB2zykXsG0kMU-eJlV8FX_L6cCV22Umdj-1DIDD__yjUdHu1Fh17yitXeSuHDPjEw12xA/s320/1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">I looked through a lens and ended up abandoning everything else.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5walhsZsI3QT8Lj0PnnjhyphenhyphenHaT_pXh2Skt04d4vsjQ0wFmrorDr9NG8DGzVuP4Q5UE5nhhRCgJFcrUQo0_oHSOrXOEGgkhEN3dPYR3KzNeENwm0HhJ_RsGCVfVby7kuLO6ycp5IW4uC0/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG5walhsZsI3QT8Lj0PnnjhyphenhyphenHaT_pXh2Skt04d4vsjQ0wFmrorDr9NG8DGzVuP4Q5UE5nhhRCgJFcrUQo0_oHSOrXOEGgkhEN3dPYR3KzNeENwm0HhJ_RsGCVfVby7kuLO6ycp5IW4uC0/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">When I was just starting out, I met Cartier-Bresson. He wasn’t young in age but, in his mind, he was the youngest person I’d ever met. He told me it was necessary to trust my instincts, be inside my work, and set aside my ego. In the end, my photography turned out very different to his, but I believe we were coming from the same place.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpoqxjbKz7PXtLaXP0Lcviiq-ioAZ9PSJuQiukdinhTSDwB_1LmYiAUnvJICzQ3cx0skTaEcbhumui-jey4ybkY6hpsOdXpVSgmfWSHq-fxbMb7lEe9kPYi-_obozu_lhWMqBgR3RtjI/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnpoqxjbKz7PXtLaXP0Lcviiq-ioAZ9PSJuQiukdinhTSDwB_1LmYiAUnvJICzQ3cx0skTaEcbhumui-jey4ybkY6hpsOdXpVSgmfWSHq-fxbMb7lEe9kPYi-_obozu_lhWMqBgR3RtjI/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Roland Barthes, in his book Camera Lucida, stated that photography, rather than film or television, is the collective memory of the world. As I see it, he’s right about this. Photography immortalize a moment, which then becomes a symbol, a reference. Photography is universal language; it doesn’t need translation. Its collective memory is a mirror in which our society continually observes itself.</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08FAvQ-ywCNoorcMcOZm_ohddMaNp1jYZOAptPpn-YkYiy0Q8DICTuBMpZr-Z9eUz9jDv1DumFABEwQQlt_OMpfFCHjx6uw8hqmgiBXnKNfqIhJPtmk3kAEWAWS_hfqG05e00_C8QAa4/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh08FAvQ-ywCNoorcMcOZm_ohddMaNp1jYZOAptPpn-YkYiy0Q8DICTuBMpZr-Z9eUz9jDv1DumFABEwQQlt_OMpfFCHjx6uw8hqmgiBXnKNfqIhJPtmk3kAEWAWS_hfqG05e00_C8QAa4/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">I’m not an artist. An artist makes an object. Me, it’s not an object, I work in history, I’m a storyteller.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJTuieS09-BM2nmta9Sjf2WryMmoo-O4Itx72eAd5Hu54ZVfiGEf08jDmShCWWnA6ARTay16p2i_ZoOLWbHpsUoIluSlL3y6mFHziJ13aI4YT5fru3_VQdoaYdNVm-ykNC6TuMteVqj8/s1600/5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjJTuieS09-BM2nmta9Sjf2WryMmoo-O4Itx72eAd5Hu54ZVfiGEf08jDmShCWWnA6ARTay16p2i_ZoOLWbHpsUoIluSlL3y6mFHziJ13aI4YT5fru3_VQdoaYdNVm-ykNC6TuMteVqj8/s320/5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>What I want is the world to remember the problems and the people I photograph. What I want is to create a discussion about what is happening around the world and to provoke some debate with these pictures. Nothing more than this. I don’t want people to look at them and appreciate the light and the palate of tones. I want them to look inside and see what the pictures represent, and the kind of people I photograph.</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOY5YDD1RPN5RYhmh4WoDnFeQq8WgCQXEDCPaEbdcba4oIV7D5CBpaFl1Xzq6PshVv6aKvnyooPOW7YyVyQ0V7iKGJc8wyhHycuwGPdUpZyHFD04oXVIOm8fWe3H_aCMTfGURj9MgvPI/s1600/6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNOY5YDD1RPN5RYhmh4WoDnFeQq8WgCQXEDCPaEbdcba4oIV7D5CBpaFl1Xzq6PshVv6aKvnyooPOW7YyVyQ0V7iKGJc8wyhHycuwGPdUpZyHFD04oXVIOm8fWe3H_aCMTfGURj9MgvPI/s320/6.jpeg" width="246" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i> <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">You photograph with all your ideology.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLchQh0LGEujkHTcwp7vetQK164iJu4-VaMHUPFjwEACTOi9gq7VdlewOo_Sf9EtJfQuQ8TnZ2bbXVBvBCP02JC-airM3JFdB1mEIazdQZtGxwzd7sfrwTW9Hl13MMiChsonLbxKMja_I/s1600/8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLchQh0LGEujkHTcwp7vetQK164iJu4-VaMHUPFjwEACTOi9gq7VdlewOo_Sf9EtJfQuQ8TnZ2bbXVBvBCP02JC-airM3JFdB1mEIazdQZtGxwzd7sfrwTW9Hl13MMiChsonLbxKMja_I/s320/8.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">There comes a moment when it is no longer you who takes the photograph, but receives the way to do it quite naturally and fully. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">You need to be accepted by reality.</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ChPT3YZc92Jr-vYfW4ZgXWAiWrg2kyBpUBN5EHpNVw4uMaDJxvpYOHE4ZkaDZI4X1SKPLMGmBY2gx-4qMj__g2b8QxOvLBgtA_lHiMbeB3kfHe2-NeeeqH68CI5b_Rk4UTdE5F-Rorw/s1600/9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4ChPT3YZc92Jr-vYfW4ZgXWAiWrg2kyBpUBN5EHpNVw4uMaDJxvpYOHE4ZkaDZI4X1SKPLMGmBY2gx-4qMj__g2b8QxOvLBgtA_lHiMbeB3kfHe2-NeeeqH68CI5b_Rk4UTdE5F-Rorw/s320/9.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>The picture is not made by the photographer, the picture is more good or less good in function of the relationship that you have with the people you photograph.</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxYvqcICdipUcxQvdYGLaAr-X733mC-q30gzGcCF9Ehd9I_mWouF8wHBIWEdzHvA-hyLbZElx0A68f7YnenVJOM44uNMnRTkaV57WbRtIrNNNm4T9IOcJYJnExxSeFWDNDnR1DIdqbCU/s1600/7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPxYvqcICdipUcxQvdYGLaAr-X733mC-q30gzGcCF9Ehd9I_mWouF8wHBIWEdzHvA-hyLbZElx0A68f7YnenVJOM44uNMnRTkaV57WbRtIrNNNm4T9IOcJYJnExxSeFWDNDnR1DIdqbCU/s320/7.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px; text-align: -webkit-left;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>If you take a picture of a human that does not make him or her noble, there is no reason to take this picture. That is my way of seeing things.</i></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL4yu7cJ4JL6LFA-iDH4PWDfOIulCsvZ_ZwDI64iC_OnIUKh6LJzJdobBFp5JSWQgtA4OkPd8iNIwmvMEArsuFdq9r-PrOPKHfp4SBanLWK5_jtYt40Yd7PRrDQT7b7OtaVB8IRAhp0o/s1600/10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyL4yu7cJ4JL6LFA-iDH4PWDfOIulCsvZ_ZwDI64iC_OnIUKh6LJzJdobBFp5JSWQgtA4OkPd8iNIwmvMEArsuFdq9r-PrOPKHfp4SBanLWK5_jtYt40Yd7PRrDQT7b7OtaVB8IRAhp0o/s320/10.jpg" width="230" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>We are animals, born from the land with the other species. Since we’ve been living in cities, we’ve become more and more stupid, not smarter. What made us survive all these hundreds of thousands of years is our spirituality, the link to our land. In the end, the only heritage we have is our planet, and I have decided to go to the most pristine places on the planet and photograph them in the most honest way I know, with my point of view, and of course it is in black and white, because it is the only thing I know how to do.</i></span></div>
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<b> ~</b> <b style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.4px;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sebastião Salgado</span></i></b></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-61202789840375057952015-12-21T17:09:00.000+05:302016-06-02T16:18:19.925+05:30To G.N.Balasubramaniam, The Love Of My Life.. ~ From M.S.Subbulakshmi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K8i4R1xkfDMZEq4CIYCqLYl5M_ROCGVkqwGMCoPUE7E3-PsMUuZgN9CaOr5f2jE5qurcoMQgPnmnd5KcH7HNUSwYDJnBZf1283mFwX934MPeLLhv9x7PfiPsSLGe5WnQPZzKMYGFXFE/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_K8i4R1xkfDMZEq4CIYCqLYl5M_ROCGVkqwGMCoPUE7E3-PsMUuZgN9CaOr5f2jE5qurcoMQgPnmnd5KcH7HNUSwYDJnBZf1283mFwX934MPeLLhv9x7PfiPsSLGe5WnQPZzKMYGFXFE/s320/1.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
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<b><i>M.S.Subbulakshmi</i></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiUFoJhxEVFYnKhgxMBkdyMbqCWFaMyLW-Ugx6huycKQzuG15sBIXo5zv_-MEnd1jrxoZcahG2QP0iW0EBX5F3NtZOqXG2YD8WJRhOujN6vv1PEqTC7-E3mSswCJSme70JYbVJykkrXA/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPiUFoJhxEVFYnKhgxMBkdyMbqCWFaMyLW-Ugx6huycKQzuG15sBIXo5zv_-MEnd1jrxoZcahG2QP0iW0EBX5F3NtZOqXG2YD8WJRhOujN6vv1PEqTC7-E3mSswCJSme70JYbVJykkrXA/s320/2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>G.N.Balasubramaiam</i></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8S9F5RmfhjBYF7eIH_FA9VDcWU6ragOpeRSCRNG5xUBYZDzi1IMfWsNjclC9E5CW1ed1cxlGZYFK6r-p-XGfO9vt5yZTZPuWWrp5kow1mf3BpOzKXlBN_9c_l6asxsHhYpfXpn59WYQ/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8S9F5RmfhjBYF7eIH_FA9VDcWU6ragOpeRSCRNG5xUBYZDzi1IMfWsNjclC9E5CW1ed1cxlGZYFK6r-p-XGfO9vt5yZTZPuWWrp5kow1mf3BpOzKXlBN_9c_l6asxsHhYpfXpn59WYQ/s320/3.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
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<b><i>M.S.Subbulakshmi</i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To the love of my life..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To my love who has taken over
my life, body and soul..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">To the person who had taken
hold of my life and yet allowed me to languish..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">All I want is to feast my eyes
upon you. You on the other hand would not even raise your head to look at me.
Can you fathom how this torments my mind? I simply wither away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I hug your photograph and weep.
Would that photograph speak to me, my <i>kanna</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In my house there is no
happiness for me. There are only problems … My mother is likely to be alive
only for a few more years. My elder brother is my enemy. The younger sister is
all right … I will not hide anything from you. I have not been happy so far.
But I am alive because I am here. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Kanna</span></i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">, to
write all this I found some time only today … One thing is the absolute truth.
Your happiness is mine, <i>kanna</i> … You may ask me what I was
doing earlier. I suffered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Even when the film is over,I
will not get separated from you. Please do not unnecessarily test me. After the
film is over, we will be together … The love I have for you will never change.
After I die, you will realize that. My life from birth has been one of travails
… <i>Naan paavi</i>.. I must have committed great sins to suffer like
this. If I had stayed in Madurai, I would have died long ago … there is nobody
to whom I can speak and cry out. I dream of you daily. Do you? … When you
happen to touch me in the course of our acting together, I think to myself, ‘This
is my Lord’ and then feel elated. I don't want anything else in life. I only
want your love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">If you are generally happy
with me, that will give me the greatest pleasure. I do not know what people
back at home would do to me. It was predicted by the astrologer that the
immortal Pushpavanam would have a long life. Yet he died at a young age. I will
go in the same manner. It is better that I am dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">At least now, when the duet is
picturised will you avoid the natural inclination of physical contact? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The kutchery was no good. No
music other than yours gets into my ears. This is the unvarnished truth. I must
sing exactly like you. Even after the film is over, I am sure you are going to
continue to teach me music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Henceforth even for a moment I
will not be separated from you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">From Kunju, who worships you..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My love, my very life, I kiss
your handwriting and your music.. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I will never leave you, <i>en
Kanna</i>.. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">~ M.S.Subbulakshmi<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;">(Excerpted from the Appendix
of the Book, “<b><i>M.S. : A Life in Music</i></b>” by T.J.S. George, published
by HarperCollins, 2004) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;">(G.N.Balasubramaniam was born in 1910 and died at the age of 55 in 1965.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;">M.S.Subbulakshmi was born in 1916 and died at the age of 88 in 2004.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/QHZdp0fE_OQ" width="459"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>G.N.Balasubramaniam and M.S.Subbulakshmi in the movie "Shakuntalai" </i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Directed by Ellis R.Dungan in 1940</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-20003699765761643552015-12-17T17:09:00.001+05:302015-12-17T17:11:55.489+05:30To Véra, With Love.. ~ From Vladimir Nabokov<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oHVnhzcVdOH-Bi2nc6k35c07R9kU0lIE0wfrhSq85wSKRJ3bgBRNXPXF9geXQXADwtmv1O70xQBdRB_EkBT3VJn29f0dWD7Ms8NdIKSStdeTE1yy8_2r-U1oKfjN0sGG5PXqYjUl5dg/s1600/Vladimir+Vera+1924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3oHVnhzcVdOH-Bi2nc6k35c07R9kU0lIE0wfrhSq85wSKRJ3bgBRNXPXF9geXQXADwtmv1O70xQBdRB_EkBT3VJn29f0dWD7Ms8NdIKSStdeTE1yy8_2r-U1oKfjN0sGG5PXqYjUl5dg/s320/Vladimir+Vera+1924.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Vladimir with V<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">éra in 1924</span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 17.12px;">Prague, 13 August 1924<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 17.12px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">To </span><span style="line-height: 17.12px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Véra</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">..</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">My delightful, my love, my
life, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">I don’t understand anything:
how can you not be with me? I’m so infinitely used to you that I now feel
myself lost and empty: without you, my soul. You turn my life into something
light, amazing, rainbowed—you put a glint of happiness on everything—always
different: sometimes you can be smoky-pink, downy, sometimes dark, winged—and I
don’t know when I love your eyes more—when they are open or shut. It’s eleven
p.m. now: I’m trying with all the force of my soul to see you through space; my
thoughts plead for a heavenly visa to Berlin via air . . . My sweet excitement
. . .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Today I can’t write about
anything except my longing for you. I’m gloomy and fearful: silly thoughts are
swarming—that you’ll stumble as you jump out of a carriage in the underground,
or that someone will bump into you in the street . . . I don’t know how I’ll
survive the week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">My tenderness, my happiness,
what words can I write for you? How strange that although my life’s work is
moving a pen over paper, I don’t know how to tell you how I love, how I desire
you. Such agitation—and such divine peace: melting clouds immersed in
sunshine—mounds of happiness. And I am floating with you, in you, aflame and
melting—and a whole life with you is like the movement of clouds, their airy,
quiet falls, their lightness and smoothness, and the heavenly variety of
outline and tint—my inexplicable love. I cannot express these cirrus-cumulus
sensations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">When you and I were at the
cemetery last time, I felt it so piercingly and clearly: you know it all, you
know what will happen after death—you know it absolutely simply and calmly—as a
bird knows that, fluttering from a branch, it will fly and not fall down . . .
And that’s why I am so happy with you, my lovely, my little one. And here’s
more: you and I are so special; the miracles we know, no one knows, and no one
loves the way we love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">What are you doing now? For
some reason I think you’re in the study: you’ve got up, walked to the door, you
are pulling the door wings together and pausing for a moment—waiting to see if
they’ll move apart again. I’m tired, I’m terribly tired, good night, my joy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">Tomorrow I’ll write you
about all kinds of everyday things. My love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">~ Vladimir Nabokov<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorNTPH6Mwpq173PSxrSV4oBG9behHw2nrIdexixwUIkNr5vLvgSv786vWnnHb07kQMXadlqJxizepuYq2xMKp0MkuLpIrFclSrnDqKICzWaOttEsduA2ItFq2BR3E3639jUMviZdv79Y/s1600/V%25C3%25A9ra+and+Vladimir+Nabokov%252C+Montreaux%252C+1968+Photograph+Philippe+Halsman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiorNTPH6Mwpq173PSxrSV4oBG9behHw2nrIdexixwUIkNr5vLvgSv786vWnnHb07kQMXadlqJxizepuYq2xMKp0MkuLpIrFclSrnDqKICzWaOttEsduA2ItFq2BR3E3639jUMviZdv79Y/s320/V%25C3%25A9ra+and+Vladimir+Nabokov%252C+Montreaux%252C+1968+Photograph+Philippe+Halsman.jpg" width="284" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>V<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.4px;">éra with Vladimir in 1968</span></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-24792188155458540762015-12-10T16:19:00.000+05:302015-12-10T16:19:01.328+05:30Bulleh Shah : Enough of Learning, My Friend!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBajNqEu9-tCvajDqyDWMZiBltMqLE3e1F0ZgRx1z7sMWaI5mnCJw2xKu_Zhe8EvGJlouRbnfJ8oQFt0QDlcKF_TEkCSauHS0jV8x8RFoWafXJRxptcPgBRCnUfamg5JCulg-VzY6g29I/s1600/unnamed.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBajNqEu9-tCvajDqyDWMZiBltMqLE3e1F0ZgRx1z7sMWaI5mnCJw2xKu_Zhe8EvGJlouRbnfJ8oQFt0QDlcKF_TEkCSauHS0jV8x8RFoWafXJRxptcPgBRCnUfamg5JCulg-VzY6g29I/s320/unnamed.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i>Bulleh Shah</i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
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<b><i><br /></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Enough
of Learning, My Friend!</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough
of learning, my friend!<br />
An alphabet should do for you<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">To
it there is never an end<br />
An alphabet should do for you<br />
It’s enough to help you friend</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough of learning, my friend!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough
of learning, my friend!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">You’ve
amassed much learning around<br />
The Quran and its commentaries profound<br />
There is darkness amidst lighted ground<br />
Without the guide you remain unsound<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough
of learning, my friend!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Learning
makes you Sheikh or his minion<br />
And thus you create problem trillion<br />
You exploit others who know not what<br />
Misleading them with wild opinion<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough
of learning, my friend!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">You
meditate and you say your prayers<br />
You go and shout at the top of the stairs<br />
You cry reaching the high skies<br />
It’s your avarice which ever belies<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough
of learning, my friend!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">The
day I learnt love’s lesson<br />
I plunged into the river of divine passion<br />
An overwhelming gale. I was confused and lost<br />
When Shah Inayat cruised me across<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Enough
of learning, my friend!<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">~
<b><i>Bulleh Shah Qadri </i></b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";">(<b>Syed
Abdullah Shah Qadri</b> : 1680 ~ 1757)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Berlin Sans FB","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Berlin Sans FB', sans-serif;">(Translated
from Punjabi </span><span style="font-family: 'Berlin Sans FB', sans-serif;">by
Kartar Singh Duggal)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Berlin Sans FB', sans-serif;"><i>The Mausoleum of Hazrat Baba Bulleh Shah at Kasur, Pakistan</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Berlin Sans FB', sans-serif;"><i>The Tomb of Hazrat Baba Bulleh Shah</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Berlin Sans FB', sans-serif;"><i>Ilmoun Bas Kari Oo Yaar : Enough of Learning, My Friend!</i></span></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-17570949047821018562015-12-09T12:20:00.000+05:302015-12-09T12:20:43.219+05:30Faiz Ahmad Faiz : A Letter of Love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>Faiz Ahmad Faiz with Alys and their daughter Salima Hashmi</i></b></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">(Letter dated May 23, 1952,
Faiz wrote from Hyderabad Jail to his wife Alys)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Beloved,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am sorry I was not able to
write last week. We were all rather busy as Manzoor Qadir was here and lots of
things had to be gone into. It was nice to see him even though we could hardly
exchange a word beyond legal discussion of the case. I could not even send my
greetings to our friend Asghari and you can do it for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am very much behind in my
correspondence with you because I have had three letters from you but that
leaves me feeling richer and happier although a trifle ashamed. I shall try to
make myself even if I can. One reason for not writing, strange as it may
seem, is the intense nostalgia that the present here inspires for things that
one holds and has held dear. These nostalgic day dreams are so tender and
pleasant and warm that one does not feel like disturbing their flow. You will
say that this is my typically mean way of justifying laziness and
self-indulgence and I know that you are right. I think I have written before
that prison life does accentuate petty selfishness. I have never understood
that psychology of purdah women as well as I do now. It is the normal
psychology of a prisoner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I understand the pettiness,
the preoccupation with small grievances that seem to occupy the whole universe,
the oblivion to larger impersonal issues, the selfishness and the self-pity,
the spitefulness and the temper, the silliness and the servility, spells of
paralysis and feverish activity – all this is the usual concomitant of
suppressed and confined living and not very easy for free people to understand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Life has its surprises,
however, even here. The other evening I switched on the Radio to listen to some
Indian music from Delhi (what our own Radio calls music is no more than a
collection of amateur screechings because real talent like Rafiq, Pukhraj, and
Anwar etc: seems to be banned) and do you know what I got? You can never guess.
Yehudi Menuhin, perhaps the greatest violinist of all times, playing Bach and
Pagannini in the auditorium of the Indian Film Festival. It made me angry and
jealous and sad when I thought about it later. This country is now nearly five
years old and in five years we have not given the people one real exhibition of
anything of beauty, of culture, of ennobling pleasure. And yet there has been
no dearth of ‘tamashas’. But all that we can think of is to collect some silly
old grey-beards from all over the world, make them talk a lot of bilge that no
one cares a damn farthing about, give a few people an opportunity for lots of
eating and lots of shouting and then forget all about it. India may be a bigger
country but culture is not a matter of size but of the ways of living and
thinking, and why should the people of this country not be given a chance at
least to look at culture even if they can’t live in it. Anyway it will all come
some day perhaps and perhaps I shouldn’t be talking about it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I was talking about
surprises. Last week one of the youngsters with us whom we have been teasing
for eating sweets in secret received ‘gajar ka halwa’ from his village which he
had ordered in pique. Do you know how much it was – literally a cartload, 3 big
canisters of about 20 seers each. Over a maund of ‘halwa’! Just think of it!
And it must have taken many more maunds of carrots and sugar and ghee to make,
for it is very condensed. We have been trying to imagine the scene of
preparations in the village, wagons of carrots undulating, cauldrons of ghee,
mountains of wood and the whole countryside astir! It will probably go down in
history as a legend, perhaps songs and stories will be written about it, for
never in the history of mankind has 1.5 maunds of ‘gajar ka halwa’ been made in
one go and for no more than 15 people! So we eat in morning, noon and night.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It is again cloudy and
windswept and cool. I hope it holds until you come because it is really
pleasant, but for the regrets. But it is silly to regret what was and might
have been. What was and might have been, might have been better or it might
have been worse but it can be no different now by wishing. What is and will be
can be different and better, depending on ourselves, and we shall make it so. Everything
else being the same my astrologer and the old woman (who is she?) should not be
far out. So let us wait for a few days more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am glad of the
friendliness of my geisha girls (your accounts of them were a source of
constant amusement here and I swagger about it a lot. The chaps here think you
must be a hell of a guy to stand all this nonsense and not mind. I don’t put
them wise because that will make both of us go down in their estimation a lot)
and it is also good to find that there are at least one or two people like ‘the
smile’ – besides one’s wife and children – to whom one’s presence or absence
matters a little. It is surprising to find how few friends one really has but
even one or two is a great wealth in times like the present. I am talking of
purely personal friends, for of friends in general the whole world is full.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Janjua’s child is o.k. now.
She had bronchial pneumonia but is quite recovered and the family has gone to
Karachi for a few days. He has asked me to thank you for the enquiry which he
will convey to his wife.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I have got the missing P.T.
The audience here has a criticism of the children’s page in the last two
issues: too much of the Commonwealth and too little of the rest of the world. I
know the reason, of course – availability of material but I am forwarding the
opinion to show you that people are interested in your doings. So you have met
Mrs. FDR. I think the remark you quoted is a compliment to her, not to you. She
certainly never managed to earn her living in a foreign land and her writing,
from what I see of it in the Dawn, does not come within a hundred miles of
yours. (I don’t think I intend letting you return to the dish washing now. I
propose being ‘Mrs Sheikh Ahmed’s’ husband sort of thing for a change. I felt
rather upset by the news of her return, by the way. If I have to see her in
Lahore again it will take away half the pleasure of being back home).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So old Hashmi is going to
the States. It is a pity I am in the jug or I could have given him some nice
introductions. Incidentally Zelma Brandt is the nice old America woman who came
to Lahore 3 or 4 years ago and I took her round the town. I think you met her
because I brought her home for lunch. Please do write to her returning the
‘love’ and tell her I wouldn’t mind hearing from her if she cares to write. I
hope your fears about old Steve are ill-founded. In fact this is precisely why
I want to write to him – to see if he is still there. I thought of him because
I was very upset to hear of the death, first of old Dickinson and then young
Latif – such pleasant, good and loveable persons both of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Apart from the books I
mentioned, if you can borrow I. A. Richards (any of his three books <i>Principles
of Criticism, Practical Criticism </i>or Meaning of Meaning) and any book
on Indian history, please being them along too. Otherwise it doesn’t matter. Re
table-cloths, I meant ordinary small teapot covers. I don’t think there is
anything else that I want except you and the pigeons. And I am now waiting for
you happily and content.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I am glad Apa had the
goodness not to mention your illness and you did not write about it until
after. But my heart tells me now when something is wrong and I have begun to
worry as much as you used to. Only I always pin my faith on the light beyond
the dark. I know it is there and it will come and so one must wait, however
hard the waiting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">My love and kiss and fondest
thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Yours,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Faiz<o:p></o:p></span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><i>P.S.</i> Regarding the poem
asked…Can’t you give them my love poem unless it has been disposed of? I
haven’t seen it anywhere yet. I think here is…Ghazal in my manuscript with you
which is unpublished. It begins yad ke jab zakhm bharnay lagay. I shall also
try to send … something in my next letter. Faiz.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Courtesy : <b><i>Two Lovers</i></b>
~ <b>Faiz’s Letters from Jail</b> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> (Compiled by Salima Hashmi and Kyla
Pasha)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><b><i>Faiz and Alys</i></b></span></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-56584085436256289022015-12-08T15:29:00.002+05:302015-12-08T15:29:20.943+05:30Saadat Hasan Manto : Letter to Uncle Sam<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i>Saadat Hasan Manto</i></b></div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">First Letter to Uncle Sam</strong></div>
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<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">31 Laxmi Mansions,</span></address>
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<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Hall Road,</span></address>
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<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Lahore</span></address>
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<span style="border: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>16 December 1951</i></span></div>
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Dear Uncle,</div>
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Greetings,</div>
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This letter comes to you from your Pakistani nephew whom you do not know, nor does anyone else in your land of seven freedoms.</div>
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You should know why my country, sliced away from India, came into being and gained independence, which is why I am taking the liberty of writing to you. Like my country, I too have become independent and in exactly the same way. Uncle, I will not labour the point since an all-knowing seer like you can well imagine the freedom a bird whose wings have been clipped can enjoy.</div>
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My name is Saadat Hasan Manto and I was born in a place that is now in India. My mother is buried there. My father is buried there. My first-born is also resting in that bit of earth. However, that place is no longer my country. My country now is Pakistan which I had only seen five or six times before as a British subject.</div>
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I used to be the All India’s Great Short Story Writer. Now I am Pakistan’s Great Short Story Writer. Several collections of my stories have been published and the people respect me. In undivided India, I was tried thrice, in Pakistan so far once. But then Pakistan is still young.1</div>
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The government of the British considered my writings pornographic. My own government has the same opinion. The government of the British let me off but I do not expect my own government to do so. A lower court sentenced me to three months hard labour and a Rs 300 fine. My appeal to the higher court won me an acquittal but my government believes that justice has not been done and so it has now filed an appeal in the High Court, praying that the judgment acquitting me be quashed and I be punished. We will have to see what the High Court decides.</div>
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My country is not your country which I regret. If the High Court were to punish me, there is no newspaper in my country that would print my picture or the details of all my trial.</div>
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My country is poor. It has no art paper, nor proper printing presses. I am living evidence of this poverty. You will not believe it, uncle, but despite being the author of twenty-two books, I do not have my own house to live in. And you will be astonished to know that I have no means of getting myself from one place to the other. I neither have a Packard nor a Dodge; I do not even have a used car.</div>
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If I need to go somewhere, I rent a bike. If a piece of mine appears in a newspaper and I earn twenty to twenty-five rupees at the rate of seven rupees a column, I hire a tonga and go buy locally distilled whiskey. Had this whiskey been distilled in your country, you would have destroyed that distillery with an atom bomb because it is the sort of stuff guaranteed to send its user to kingdom come within one year.</div>
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But I am digressing. All I really wanted to do was to convey my good wishes to brother Erskine Caldwell. You will no doubt recall that you tried him for his novel ‘God’s Little Acre’ on the same charge that I have faced here: pornography.</div>
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Believe me, uncle, when I heard that this novel was tried on an obscenity charge in the land of seven freedoms, I was extremely surprised. In your country, after all, everything is divested of its outer covering so that it can be displayed in the show window, be it fresh fruit or woman, machine or animal, book or calendar. You are the king of bare things so I am at a loss to understand, uncle, why you tried brother Erskine Caldwell.</div>
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Had it not been for my quick reading of the court judgment I would have drunk myself to death by downing large quantities of our locally distilled whiskey because of the shock I received when I came to know of the Caldwell case. In a way, it was unfortunate that my country missed an opportunity to rid itself of a man like me, but then had I croaked, I would not have been writing to you, uncle. I am dutiful by nature. I love my country. In a few days, by the Grace of God I will die and if I do not kill myself, I will die anyway because where flour sells at the price at which it sells here, only a shamefaced person can complete his ordained time on earth.</div>
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So, I read the Caldwell judgment and decided not to drink myself to death with large quantities of the local hooch. Uncle, out there in your country, everything has an artificial façade but the judge who acquitted brother Erskine was certainly without such a façade. If this judge – I’m sorry I don’t know his name – is alive, kindly convey my respectful regards to him.</div>
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The last lines of his judgment point to the intellectual reach of his mind. He writes: “I personally feel that if such books were suppressed, it would create an unnecessary sense of curiosity among people which could induce them to seek salaciousness, though that is not the purpose of this book. I am absolutely certain that the author has chosen to write truthfully about a certain segment of American society. It is my opinion that truth is always consistent with literature and should be so declared.”</div>
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That is what I told the court that sentenced me, but it went ahead anyway and gave me three months in prison with hard labour and a fine of three hundred rupees. My judge thought that truth and literature should be kept far apart. Everyone has his opinion.</div>
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I am ready to serve my three-month term but this fine of three hundred rupees I am unable to pay. Uncle, you do not know that I am poor. Hard work I am used to, but money I am unused to. I am about thirty-nine and all my life I have worked hard. Just think about it. Despite being such a famous writer, I have no Packard.</div>
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I am poor because my country is poor. Two meals a day I can somehow manage but many of my brothers are not so fortunate.</div>
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My country is poor, but why is it ignorant? I am sure, uncle, you know why because you and your brother John Bull together are a subject I do not want to touch because it will not be exactly music to your ears. Since I write to you as a respectful youngster, I should remain that way from start to finish.</div>
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You will certainly ask me out of astonishment why my country is poor when it boasts of so many Packards, Buicks and Max Factor cosmetics. That is indeed so, uncle, but I will not answer your question because if you look into your heart, you will find the answer there (unless you have had your heart taken out by one of your brilliant surgeons).</div>
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That section of my country’s population which rides in Packards and Buicks is really not of my country. Where poor people like me and those even poorer live, that is my country.</div>
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These are bitter things, but there is a shortage of sugar here otherwise I would have coated my words appropriately. But what of it! Recently, I read Evelyn Waugh’s book ‘The Loved One’. He of course comes from the country of your friends. Believe me, I was so impressed by that book that I sat down to write to you.</div>
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I was always convinced of the individual genius found in your part of the world but after reading this book, I have become a fan of his for life. What a performance, I say! Some truly vibrant people do indeed live out there.</div>
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Evelyn Waugh tells us that in your California, the dead can be beautified and there are large organisations that undertake the task. No matter how unattractive the dear departed in life, after death he can be given the look desired. There are forms you fill where you are asked to indicate your preference. The excellence of the finished product is guaranteed. The dead can be beautified to the extent desired, as long as you pay the price. There are experts who can perform this delicate task to perfection. The jaw of the loved one can be operated upon and a beatific smile implanted on the face. The eyes can be lit up and the forehead can be made to appear luminous. And all this work is done so marvellously that it can befool the two angels who are assigned to do a reckoning once a person is in the grave.</div>
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Uncle, by God you people are matchless.</div>
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One had heard of the living being operated on and beautified with the help of plastic surgery – there was much talk of it here – but one had not heard that the dead can be beautified as well.</div>
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Recently one of your citizens was here and some friends introduced me to him. By then I had read brother Evelyn Waugh’s book and I read an Urdu couplet to your countryman that he did not follow. However, the fact is, uncle, that we have so distorted our faces that they have become unrecognisable, even to us. And there we have you who can even make the dead look more beautiful than they ever were in life. The truth is that only you have a right to live on this earth: the rest of us are wasting our time.</div>
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Our great Urdu poet Ghalib wrote about a hundred years ago:</div>
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If disgrace after death was to be my fate,</div>
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I should have met my end through drowning</div>
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It would have spared me a funeral and no headstone would have marked my last resting place</div>
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Ghalib was not afraid of being disgraced while he was alive because from beginning to end that remained his lot. What he feared was disgrace after death. He was a graceful man and not only was he afraid of what would happen after he died, he was certain what would happen to him after he was gone. And that is why he expressed a wish to meet his end through drowning so that he should neither have funeral nor grave.</div>
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How I wish he had been born in your country. He would have been carried to his grave with great fanfare and over his resting place a skyscraper would have been built. Or were his own wish to be granted, his dead body would have been placed in a pool of glass and people would have gone to view it as they go to a zoo.</div>
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Brother Evelyn Waugh writes that not only are there in your country establishments that can beautify dead humans but dead animals as well. If a dog loses its tail in an accident, he can have a new one.</div>
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Whatever physical defects the dead one had in life are duly repaired after death. He is then buried ceremoniously and floral wreaths are placed on his grave. Every year on the pet’s death anniversary, a card is sent to the owner with an inscription that reads something like this: In paradise, your Tammy (or Jeffie) is wagging his tail (or his ears) while thinking of you.</div>
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What it adds up to is that your dogs are better off than us. Die here today, you are forgotten tomorrow. If someone in the family dies, it is a disaster for those left behind who often can be heard wailing, “Why did this wretch die? I should’ve gone instead.” The truth is, uncle, that we neither know how to live nor how to die.</div>
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I heard of one of your citizens who wasn’t sure what sort of a funeral he would be given, so he staged a grand “funeral” for himself while he was very much alive. He deserved that certainly because he had lived a stylish and opulent life where nothing happened unless he wished it to. He wanted to rule out the possibility of things not being done right at his funeral; as such, he was justified in personally observing his last rites while alive. What happens after death is neither here nor there.</div>
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I have just seen the new issue of ‘Life’ (5 November 1951, international edition) and learnt of a most instructive facet of American life. Spread across two pages is an account of the funeral of the greatest gangster of your country. I saw a picture of Willie Moretti (may his soul rest in peace) and his magnificent home which he had recently sold for $55,000. I also viewed his five-acre estate where he wanted to live in peace, away from the distractions of the world. There was also a picture of his, eyes closed, lying in his bed, quite dead. There were also pictures of his $5,000 casket and his funeral procession made up of seventy-five cars. God is my witness, it brought tears to my eyes.</div>
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May there be dust in my mouth, but in case you were to die, may you have a grander farewell than Willie Morrity. This is the ardent prayer of a poor Pakistani writer who doesn’t even have a cycle to ride on. May I beg you that like the more farsighted ones in your country, you should make arrangements to witness your funeral while you are alive. You can’t leave it to others; they can always make mistakes, being fallible. It is possible that your physical appearance may not receive the attention it deserves after you have passed away. It is also possible that you may already have witnessed your funeral by the time this letter reaches you. I say this because you are not only wiser, you are also my uncle.</div>
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Convey my good wishes to brother Erskine Caldwell and to the judge who acquitted him of the pornography charge. If I have caused you offense, I beg your forgiveness. </div>
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With the utmost respect,</div>
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Your poor nephew,</div>
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<b><i>Saadat Hasan Manto</i></b>.</div>
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Resident of Pakistan</div>
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Translated from Urdu by Khalid Hasan </div>
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Courtesy : <i><b>Letters to Uncle Sam</b></i> ~ <b>Saadat Hasan Manto</b>, Alhamra, Islamabad</div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-924186204242545862015-03-17T17:54:00.000+05:302015-03-17T17:54:44.869+05:30The Man Who Shouted Teresa ~ Italo Calvino <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>The Man Who Shouted Teresa</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stepped off the pavement, walked backwards a few paces
looking up, and, from the middle of the street, brought my hands to my mouth to
make a megaphone, and shouted toward the top stories of the block: “Teresa!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My shadow took fright at the moon and huddled at my feet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Someone walked by. Again I shouted: “Teresa!” The man came up to me and said:
“If you do not shout louder she will not hear you. Let’s both try. So: count to
three, on three we shout together.” And he said: “One, two, three.” And we both
yelled, “Tereeeesaaa!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A small group of friends passing by on their way back from the theater or the
café saw us calling out. They said: “Come on, we will give you a shout too.”
And they joined us in the middle of the street and the first man said one to
three and then everybody together shouted, “Te-reee-saaa!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Somebody else came by and joined us; a quarter of an hour later there were a
whole bunch of us, twenty almost. And every now and then somebody new came
along.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Organizing ourselves to give a good shout, all at the same time, was not easy.
There was always someone who began before three or who went on too long, but in
the end we were managing something fairly efficient. We agreed that the “Te”
should be shouted low and long, the “re” high and long, the “sa” low and short.
It sounded fine. Just a squabble every now and then when someone was off.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We were beginning to get it right when somebody, who, if his voice was anything
to go by, must have had a very freckled face, asked: “But are you sure she is
home?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“No,” I said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“That is bad,” another said. “Forgotten your key, have you?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Actually,” I said, “I have my key.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“So,” they asked, “why dont you go on up?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I don’t live here,” I answered. “I live on the other side of town.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Well, then, excuse my curiosity,” the one with the freckled voice asked, “but
who lives here?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I really wouldn’t know,” I said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People were a bit upset about this.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“So, could you please explain,” somebody with a very toothy voice asked, “why
you are down here calling out Teresa.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“As far as I am concerned,” I said, “we can call out another name, or try
somewhere else if you like.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The others were a bit annoyed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“I hope you were not playing a trick on us,” the freckled one asked
suspiciously.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“What,” I said, resentfully, and I turned to the others for confirmation of my
good faith. The others said nothing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There was a moment of embarrassment.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Look,” someone said good-naturedly, “why don’t we call Teresa one more time,
then we go home.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So we did it one more time. “One two three Teresa!” but it did not come out
very well. Then people headed off for home, some one way, some another.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had already turned into the square when I thought I heard a voice still
calling: “Tee-reee-sa!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Someone must have stayed on to shout. Someone stubborn.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>~ Italo Calvino </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Italo Calvino</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> <b><i>Italo Calvino with Jorge Luis Borges</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Italo Calvino</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-61306992057455581722014-08-14T14:03:00.001+05:302014-08-14T18:11:24.191+05:30Girish Karnad's "Flowers" : The Aesthetics Of Dhárma & Kāma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<em><strong>Shiva Flanked By Pārvatī &Nandi On A River Bank</strong></em></div>
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<strong><em>Worshipping Shiva :</em></strong></div>
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<strong><em>An Engraving At Jalakandeswarar Temple, Vellore</em></strong></div>
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<em><strong>Ohm Namah Śhivāya !</strong></em></div>
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There are certain Temples on Earth where the Gods reside. Where the Earth longingly reaches out to the Sky. And the Sky reciprocates with an awaited eagerness. It is in this exalted Space that the mundane transforms into the sublime and a sacred communion happens. When you enter into its sculpted precincts, the magic of the ethereal engulfs your entire being. You can feel the pulsating throb of the Earth as you kneel to touch the ground with your forehead, closing your eyes. Then as you look up at Sky, the blowing Wind cleanses the mystical space between your eyebrows. You start travelling into the microcosm of an unknown Universe. It gets transformed into an unchartered voyage within the vistas of your inner self. This is just the beginning of a long journey crossing the five<em closure_uid_c46b7h="154"> kosas</em>, symbolised by the five <em>prakaras</em>, transcending from the <em>Annamaya Kosa</em> to the <em>Anandamaya Kosa</em>. It usually takes eons and epochs, involving multitudinous births and rebirths, to finally reach the <em>sanctum sanctorum</em> : the rarefied abode where <em><strong>Shiva</strong></em> and <em><strong>Shakti</strong></em> are in blissful confluence. Under the protective gaze of Their most intimate and primal companion, the <strong><em>Nandi</em></strong>.</div>
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To be with <em><strong>Shiva</strong></em> is the only boon one can long for. Being with God, from the early morning <em>UshadKaala Pooja</em> till the late night <em>Arthajaama Pooja</em>, is a fortune of immense grandeur. Following the fundamental system of the <em closure_uid_989a2m="147">Aagamas</em>, all the six <em>Kaala</em> <em>Poojas</em> ought to be performed with a devout fervour. That is not an easy task. It calls for an ardent love of the highest order. Which is only possible for the exalted few, who become priests not by birth but by <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12.571428298950195px; line-height: 19.196428298950195px; text-align: start;"><i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">tāpas</span></i></span><b style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 12.571428298950195px; line-height: 19.196428298950195px; text-align: start;"> </b>and <span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 10.666666984558105px; text-align: left;"><i>jñāna</i></span>. It is the only the divinely-ordained priest who takes good care of the God. And who else but the God will know it all too well? Each and every day, week after week, month after month and year after year, for centuries and eons, transcending Time, the God has to be tended to. The God is first bathed with pure water brought from the Temple pond. Then follows the elaborate <em>abhishekas </em>when the <em>Linga</em> is anointed with cows' milk, ghee and curd, and then with the paste of sandal and the holy ash. Finally, the <em>Linga</em> would be embellished with exquisite flowers, which are intimate to the heart of divinity. The God gets ready for the day with the offering of the <em>naivedhyam</em>, after which the splendid <em closure_uid_1oebdc="157" closure_uid_czflp0="202">diparaadhana</em> with variously decorated lamps would be performed, along with the chanting of <em>Vedic mantras</em> by the immaculate priest<em>.</em> It is at this blessed juncture that the primal <em><strong>sound</strong></em> in the form of the <em>mantras,</em> commingle with the primeval <em><strong>light</strong></em> in the form of the fire lit lamps. <i>T</i><em>ime</em> and <i>S</i><em>pace </em>shrink into a continuum and the God appears in actuality, casting a magical spell of transcendental bliss for everyone who seek it. </div>
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Though it is the God's <em>leela</em> to create such a boundless ecstasy in the mind and soul of the seeker, the role of the blessed priest in facilitating such a mystical spectacle is of utmost significance. But the ways of God are inscrutable. Even to His chosen priest. Is the life of such a priest, who lives and breathes in close proximity to God, so magnificently wonderful? Will the priest inevitably achieve perfection in all the three social <span class="Unicode" title="International Alphabet of Sanskrit Transliteration"><strong><em closure_uid_czflp0="200" closure_uid_w2ytev="159">purushārthas</em></strong></span> to attain the personal finale, the <em closure_uid_czflp0="201" closure_uid_w2ytev="166"><strong>moksha</strong>?</em> The priest might become a master of the <em>Vedas</em>, the <em>Vedangas</em>, the <em>Upanishads</em>, the <em closure_uid_w2ytev="158">Puranas</em>, the <em>Ithihasas</em>, the <em closure_uid_czflp0="203">Aagamas</em>, the <em>Tantras</em>, the <em>Sūtras</em>, and the <em>Stotras.</em> However much religious and scholarly the priest might become, is there anything proscribed in the sacred texts, to fall in love? Love. That mysterious domain of human experience. Is it possible for someone to love his God and love his muse with an equal passion? And, what if the muse happens to be a courtesan and not one's wedded wife? Can there be two different forms of love? One spiritually divine and another, lustfully human. Can a priest not adoringly bedeck his lady love with the very same flowers with which he had piously embellished his God? Is it an anti-thesis of his <em>Bhakti</em>? What kind of love is this? Is it an immoral sin - an ethical transgression - calling for divine retribution? Even if the entire world might reprimand such a love between the priest and the courtesan, how does the God take it? Does it have the sanction of God? Would the Guardian Angels protect the lovers under their sheltering wings? Won't <em closure_uid_czflp0="206"><strong>Shiva</strong></em> intervene to salvage love? A love which is <em>human, all too human</em>! Will this love get divinely ordained or be damned and crucified? What is the ultimate deliverance? Questions galore. Doubts abound. And a catharsis happens. </div>
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<em>Why is love, beyond all measure of other human possibilities, so rich and such a sweet burden, for the one who has been struck by it?, </em>is a fundamental question on Love posed by <strong><em>Martin Heidegger</em></strong>. Only in the domain of art can we try to grapple with the complexities and contradictions that are inherent in the pursuit of living and loving. Art is where the vortex of human emotions and feelings, longings and desires, intellect and logic come together. With all their shades of black, white and grey, they tend to coalesce into an enigma, waiting to be comprehended. Not with one's mind or even with one's heart. But with one's soul. Art sharpens the perplexity of life and enlivens the mystery of existence. <strong>Theatre</strong> has been a historically important form of <em>performing art</em> since time immemorial. The ancient Greek drama was initially institutionalised in the city-state of Athens during the 4th Century BC, as a part of the festival called <em>Dionysia</em>, which was celebrated in honour of the great Greek God, <strong><em>Dionysus</em></strong>. This ecstatic cult of <strong><em>Dionysus</em></strong> is said to be having myriad parallels with the mystic religion of <strong><em>Shiva</em></strong> in ancient India. The Sanskrit drama had its seeds in Patanjali's <em>Mahābhāsya</em> of the 2nd Century BC. The modern Indian theatre emerged out of a healthy symbiosis between the rich traditions of the Western and the Sanskritic drama. It has achieved great heights in its artistic excellence. Among the most significant playwrights of contemporary India, <strong><em>Girish Karnad</em></strong> stands out as primordially Indian and quintessentially modern. His play <strong>Flowers</strong> is based on a folklore from the Chirtradurga region of Karnataka, which fundamentally deals with the metaphysical dilemma between <em>Dhárma</em> (Natural Law or <em>Ethics</em>) and <em>Kāma </em>(Love, Passion and Sensuality or <em>Eros</em>), the twin pivots of human existence.</div>
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<strong><em>Girish Karnad</em></strong>'s play <strong>Flowers</strong> is a dramatic monologue about the story of a temple priest narrated in a single night, enacted by <strong><em>Rajit Kapur</em></strong> and directed by <strong><em>Roysten Abel</em></strong>. The plot of the play revolves around a pious priest who gets caught in the quagmire of contradictions between his <em>Dhárma </em>and his <em>Kāma. </em>On a fated starry night, the pious priest embarks to narrate his story. The moving reflection of the constellation of Scorpio on the Temple pond is the only witness. It is indeed the same pond where he had played with the tadpoles when he was a small boy. And took the dip before the <em>Pooja</em> at daybreak ever since. <em>This temple, this tank, these rough grey boulders towering over them, the flowering shrubs and the trees, the birds that come and go through the seasons - they are his world. His private universe. </em>He worshipped <strong>Shiva</strong>, the all-encompassing deity of the Temple, with immense love and utmost care. Right from performing all the<em> Poojas</em> to conducting the rites and rituals on behalf of the devotees, he accomplished everything with a finesse and grace befitting his <em>Shaivite</em> priesthood. It was not that the devotees kept thronging the Temple all the time. There were many a moments of solitude when none, except a squirrel or a sparrow, would come and go. It was during those sequestered occasions, the priest would sit near <strong>Shiva</strong> and have intimate conversations with the God. The silence used to be intensely eloquent. Over time, it had developed into a strange companionship, much to the envy of even the <strong>Nandi</strong>, the eternal cohort of God.<br />
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The gathering of flowers and adorning them fastidiously to one’s beloved God is an artistic meditation on its own accord. It brings out an ineffable joy and a rapturous delight to the flower-gatherer's heart. The flowers are an aesthetic medium to communicate with the God. When the flowers are offered to the God, divine energy gets released in the atmosphere. Flowers attract the innately positive elements in the space and emits them through their petals, thereby transforming the air around with divine vibrations. At the dawn of every blooming day, the priest would meticulously collect the flowers by talking to the various blossoming shrubs and plants, tended by the gardener near the Temple pond. <em>Malligai</em>, <em>Sampigai</em>, <em>Thumbai</em>, <em>Mandaarai</em>, <em>Sevanti</em>, and <em>Champaka</em>, depending upon the season. As he would walk towards the God basketful, the flowers would be brimming with joy for they would very soon be touching the body of <strong>Shiva</strong>. Their innate longing to confluence with Shiva, the <em><span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">raison</span> <span id="hotword" name="hotword" style="color: #333333; cursor: default;">d'être</span></em> of their birth, would be getting fulfilled. Each flower, possessing its own distinct aroma and resplendent colour, would be having an interesting mythology to the narrate the kinship of its ancestors with their intimate Gods. The priest would express his adoration for <strong>Shiva</strong> by decorating Him with myriad flowers, distinctively at every instance. He would create multitudinous patterns of floral motifs to embellish the God. Like a mother who admires the beauty of her child in her own unique ways, the priest would adroitly decorate <strong>Shiva</strong> with utmost care and immeasurable love every time. Over the years, he had perfected an ingenuity which was unmatched, thereby becoming a master in the art.<br />
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The glory of the beatific <strong>Shiva</strong> had spread far and wide across the province. Alongside, the eminence of the priest for his dexterity to embellish the God with endless possibilities of floral motifs had also grown. The Chieftain of the province becomes a regular visitor to the Temple, choosing to attend the <em>Arthajaama Pooja </em>late in the evenings, before retiring for the night. The young Chieftain, who has a keen eye for beauty, would get overwhelmed by seeing the ethereal motifs with flowers, which transformed <strong>Shiva </strong>to glow with celestial sublimity. Many a times, he would appreciatively nod his head and would turn towards his retinue, which after noticing their master's approval, would then utter various standard phrases praising the wizardry of the priest, as well as the services rendered by his wife in facilitating to create such a magic, with the flowers. Life progresses on with its tranquil routine for the priest. Won't the stars be able to discover a more opportune juncture to test their prowess? They instantly grab the chance to conspire against the humdrum of priestly existence. The fulcrum of existence of any individual would turn topsy-turvy only during two decisive moments in life : either upon the discovery of love or upon the death of the beloved. The <em>Eros</em> and the <em>Thanatos</em>. For the priest of our <strong>Shiva</strong> Temple, life changes at the very moment he glimpses the blessed mole on the left bosom of Chandravati, nesting just near the cleavage. And after which, when their eyes enchantingly meet each other.<br />
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She was a wealthy courtesan with sharply alluring features and even more captivating acumen. During a fateful <em>Shivaratri</em> evening, the priest, while giving the <em>prasāda</em> to the devotees after the Pooja, first encounters Chandravati's mole and then her eyes. Her soul speaks to his. He becomes obsessive of her. The priest begins to eagerly await for her arrival with bated breath, hiding his anxiety each time. Her tantalising laughter, her dark sensuousness and her royal dusky demeanour had kindled the hiterto dormant passion in the priest. Her sight had stirred up some unknown chords deep inside his heart reverberating with soulful music whenever he has the glimpse of her. Suddenly she does not turn up to the Temple for a few consecutive evenings. The priest feels agonised to no end. He becomes restless and pleads to <strong>Shiva</strong>.<strong> </strong>Then in a huff, he leaves the Temple, carrying the <em>prasāda</em> on his shoulder cloth. And as though he was possessed, his footsteps take him straight to Chandravati's house. Chandravati was a <em>connoisseur</em> of all finer things in life. Her experiences of living and loving had transformed her like that. Ever since she had visited the Temple, she had been longing that the preist should perform a similar mastery with flowers to decorate her body. She had all along been wanting to transform herself into a sublime being. Only the priest could actualise her cherished dream. The moment such a desire was expressed, the priest plunges into action to fulfill the desideratum. Night after night, he collects the flowers from the <strong>Shiva Linga </strong>before closing the Temple and goes on to embellish the nude beauty of Chandra. The ritual of decorating the sculpted body of Chandravati and making love becomes the <em>leitmotif </em>of the priest's new-found life. He begins to return to his house past the mid night hour, when everyone was fast alseep. Except his wife. She waits at the doorstep halfasleep and halfawake, to serve him the dinner, without eating herself. Though she comes to know of her husband's love for Chandravati, as the news had already spread in the region, she would never say a word. She continues to serve her husband to decorate <strong>Shiva</strong> in the Temple, in stoic silence.<br />
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Nights are always slippery. Time moves like a dream and Space dissolves into oblivion. Mind goes into a slumber. And the heart blossoms with a gleaming radiance. That particular night in the life of the priest was singularly bewitching. As it has become his wont, the priest tiptoes his way to Chandra's house with those beautiful flowers collected from <strong>Shiva</strong> after performing all the <em>Poojas </em>at the Temple. He rapturously embellishes the nude body of Chandra. The lovers are in a trance. Till the distant thud of the canon initially intrudes the spellbound priest and then shakes him back. It announces the impending arrival of the Chieftain, for whom an exception had been granted in the edicts to open the Temple doors at anytime, even if the last <em>Pooja</em> had got over. Only during the rarest of rare occasions had the Chieftain made such an exigent visit. In a jiffy, the priest collects back the flowers from the sculpted body of a dazed Chandra. Before rushing to depart from the door of Chandravati's house, the priest gazes at her. Their eyes meet, though for a brief moment, and part ways. Yet again. When the priest reaches the Temple, his alarmed wife is already waiting. A revulsion wells up in his wife when she sees him opening the bundle of flowers that were carried back from Chandravati. By the time the Chieftain reaches the Temple, the dexterity of the priest had re-decorated <strong>Shiva</strong> with those flowers which were by then a trifle faded in their freshness and glory. Very soon, the very same magnificent <strong>Shiva</strong> was glowing again with splendid elegance.<br />
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After the <em>Pooja</em>, the priest holds out the plate of flowers, which he had diligently picked up from the body of the <strong>linga</strong>, to the solemnly smiling Chieftain who could then pick up his choice of flower as <em>prasāda</em>. But the smile of the Chieftain vanishes, the moment he takes a flower to press it on his eyes before sticking it behind his right ear. '<em>I didn't know God had long hair</em>', thunders his voice. A flower dangles down from his fingers, gently dancing in the night breeze. It was a long strand of hair which held the flower in mid-air. The fragrant hair from the wavy plait of Chandravati! Everyone in the crowd guesses that it could not be his wife's hair. Such a public derision to his wife, and not the cold anger in the voice of the Chieftain, anguishes the priest. The priest stands in absolute silence for a while. He looks at <strong>Shiva</strong>. His <strong>Shiva</strong>. Who glows with abundant radiance. Strangely, the priest feels mysteriously reassured. He then looks straight into the eyes of the Chieftain and in a calm and confident tone utters, '<em>If we believe that God has long hair, He will have long hair!</em>' After a pause, the equanimous Chieftain simply says, '<em>Prove it'.</em> The priest implores the Chieftain to grant him the grace till the Full Moon. <em>'Done'</em>, replies the Chieftain<em> </em>and leaves the Temple. The horses gallops into the yonder of the night. <em> </em><br />
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The much awaited Full-Moon night come soon after. The twelve intervening days and nights passes away like three long eras in the lifespan of the priest. He does not venture out of the Temple. He continuously prays to <strong>Shiva</strong> at the <em>sanctum sanctorum</em>. He beseeches the God to save his honour and implores <strong>Shiva</strong> to bestow mercy upon him. At times, he feels helplessly awful and admonishes God for making him fall prey to the snares of his own mind. Who else had created Chandravati and made her walk into his life, other than <strong>Shiva</strong> Himself, he questions his cherished God. He confesses to God about his passionate love for Chandravati and the ethical contradictions involved in his impulse of moral responsibility towards his family. Since childhood, the priest is too intimate with the God which gives him an audacious intimacy to even question the divine game plan.Whatever might be the God's intention behind this <em>leela</em>, the priest wanted to come out unscathed in the eyes of the Chieftain and the public. He prays to <strong>Shiva </strong>with intense sincerity and surrenders at the Feet of the God. <strong>Shiva</strong> knows the priest too intimately well, for he is one of His blue-eyed boys on Earth. How will <strong>Shiva</strong> not melt away in compassion to embrace His beloved priest?<br />
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The drums starts beating, the gongs redound, the trumpets blare, the conch-shells blow and the Temple bells ring. The Full-Moon had arisen on the Eastern horizon in all its splendor. The Chieftain had come with his coterie of men and the morbidly curious public who had known the recent happening in the Temple had also assembled in full strength. The priest opens the doors of the <em>garbha gṛha</em> of the Temple. With closed eyes and fervent prayers, he does the final <em>Pooja</em> to <strong>Shiva</strong>. When the priest performs the <em>diparaadhana</em> to the <strong>ShivaLinga</strong>, everyone gathered are dumbstruck including the priest. The God had grown long tufts of hair all over His head. The long tresses flow all around the God and dances in the air. The priest is choked with an intense purity of emotion. With an profound gratitude and unfathomable joy, he chants the <em>mantra</em>s of <strong>Shiva</strong> which reverberates all across the sky. <span class="Unicode" title="International Alphabet of Sanskrit Transliteration">The commander takes permission from the Chieftain to inspect if the hair on <strong>Shiva</strong> is true and not a hoax. He holds one of the long tresses of hair and pulls it hard but in vain. He then takes the help of his team of well-built soldiers and they all struggle to pull it away from God. After a long while, one of the tufts come out falling. Blood oozes out the head of <strong>Shiva</strong> from where the tuft came out. Shell-shocked and apprehending the consequences of incurring the divine wrath, everyone including the Chieftain and his commander fall at the feet of the priest and seeks forgiveness for their actions. But in turn, the priest cries before <strong>Shiva</strong> and asks for His forgiveness. Blood stops oozing out from the <strong>ShivaLinga</strong>. Everyone chant the <em>panchakshara mantra</em> </span><strong><em>Ohm Namaḥ Śhivāya!</em></strong></div>
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In the tumult that follows outside and the turbulence that happens within, the priest faints. The crowd disperses thereafter. And his wife brings him home. When he wakes up, she gives him food and as is her wont, leans on the door, simply saying the only thing, "She is gone". She had probably heaved a sigh of relief and might have been possibly happy to serve such a priest chosen by God, who happened to be her husband. Then the priest goes back to the Temple and peeps inside the sanctum. The wound still remains fresh on <b>Shiva</b>, from where the tuft was pulled out. By then, the Temple becomes heavily guarded and it begins to emerge that the priest would be prized, protected and displayed as the State Saint. Does the priest bask in the glory of his new <i>avatar</i>? No. The intimate voice of his soul doesn't allow him to do so. He becomes intensely restless and feels totally lost. He begins to quarrel with his <b>Shiva</b>. He feels that he had tainted himself. He feels that he was guilty of gross dereliction and sacrilege. He feels guilty of cruelty to the two women he loved. He feels that his God is responsible for him to undergo all these travails. And though his God had saved him from disgrace and humiliation, just because the priest loved his God sincerely, at the end of it, he could not have any answer to the love of the two women of his life. He does not accept this logic of the God and refuses to live on His terms. Ultimately, the priest decides to dive into the pond and shove his head into its hollow confines, not to test his lungs as he used to playfully do in his childhood, but to seek the answers that God had denied him. And the reflection of Scorpio continues to float upon the pond for a long while.. </div>
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<b><i>ShikhaNaathar</i></b> <b><i>at</i></b> <b><i>Kudumiyanmalai, Tamil Nadu</i></b></div>
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<b><i>Rajit Kapur</i></b></div>
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<strong><em>Girish Karnad</em></strong></div>
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Rating : 10 out of 10</div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-39472710427204530652014-07-02T17:27:00.000+05:302014-07-02T17:27:06.772+05:30As One Listens To The Rain ~ Octavio Paz<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<h2 class="title" itemprop="name" style="color: #f88000; font-size: 1.583em; margin: 0px 0px 12px;">
<span style="font-size: 1.583em;"><br /></span></h2>
<h2 class="title" itemprop="name" style="color: #f88000; margin: 0px 0px 12px;">
<span style="font-size: large;">As One Listens To The Rain</span></h2>
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Listen to me as one listens to the rain,<br />
not attentive, not distracted,<br />
light footsteps, thin drizzle,<br />
water that is air, air that is time,<br />
the day is still leaving,<br />
the night has yet to arrive,<br />
figurations of mist<br />
at the turn of the corner,<br />
figurations of time<br />
at the bend in this pause,<br />
listen to me as one listens to the rain,<br />
without listening, hear what I say<br />
with eyes open inward, asleep<br />
with all five senses awake,<br />
it's raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables,<br />
air and water, words with no weight:<br />
what we are and are,<br />
the days and years, this moment,<br />
weightless time and heavy sorrow,<br />
listen to me as one listens to the rain,<br />
wet asphalt is shining,<br />
steam rises and walks away,<br />
night unfolds and looks at me,<br />
you are you and your body of steam,<br />
you and your face of night,<br />
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,<br />
you cross the street and enter my forehead,<br />
footsteps of water across my eyes,<br />
listen to me as one listens to the rain,<br />
the asphalt's shining, you cross the street,<br />
it is the mist, wandering in the night,<br />
it is the night, asleep in your bed,<br />
it is the surge of waves in your breath,<br />
your fingers of water dampen my forehead,<br />
your fingers of flame burn my eyes,<br />
your fingers of air open eyelids of time,<br />
a spring of visions and resurrections,<br />
listen to me as one listens to the rain,<br />
the years go by, the moments return,<br />
do you hear the footsteps in the next room?<br />
not here, not there: you hear them<br />
in another time that is now,<br />
listen to the footsteps of time,<br />
inventor of places with no weight, nowhere,<br />
listen to the rain running over the terrace,<br />
the night is now more night in the grove,<br />
lightning has nestled among the leaves,<br />
a restless garden adrift-go in,<br />
your shadow covers this page. </div>
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<div class="poet" itemprop="author" style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 1.417em; margin: 22px 0px 25px;">
<a href="http://www.poemhunter.com/octavio-paz/poems/" style="color: #005d93; text-decoration: none;">~ Octavio Paz</a></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-6073970424240831102014-04-15T17:00:00.000+05:302014-04-15T17:00:10.573+05:30I am a force of the Past.. ~ Pier Paolo Pasolini<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>A Scene played by Orson Welles from the Short Film <i>La Ricotta</i> ('Ricotta Cheese') </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>(It is a part of Omnibus of Short Films entitled <i>RoGoPaG</i> </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>directed by Roberto Rossellini, Jean-Luc Godard, Pier Paolo Pasolini and Ugo Gregoretti </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>in 1962) </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">I am a force of the Past.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">My love lies only in tradition.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">I come from the ruins, the churches,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">the altarpieces, the villages</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">abandoned in the Appennines or foothills</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">of the Alps where my brothers once lived.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">I wander like a madman down the Tuscolana,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">down the Appia like a dog without a master.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">Or I see the twilights, the mornings</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">over Rome, the Ciociaria, the world,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">as the first acts of Posthistory</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">to which I bear witness, for the privilege</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">of recording them from the outer edge</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">of some buried age. Monstrous is the man</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">born of a dead woman’s womb.</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">And I, a fetus now grown, roam about</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">more modern than any modern man,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;">in search of brothers no longer alive.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">~ <b><i>Pier Paolo Pasolini</i></b> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 16.796875px;"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">(Translated By : Stephen Sartarelli)</span></i></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; line-height: 16.796875px;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Verdana; line-height: 16.796875px;"><b><i>Pier Paolo Pasolini</i></b></span></div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2634607205622614424.post-14039857764912186552014-03-13T16:10:00.000+05:302014-03-13T16:10:52.668+05:30THE KISS..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தம் கொடுங்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">பரபரத்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நீங்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முன்னேறிக் கொண்டிருக்கையில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">உங்கள் நண்பி வந்தால்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">எந்தத் தயக்கமும் இன்றி</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இறுகக் கட்டித் தழுவி</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இதமாக</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">தொடர்ந்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நீண்டதாக</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தம் கொடுங்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">உங்களைப் பார்த்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">மற்றவர்களும்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">அவரவர்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நண்பிகளுக்கு முத்தம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">கொடுக்கட்டும்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">விடுதலையின் சின்னம் முத்தம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தம் கொடுத்ததும்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">மறந்துவிட்டு</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">சங்கமமாகிவிடுவீர்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">பஸ் நிலையத்தில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">ரயிலடியில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நூலகத்தில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நெரிசற் பூங்காக்களில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">விற்பனை அங்காடிகளில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">வீடு சிறுத்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நகர் பெருத்த</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">சந்தடி மிகுந்த தெருக்களில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தம் ஒன்றுதான் ஒரே வழி</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">கைவிடாதீர்கள் முத்தத்தை</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">உங்கள் அன்பைத் தெரிவிக்க</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">ஸாகஸத்தைத் தெரிவிக்க</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இருக்கும் சில நொடிகளில்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">உங்கள் இருப்பை நிரூபிக்க</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தத்தைவிட</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">சிறந்ததோர் சாதனம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">கிடைப்பதரிது</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">ஆரம்பித்து விடுங்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்த அலுவலை</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இன்றே</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இப்பொழுதே</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இக்கணமே</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">உம் சீக்கிரம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">உங்கள் அடுத்த காதலி</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">காத்திருக்கிறாள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முன்னேறுங்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">கிறிஸ்து பிறந்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இரண்டாயிரம் வருடங்கள் கழித்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">இருபத்தியோறாம் நூற்றாண்டை</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">நெருங்கிக் கொண்டிருக்கிறோம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">ஆபாச உடலசைவுகளை ஒழித்து</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">சுத்தமாக</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்தத்தோடு முத்தம்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">என்று</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">முத்த சகாப்தத்தைத்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 15.6pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="TA" style="color: #333333; font-family: "Latha","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN; mso-hansi-font-family: Arial;">துவங்குங்கள்</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-IN;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAvHQsbKY_KcDskLY8N9Rtm53XZYk4uepYylZNxBKR1OcU9JQVtDJTvG25Ms2CLTPHgQNmuI2P9h3DKBwGETVTpUE19Q4C_Kg-z7fTNL-YFn-uRAzJcku9CRk2Wqxa524wg1L-OtmKW0/s1600/the-kiss-rodin-museum-paris-giclee-print-c12882327jpeg1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAvHQsbKY_KcDskLY8N9Rtm53XZYk4uepYylZNxBKR1OcU9JQVtDJTvG25Ms2CLTPHgQNmuI2P9h3DKBwGETVTpUE19Q4C_Kg-z7fTNL-YFn-uRAzJcku9CRk2Wqxa524wg1L-OtmKW0/s1600/the-kiss-rodin-museum-paris-giclee-print-c12882327jpeg1.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-style: normal;"><b>The Kiss </b></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><i>:</i></span><span style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"> </span><b><i>Auguste Rodin</i></b> (1889)</div>
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Sathyuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07852818276879627691noreply@blogger.com1