Kindergarten poem spring
Boramiyu (보라미유)
2019.05.22 03:53 dreetea Boramiyu (보라미유)
Boramiyu (보라미유) is a South Korean solo singer who debuted under Shofar Entertainment (쇼파르엔터테인먼트) (formerly Shofar Music (쇼파르뮤직)) on November 21, 2018. She is known for her various covers on YouTube, performing on I Can See Your Voice / ICSYV (너의 목소리가 보여) 5 (as Jang Boram (장보람)), and releasing several singles, mini albums, and OST's for K-dramas such as: Once Upon a Small Town (어쩌다 전원일기), Now, We Are Breaking Up (지금, 헤어지는 중입니다), Do Do Sol Sol La La Sol (도도솔솔라라솔), Into the Ring (출사표), 제3의 매력.
2024.05.15 04:08 Sabertoothjellybean Family Vacation Recommendations Requested
My father wants to visit KY in June. His interests are easy hiking and waterfalls. We would be bringing a kindergarten age son who loves playgrounds, swimming, and fishing.
Is the playground in Owensboro really cool?
Is there anything we need to be aware of when enjoying outdoor activities in KY in June? Ex: we learned about biting gnats in SC over spring break.
What towns are best for staying in near Cumberland Falls or the gorge? We have a very picky eater in the group and need options.
submitted by Sabertoothjellybean to Kentucky [link] [comments]
Is the playground in Owensboro really cool?
Is there anything we need to be aware of when enjoying outdoor activities in KY in June? Ex: we learned about biting gnats in SC over spring break.
What towns are best for staying in near Cumberland Falls or the gorge? We have a very picky eater in the group and need options.
2024.05.14 14:01 Zappingsbrew A post talking about 400 words
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submitted by Zappingsbrew to u/Zappingsbrew [link] [comments]
2024.05.14 08:10 Bone_137 Lost all my friends
I(18) have had the same group of friends since kindergarten, and although I’ve sometimes been left out of some things I could always count on the group of 8-10 guys getting together about once a week. I have been dealing with depression and SH for few years and even though I didn’t talk about it with my any of them, just hanging out with them was enough to better my mood.
In February I realized I wasn’t getting invites much anymore and the only group chats that were active were ones without me. However, I had hoped our senior spring break trip that we had been planning for years could mend the friendship.
I went on the trip to Florida with the group in March, and we all had one of the best weeks of our life. I wasn’t left out, we had good conversation, and we partied every night for a week. I didn’t want to bring up the fact that I wasn’t really close with the group anymore because it all seemed perfect.
I haven’t hung out with any of them since then outside of our lunch table. I want to tell them they are extremely important to me and I need them in order to deal with my depression, but I don’t want to guilt them into hanging out with me. I have tried to find othebetter friends, but we have one week of high school left before we graduate and it’s not easy to do 3 months before we all leave for college.
Any advice is greatly appreciated or just someone to talk to about my situation.
Sorry if the post isn’t organized well I just needed to get this out.
submitted by Bone_137 to friendship [link] [comments]
In February I realized I wasn’t getting invites much anymore and the only group chats that were active were ones without me. However, I had hoped our senior spring break trip that we had been planning for years could mend the friendship.
I went on the trip to Florida with the group in March, and we all had one of the best weeks of our life. I wasn’t left out, we had good conversation, and we partied every night for a week. I didn’t want to bring up the fact that I wasn’t really close with the group anymore because it all seemed perfect.
I haven’t hung out with any of them since then outside of our lunch table. I want to tell them they are extremely important to me and I need them in order to deal with my depression, but I don’t want to guilt them into hanging out with me. I have tried to find othebetter friends, but we have one week of high school left before we graduate and it’s not easy to do 3 months before we all leave for college.
Any advice is greatly appreciated or just someone to talk to about my situation.
Sorry if the post isn’t organized well I just needed to get this out.
2024.05.14 03:00 Jmt697 Please help me survive
Hi friends,
Readers beware, this is a long one. I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Advice? Words of encouragement for a depressed teacher? Or just survival tips. Honestly, I appreciate any input.
I’m a kindergarten teacher with a class of 20. Of the 20, 5 are on behavior plans. Since returning from spring break, one of my behavior students has been continually getting worse.
He will throw items, rip things, and destroy things throughout the classroom. He has been hitting other students at recess and lunch, wandering out of the classroom without my knowledge, and taking things that belong to other students and destroying them.
Since returning from spring break, this has been happening daily. He wanders around the room and will destroy anything in his path. If a child tries to intervene and stop him (before I can get to him), he will try to hit the child. One day, when I had a sub, he took a whiteboard and hit 3 students in the head with it.
Today, the student hit a few students out of anger on the playground. His recess monitor took him to the principals office afterwards. His recess monitor told me that he had been hitting students at lunch and recess. For wherever reason, the admin was not aware that he had hit other students. She ended up dropping him off in my room and about 5minutes later then, he started to rip apart one of his books and throw it.
My school has aba support. I am so thankful for them and they have done so much to help. Aba has told me that when this behavior occurs I can page them for help, especially because sometimes he begins to escalate and get violent. So, I paged for help from them. Before they could get to me, the same AP that just had him in her office comes in. Immediately asking what the trigger was, I replied by saying I asked him to get his journal (that was it). Then, aba came in. I explained the situation and tried to tell the AP about what the recess monitor had shared with me, but she cut me off by saying, “excuse me! I am talking to her right now”, I tried to add in again what the recess monitor had shared with me and continued to raise her voice at me.
I felt attacked. My admin is horrible and part of the reason I am leaving my horrid school district. I’ve never felt supported by them, they will talk about me negatively, and are horrible people. This incident was the cherry on top of the cake.
Someone please give me words of advice on how to survive the rest of the year. I go until mid June. I’m falling apart. I don’t know what to do with this behavior kid and I do not feel comfortable reaching out to admin. A coworker suggested that I have a meeting with this admin to discuss this interaction today, but is it even worth it?
submitted by Jmt697 to Teachers [link] [comments]
Readers beware, this is a long one. I don’t really know what I’m looking for. Advice? Words of encouragement for a depressed teacher? Or just survival tips. Honestly, I appreciate any input.
I’m a kindergarten teacher with a class of 20. Of the 20, 5 are on behavior plans. Since returning from spring break, one of my behavior students has been continually getting worse.
He will throw items, rip things, and destroy things throughout the classroom. He has been hitting other students at recess and lunch, wandering out of the classroom without my knowledge, and taking things that belong to other students and destroying them.
Since returning from spring break, this has been happening daily. He wanders around the room and will destroy anything in his path. If a child tries to intervene and stop him (before I can get to him), he will try to hit the child. One day, when I had a sub, he took a whiteboard and hit 3 students in the head with it.
Today, the student hit a few students out of anger on the playground. His recess monitor took him to the principals office afterwards. His recess monitor told me that he had been hitting students at lunch and recess. For wherever reason, the admin was not aware that he had hit other students. She ended up dropping him off in my room and about 5minutes later then, he started to rip apart one of his books and throw it.
My school has aba support. I am so thankful for them and they have done so much to help. Aba has told me that when this behavior occurs I can page them for help, especially because sometimes he begins to escalate and get violent. So, I paged for help from them. Before they could get to me, the same AP that just had him in her office comes in. Immediately asking what the trigger was, I replied by saying I asked him to get his journal (that was it). Then, aba came in. I explained the situation and tried to tell the AP about what the recess monitor had shared with me, but she cut me off by saying, “excuse me! I am talking to her right now”, I tried to add in again what the recess monitor had shared with me and continued to raise her voice at me.
I felt attacked. My admin is horrible and part of the reason I am leaving my horrid school district. I’ve never felt supported by them, they will talk about me negatively, and are horrible people. This incident was the cherry on top of the cake.
Someone please give me words of advice on how to survive the rest of the year. I go until mid June. I’m falling apart. I don’t know what to do with this behavior kid and I do not feel comfortable reaching out to admin. A coworker suggested that I have a meeting with this admin to discuss this interaction today, but is it even worth it?
2024.05.13 16:21 slappywhyte If you want to use the jet, you have to listen to my poem read aloud one more time
 | submitted by slappywhyte to travisandtaylor [link] [comments] |
2024.05.13 06:48 Lorithyia This fits nicely here
If I ever fail to recognise you, Forgive me as I may be different to you; May not perceive you in full; You’re an equal, unique half As you claim!
If I ever do not listen to you Forgive me as I may be deaf to your point; I may find you incomprehensible Like the ultimate truth and Opaque as you are!
If I ever shut my mouth When someone belittles you Forgive me as I may not have words To win the argument cunningly like a corrupt advocate; Words are misogynistic or chauvinistic Deeply ingrained in attitudes!
If I ever turn my blind eye, Forgive me as I may not see you through; At times, you are as perplexing as an alien’s saucer As I am to you.
If I ever turn my back on you, Forgive me as you are difficult to fathom Impossible to ascend The Other, like me Rebelling against the object.
[Mr. Subedi is an accomplished lecturer at TafeSA. He has just been awarded with “The Best of the Event Award” at International Nazrul Poetry Festival, 2023 in Dhaka, Bangladesh. He is the author of The Colors of Spring, a collection of poems.
submitted by Lorithyia to TheOA [link] [comments]
If I ever do not listen to you Forgive me as I may be deaf to your point; I may find you incomprehensible Like the ultimate truth and Opaque as you are!
If I ever shut my mouth When someone belittles you Forgive me as I may not have words To win the argument cunningly like a corrupt advocate; Words are misogynistic or chauvinistic Deeply ingrained in attitudes!
If I ever turn my blind eye, Forgive me as I may not see you through; At times, you are as perplexing as an alien’s saucer As I am to you.
If I ever turn my back on you, Forgive me as you are difficult to fathom Impossible to ascend The Other, like me Rebelling against the object.
[Mr. Subedi is an accomplished lecturer at TafeSA. He has just been awarded with “The Best of the Event Award” at International Nazrul Poetry Festival, 2023 in Dhaka, Bangladesh. He is the author of The Colors of Spring, a collection of poems.
2024.05.12 16:18 SenlanZWH GEN vs TES Hupu Rating and Comments
I'm going to try to translate those top comment from Hupu for MSI, I might skip some of them as they are Chinese internet memes that I've no idea how to translate, and those comment related to Honor of Kings, a popular league like mobile game made by Tencent.
The rating is user poll generated, you can give a rating between 2 and 10, and average is used. A total of 335k people participated in this series' rating.
Hupu rating is an in APP feature so it doesn't really have a link, but here is the post match thread for the match, and on the top there is an link you can click on that get you to that page. link
Top Esports
Top Esports
Top Esports
Top Esports
Top Esports
submitted by SenlanZWH to leagueoflegends [link] [comments]
The rating is user poll generated, you can give a rating between 2 and 10, and average is used. A total of 335k people participated in this series' rating.
Hupu rating is an in APP feature so it doesn't really have a link, but here is the post match thread for the match, and on the top there is an link you can click on that get you to that page. link
MATCH 1: GEN vs. TES
*Gen.G *| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| Kiin Vayne | 7.5 | Good at getting carried. |
| Canyon Vi | 3.0 | Without those engages, Draven wouldn't even have a chance to cash in. |
| Chovy Corki | 9.1 | You are not on Chovy's level, bring bigwei here.(BLG Coach, Chovy in Chinese is pronounced chaowei. |
| Peyz Kalista | 8.5 | Where is ELK, sub in ELK! |
| Lehends Alistar | 8.6 | "Lehends Alistar, there was that classic clip, I'm laughing already." |
| Kim | 6.6 | I've already decided to yell at Canyon, and have a infighting this summer. |
| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| 369 K'Sante | 2.4 | Push and pull, and you just collapsed. |
| Tian Viego | 4.0 | Did you submit your formal request when you transformed into Vayne and play it for a bit? |
| Creme Akali | 5.8 | Bad but not a coward. |
| JackeyLove Draven | 9.0 | What a shame, most consistent game, did not int once. |
| Meiko Nautilus | 7.1 | That last fight was a bit comical, but I guess its gg if you don't engage, so who knowns. |
| Despa1r | 2.7 | Love to pick Draven without banning Vi, love to give Tian Viego. |
MATCH 2: GEN vs. TES
*Gen.G *| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| Kiin Twisted Fate | 8.3 | Without Doran, Chovy is playing better and better. |
| Canyon Lee Sin | 8.1 | Canyon, Offseason 1st team. (Another Lebron kyzhyz wordplay.) |
| Chovy Azir | 9.4 | The only mistake you made game was because you thought TES had more damage, didn't even need to use Zhonya this game. |
| Peyz Aphelios | 7.8 | Second Item Lord Dominik's, are you trying to ruin Han Sama. |
| Lehends Lulu | 9.1 | Why does you Lulu has Charm? |
| Kim | 7.4 | KenZhu: Guys, I'm trying to crack his password. |
| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| 369 Renekton | 2.7 | Didn't felt like last game was bad enough, so you tried to be worse this game. |
| Tian Sejuani | 2.4 | Wow, 3rd Uncle was pretty bad, but you are worse. (Canyon's nickname in china is 3rd Uncle, after Ning and Tian, due to there world's FMVP). |
| Creme Ahri | 2.3 | Such difference compared with Faker's G5 Ahri yesterday, I guess you really need to look at the ID not only champion name. |
| JackeyLove Lucian | 8.6 | When you have to pull all your eggs in the Jacky basket, TES is probably doomed. |
| Meiko Nami | 8.9 | Nami bubble is pretty hard to hit, most time with Lucian Nami, Nami's purpose is to buff Lucian with E, I guess only Meiko's Nami could be one that controls bot lane. |
| Despa1r | 2.7 | Fun Fact: After SSG got rebranded as Gen.G, they've never beat LPL in a BO5, TES is about to break this record after 6 years. |
MATCH 3: GEN vs. TES
*Gen.G *| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| Kiin Ryze | 5.9 | Honest you played pretty well, teleports and etc are all decent, not sure why people are flaming you. |
| Canyon Jarvan IV | 2.8 | I rarely use Tarzan to describe a jungler. |
| Chovy Corki | 5.1 | Why did people say you tried your best, I mean you got gapped by fking Creme. |
| Peyz Kalista | 2.4 | Imp would go forward is he was playing. |
| Lehends Nautilus | 3.0 | Naut went around the back, ult Alistar, Q the wall. The two bastards of bot lane. |
| Kim | 3.1 | Kenzhu: Hey guys, I figured out his password. |
| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| 369 Rumble | 4.6 | Wow, you are really soft against Korean top laners. |
| Tian Maokai | 9.4 | The shadow MVP, great decisions. |
| Creme Tristana | 9.8 | TES.Creme: Please first pick me Trist; TES.Creme: Please first pick me Trist; TES.Creme: I'm a one trick. |
| JackeyLove Varus | 9.7 | If my teammates played like human, you think I'll lose to you? Seriously? |
| Meiko Alistar | 9.8 | I play support, I die for my mid, I got flamed. Please treat all those unnamed support in the rift nicely. |
| Despa1r | 6.4 | Don't pick what made you guys good in the spring, picking Viego and Akali, and wait till the match point to go back to Varus Maokai, really? |
MATCH 4: GEN vs. TES
*Gen.G *| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| Kiin K'Sante | 3.1 | Love ranged top, becoming i series, you are? (Referencing TheShy, i series is a flame people use when theShy go 1/x, call him developing ix series CPU). |
| Canyon Vi | 4.8 | Do you know why we didn't kill you when we fountain dived in the end? Because league does not have friendly fire. |
| Chovy Azir | 3.1 | If you are Faker, I'm not going to celebrate until the Nexus explodes, but you are Chovy, you guys are not coming back. |
| Peyz Kalista | 2.7 | I became a world champion at 17, you? |
| Lehends Alistar | 4.3 | 5 Star, XDXDXD, please continue like this next game. |
| Kim | 2.9 | Kenzhu: Sorry he got back on for a second and banned Trist. |
| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| 369 Urgot | 9.0 | Zhou: 69: Just wait for me to get one more wave.(Zhou former TES support was guest casting this game, they were playing out how TES member's voice comm would sound like in the end). |
| Tian Sejuani | 9.8 | Mahakala! (It is pronounced da an hei tian(大暗黑天)in Chinese, not sure if it is referencing DNF another Tencent game, or Seer, a popular Chinese web game for kids.) |
| Creme Corki | 9.8 | Was Trist piloting the plane? You can only play yordles from now on. |
| JackeyLove Draven | 9.7 | When the rift herald was summoned, the music started to play in my ears, da da da di da la. (Referencing the Jacky Marching Song (난! (I) By Clon I think.) It is used by a lot of Jacky clips in Chinese TikTok, people called it Jacky anthem.) |
| Meiko Ashe | 9.9 | General settles Tian Shan with 3 arrows, Warrior march into the gates of Korea. (A poem from Old Book of Tang, about the general that conquered Goguryeo, a Korean kingdom lasted till 668, I'm not a poet, so the translation is probably botching it.). |
| Despa1r | 9.1 | 2.9 before the game started, 9.2 after the game started. |
MATCH 5: GEN vs. TES
*Gen.G *| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| Kiin K'Sante | 9.3 | Pic of Showmaker clapping sarcastically. |
| Canyon Nidalee | 9.2 | Nidalee: I'm at a loss, Geon-bu, do you remember the High-spirited you from that year. (Referencing to 2020 FMVP Canyon). |
| Chovy Corki | 7.8 | You almost inted game 5 away, you played like the best player on your team for the first 4 games, but if you did int game 5 away, people are going to say you are a choker. |
| Peyz Kalista | 5.7 | Lol, you team had a 10k gold lead, you have a 100 gold lead. |
| Lehends Ashe | 6.3 | Lehends: Akali is coming! Akali is coming! |
| Kim | 6.3 | Kenzhu: Sorry guys, they finally kicked me off his account after 2 games. |
| Player Rating | Top Comment | |
|---|---|---|
| 369 Urgot | 3.0 | Turning point: Feed a kill to the Nid that was doomed, and it radiated to the bot lane, great start but got push around entire game. |
| Tian Sejuani | 8.5 | Tried you best, this is really a surprise that you were the most consistent. |
| Creme Akali | 2.7 | WTF was that last fight, you guys had a chance to comeback. |
| JackeyLove Lucian | 8.6 | Nothing to say, you really tried you best today, at least you didn't get 3-0ed, good luck next round. |
| Meiko Nami | 9.3 | Those godly bubbles, too bad your guys got out macroed hard. |
| Despa1r | 4.1 | What a BP, like to chose losing lanes, like to pick comp that lost before already. |
2024.05.12 04:08 shaneka69 MASSACHUSETTS NUMEROLOGY DECODE
MASSACHUSETTS NUMEROLOGY DECODE
Interestingly enough, we don't hear much about this state. It's almost easy to overlook or straight up forget unless you are looking at a map. We are going to decode this state using Numerology and point out the reasons/indications that point towards it being such a silent city or at least not popular and frequented like other places. This will get very informative so enjoy the read.We will now begin decoding each letter in detail.
M - This is The 13th letter of the alphabet Making this letter vibrate at the energy of 4. The energy of four represents privacy and caution. When it comes to 13 and the energy of 4, you have a person or an energy where it's more focused on self rather than connecting with others. So, like I mentioned, 4 is about privacy, caution, and withholding. 4 is pretty restrictive so when a person or place has this name, that you know these are very cautious people or you know that these are not people that take action without thinking. 4 is a very organized type of energy. As a state, this can translate to being a very restrictive state or a state that has particular rules in place. People who live in this state can even have some of these traits. This isn't the type of place to move to unless you want some type of restriction or a relaxed type of energy in your life. M is the strongest energy of this state since it is the first letter of the state's name. So, that alone can start speaking to why this isn't a state that is talked about as much as, let's say, New York or Florida.
A - This is the letter that represents number one as it is the first letter of the alphabet which lets you know that this is about initiation or fresh starts. When it comes to people, this speaks to having that focus on self or being self-motivated.
S - As the 19th letter of the alphabet, this letter vibrates at the energy of one, but it is from a place of being in power or being extremely independent. As a state, that's why the state can seem alone or like a stand alone and not really talked about because we already have a lot of indications that talk about being too self absorbed or too withheld.
S - As the 19th letter of the alphabet, this letter vibrates at the energy of one, but it is from a place of being in power or being extremely independent. As a state, that's why the state can seem alone or like a stand alone and not really talked about because we already have a lot of indications that talk about being too self absorbed or too withheld.
A - This is the letter that represents number one as it is the first letter of the alphabet which lets you know that this is about initiation or fresh starts. When it comes to people, this speaks to having that focus on self or being self-motivated. This is the second time we got this letter and energy.
C - 3rd letter of the alphabet which can represent communication and creativity
H - 8th letter of the alphabet which talks about structure, pressure, seriousness, and mastery.
U - 21st letter of the alphabet which vibrates at the energy of 3. This shows compassion, especially when an individual has this in their name. This also can add more creative juices to a person or the state.
S - As mentioned above, this is the 19th letter of the alphabet and vibrates at the energy of 1.
E - 5th letter of the alphabet which points to combat, creativity, romance, joy, change, and events.
T - 20th letter of the alphabet which vibrates at the energy of 2 which can point to cooperation, stability, comfort, and proactivity. This is a money number just like the number 8, but 2 represents more frequency.
T - 20th letter of the alphabet which vibrates at the energy of 2 which can point to cooperation, stability, comfort, and proactivity. This is a money number just like the number 8, but 2 represents more frequency.
S - As mentioned above, this is the 19th letter of the alphabet and vibrates at the energy of 1.
As you can see, Massachusetts has 6 letters that vibrate at the energy of 1 which equals 6. 6 is about comfort, family, beauty, and discipline. We can see that this may be a state that values discipline which goes well with the fact that it starts with M which is similar to discipline because 4 energy is responsible and even family oriented. We can assume that this state operates from a place of balance and fairness. They may not tolerate what a lot of other states tolerate. Jobs could possibly be a little easier to get here just based on how a lot of the numeric values barely get to the number 9. 1 is the main number that stands out within this state which can point to them doing their own thing and not wanting to identify with how other states do things.
Very individualistic type of energy. People that live in this state could either be workaholics, dogmatic, serious, responsible, controlling, family oriented, shy, or even mean. Routine could be a big thing here. Some or a lot of the residents could even be big on being business owners. This could even be a state where couponing is or can be a big deal. This state may not have too many outside visitors like Florida or Nevada does and the residents could have been there for a long time.
This is a good place to live if you plan on settling down with your own family or partner, if you want a simple and quiet life, if it's just you and only you, if you want to downsize, etc. You get the point. The energy of Massachusetts is very much on the personal and private side.
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2024.05.12 02:23 Right-Ad-5875 Apologize to my soulmate bff
I took a garden gummy and am sitting out in my garage with the beautiful spring weather.
I have a friend who we consider each other soulmates but have not talked since March. I feel like a love sick puppy over here. Just wanting to be friends again. But I get such anxiety when I think about doing it. Like she hates me so why?
Recently I wrote this in my notes app for her. I don’t if it’s a song or poem. But it does go well to a 2010’s emo vibe.
(Part of me really wants to share it with her because I think we’d die laughing over it!)
🤣
“
Boo…
Hi. I literally feel like a crazy ex Writing you paragraph after paragraph text in the notes app Bout being sorry and how I miss you Then I freeze because why express this when I feel like you’ve made up your mind.
Delete delete delete
But then I’m like hell no. Soulmates are forever and I miss the fuck out of you and want you to know that.
I’m sorry going with to SK didn’t work but I’m even more sorry about my poor communication about it before hand. I could have been better and I’m sorry.
There’s so much in my head about the whole situation And us not talking I can’t wrap my head around it with how fast it spins
I miss you. I miss our conversations.
Your voice Your sass The way we can be having a complete crying meltdown and the other one can make us crack a smile.
The fact you’re in SK and I know nothing about your life makes me so sad! I want to know it all
But then again, my communication could have been better but as distance grew so did my anxiety thinking you hate me.
So why bother
Then sometimes I say that out loud and I think How silly Just pick the damn phone up and call her
Soulmates are forever and I miss the fuck out of you
And vice verse There’s been so much in my life that has happened That you’re the only person I want to call And I feel like I can’t
I just really miss you. I hope I’m still your plus one
But if it’s been revoked I understand.
I just want to be friends again. Hear your voice and stories again.
You’re the Beyoncé of my life So this is me coming to you
Your red headed Jay-z To ask for forgiveness.
I miss and love you. No matter the outcome I will always wish you love and support Pure bliss and bright days
My beautiful soulmate.”
submitted by Right-Ad-5875 to u/Right-Ad-5875 [link] [comments]
I have a friend who we consider each other soulmates but have not talked since March. I feel like a love sick puppy over here. Just wanting to be friends again. But I get such anxiety when I think about doing it. Like she hates me so why?
Recently I wrote this in my notes app for her. I don’t if it’s a song or poem. But it does go well to a 2010’s emo vibe.
(Part of me really wants to share it with her because I think we’d die laughing over it!)
🤣
“
Boo…
Hi. I literally feel like a crazy ex Writing you paragraph after paragraph text in the notes app Bout being sorry and how I miss you Then I freeze because why express this when I feel like you’ve made up your mind.
Delete delete delete
But then I’m like hell no. Soulmates are forever and I miss the fuck out of you and want you to know that.
I’m sorry going with to SK didn’t work but I’m even more sorry about my poor communication about it before hand. I could have been better and I’m sorry.
There’s so much in my head about the whole situation And us not talking I can’t wrap my head around it with how fast it spins
I miss you. I miss our conversations.
Your voice Your sass The way we can be having a complete crying meltdown and the other one can make us crack a smile.
The fact you’re in SK and I know nothing about your life makes me so sad! I want to know it all
But then again, my communication could have been better but as distance grew so did my anxiety thinking you hate me.
So why bother
Then sometimes I say that out loud and I think How silly Just pick the damn phone up and call her
Soulmates are forever and I miss the fuck out of you
And vice verse There’s been so much in my life that has happened That you’re the only person I want to call And I feel like I can’t
I just really miss you. I hope I’m still your plus one
But if it’s been revoked I understand.
I just want to be friends again. Hear your voice and stories again.
You’re the Beyoncé of my life So this is me coming to you
Your red headed Jay-z To ask for forgiveness.
I miss and love you. No matter the outcome I will always wish you love and support Pure bliss and bright days
My beautiful soulmate.”
2024.05.11 22:27 VolkerBach In Praise of Sheep (c. 1340)
 | https://www.culina-vetus.de/2024/05/11/in-praise-of-sheep/ submitted by VolkerBach to CulinaryHistory [link] [comments] Today, it’s another of the König vom Odenwald’s poems: Sheep, 14th century English illumination courtesy of wikimedia commons VI This is a poem of sheep Nobody shall criticise it much I have invented a poem A lady has brought me to do it She has a noble husband I shall not name her unless she allows it Do not ask me Since I made that promise! So I begin straightaway And speak of an animal: I rhyme of the sheep Whether awake or asleep You profit from it and honour it If anyone were turn around my words He would do me an injustice Even lords, knights and servants Keep sheep nowadays Princes and counts also seek To have a share in sheep And it is no great misfortune To own many of them. They bear the wool That you wash and shear From which rich clothing is made You also tan the skins And tease and dye the wool Comb and spin it People gain wealth with it Wind and twist it Before and behind Spool, weave and full it And they also defraud people that way And are not ashamed They put it on the tenter frame Anoint it, card it, and smooth it So they (the pieces of cloth) become one like another Cloth merchants measure it out And the wool is shorn with shears And tailors put together many garments That look differently He whose sheep prosper Will have full chests and casks And also have gold and silver (When) both rams and lambs Prosper in numbers So they can be blessed at Easter. Whether they are big or small, They dress legs and feet In hosen and socks And line tunics. They clothe head and body They adorn man and woman Boys and girls A feast for the eyes As coats and tunics. You know pelts (kursenbelze) They are black and white And many people are eager for Danish lamb fleece (tenisch) Though it is not wise To wear it against the cold. What usefulness we have in sheep! Tabards, long tunics and wide overcoats /taphart, kutten, kotzen) Cowls (schepeler) for monks and nuns, too That are often worn You should also have this (garment) in church Where a priest wears it. Headwear, surcots, jackets (huben, surkat, suphen) Overcoats, felt, and headscarves (suknie, vilze, gufen) Coverlets (tucher ubir bare) This I say truly You hang them over a wagon. This I must say Front and rear horsegear and saddles Are covered in woollen cloth And many pieces from many places So the skin does not rub bare. Whey, curds and sheep cheese And also the milk please people Makers of hard cheese Are good fellows Also, sheep butter, Should not be criticised. Sheep lamb during Lent And you also fertilise fields with sheep (dung) Hear the broad list: They also make gain (literally: fish) with sheep dung Where they stable horses I tell this to all of you! More useful yet, I mean, Are meat, feet, and bones Innards, head, brain, and good galantines, Tongues, tallow, horns and skin All come from sheep in quantity And many a sweet music of stringed instruments (seitenspil) Is made with sheep gut I tell you, rich and poor, Also, the string of the wollensleger, They should move it diligently! You shall also hear You find in the shops (kremen) gloves, belts and bags That can be used to barter. Now I will explain That the skins are turned into Belts, pouches, and shoes Points for hosen, parchment and books, Fodder bags and carrying bags In which you put clothes. Sheep leather is healthy If you have an injury on your finger Where a bad blister is A wool thread needs to go there. If you have a mattress (materaz) You will lie all the better when you travel If it is stuffed with wool. Take care of your cover If the blanket is folded fourfold (geviret) It adorns it best. You also have a rough (one/side?) That you draw over your shoes. Leather sheets (lederlaken) are painted - This is done by someone skilled - With animals and sea creatures You make love upon and underneath them. The hands of gentlewomen Work on (embroidery) frames Cloth to cover walls Throw rugs and wall hangings (zyechen und teppich) And chair covers, I say. They have chosen (to make) belts And especially one to hang a (hunting) horn from. They also make many fine strings of wool Which the braid into their hair The short and the long And attach hats to them. And if they use woollen breeches They wear them underneath Thus they have taken counsel Like their forebears did out of need. From fine sheep Come rich heraldic overcoats (wapencleit) Blankets and Horse covers (? coopertur) Come from excellent sheep. Many people profit from this And look very well Ram’s horns are fitted to helmets Small and large ones The rams also carry crooked horns Those are suited as lamps The kunig speaks much of sheep But he himself has not even one Very well, I will take care to be in the company Of those who have them, here I am. Each archbishop If he comes to court Must have a pallium That must come from sheep The sheep makes many people rich Hear now who it is similar to: When it is killed it makes no sound And be careful not to mock it Our noble God did the same He bore death willingly May His kingdom be open to us So we can all get into it Thus help us His mother. When we compare this poem to the ones the same author addressed to the cow, the chicken, and the goose, it becomes clear how little the sheep was esteemed in culinary terms. He dutifully mentions meat, innards, and the galantines made from it as well as the milk, cheese, and (interestingly) butter, but his heart is not in it. Not even lamb, a seasonal delicacy of spring, gets a second look. People ate sheep, there are surviving recipes, but clearly it was not something you would choose to do if you had other options. By contrast, the wool and leather evoke lengthy and detailed verse. Clearly, this is where the author sees the true purpose of the animal: Sheep will make you rich. That was a fairly new phenomenon in the fourteenth century, when land for grazing became available as population declined from disease and famine while an ever more sophicsticated cloth industry called for more raw material. In this respect, the poem is less a tale of tradition and more investment advice. The focus is clearly on cloth and clothing that can be made of wool. There are many other points of interest here if daily life fascinates you. From the string of the wollensleger (tasked with cleaning and preparing wool for carding) to those of stringed instruments, from horn used in lanterns to wool wrapped around blisters or coloured strings braided into hair, we get a glimpse of medieval life. I am not quite certain how to interpret the “woollen breeches” that are worn by women “underneath … like their forebears did out of need”. It may be a reference to menstrual hygiene – the question how possible devices for collecting menstrual blood was work is a vexing one for lack of evidence. Few writers are willing to discuss this topic at all, but the König vom Odenwald seems like the type who would. If that is what it means, it is certainly hidden in too many layers of euphemism to allow for a confident reconstruction. Finally, the thing I found most endearing and tempting to reconstruct is the lederlaken, painted bedsheets made of sheepskin. Adorned with animals and sea creatures by a competent artist – the author specifically makes this point – they sound both visually attractive and pleasant to use. If I ever get to the point of making a proper tent and camp equipment, this will be an item to consider. Der König vom Odenwald (literally king of the Odenwald, a mountain chain in southern Germany) is an otherwise unknown poet whose work is tentatively dated to the 1340s. His title may refer to a senior rank among musicians or entertainers, a Spielmannskönig, but that is speculative. Many of his poems are humorous and deal with aspects of everyday life which makes them valuable sources to us today. The identity of this poet has been subject to much speculation. He is clearly associated with the episcopal court at Würzburg and likely specifically with Michael de Leone (c. 1300-1355), a lawyer and scholar. Most of his work is known only through the Hausbuch of the same Michael de Leone, a collection of verse and practical prose that also includes the first known instance of the Buoch von guoter Spise, a recipe collection. This and the evident relish with which he describes food have led scholars to consider him a professional cook and the author of the Buoch von Guoter Spise, but that is unlikely. Going by the content of his poetry, the author is clearly familiar with the lives of the lower nobility and even his image of poverty is genteel. This need not mean he belonged to this class, but he clearly moved in these circles to some degree. Michael de Leone, a secular cleric and canon on the Würzburg chapter, was of that class and may have been a patron of the poet. Reinhardt Olt whose edition I am basing my translation on assumes that the author was a fellow canon, Johann II von Erbach. I only translate the poems that deal with aspects of food or related everyday life here. There are several others which are less interesting as sources. They can be found in the newest extant edition by Reinhard Olt, König vom Odenwald; Gedichte, Carl Winter Verlag, Heidelberg 1988. |
2024.05.11 02:56 PhilMathers Sophie V - FInal Days
10,000 Stolen Days
May 10, 2024 marked exactly 10,000 days since Sophie’s life was taken. 10,000 days which had they not been stolen from her in December 1996, must have seemed to be filled with possibility .1996 had been a banner year, she had achieved so much in the previous 6 months, setting up her production company "Les Champs Blancs", and producing three different productions, with more on the way. But it had been exhausting few months with all this work and travel, and although Christmas is a holiday, it is not always a relaxing one.Christmas had often been a difficult time for Sophie. She walked out her first husband Pierre Jean at Christmas 1981, so suddenly, she left her infant son behind and had to steal him back with a ruse involving a relative. She broke up with Bruno Carbonnet over Christmas in 1993. leaving him a puzzling note;
“Je suis partie là où tu n'a jamais été, là où tu n'iras jamais".
“I have left there where you have never been, there where you will never go”. This didn’t make much sense to Bruno. He waited alone for two weeks in the apartment hoping she would return, he a had bought a bicycle for Pierre Louis for Christmas. In January he left to teach in Le Harve and when he returned the locks had been changed and all his stuff was on the landing. Sophie was deliberate about change in her life she didn't just let things happen to her. Her agenda year planners reflect this. She was meticulous in recording meetings, calls, contact details and travel plans. She brought 1995, 1996 & 1997 year planners with her. There are notes and reminders stretching into February 1997. She even tore off the little perforated corners as each week passed. It's a poignant reminder of how abruptly her life was cut off in full flow - the week beginning 23/12/1996 still has its corner intact.
Sophie’s style was austere, almost minimalist. Her cottage was painted white inside and out, with a except for the ground floor, which was black slate with a shiny varnish. The only decorations were a few sprigs of holly placed by the housekeeper to welcome her. A traditional Christmas week filled with loud music, tinsel and overconsumption was the diametric opposite of her character.
Worse there is the prospect having to trade pleasantries with tiresome relatives.
That Christmas Daniel had decided for the first time to have a big family Christmas inviting his extended aristocratic family to his chateau in Ambax in the South of France. For Sophie, who even after six years of marriage barely knew Daniel’s relatives, this was an easy choice and a hard no.
She bought her ticket on the morning of her travel planning to spend nearly a week in Ireland including Christmas Day and return on the 26th. It may be that this was the only return flight she could get at the time. Or it may be, as she told her aunt Madame Opalka “she was going to go to Ireland to spend Christmas there, because the house in Ambax was full of people”. From what Daniel has said, and from what others have said, it may be he tried to persuade her to come to Ambax for Christmas and convinced her. Sometime during the weekend she got an itinerary by fax at the cottage confirming her flight back on the 24th. But even on Sunday afternoon she told friends she had not made up her mind which flight she would take.
It is difficult to say how well their marriage was going at that time because the reports vary. Daniel said it was "harmonius and peaceful" which was far from accurate. There are several biographies of Daniel Toscan du Plantier, and they paint a vivid picture of a man who though incomparably charming, lived his life his own way without much concern for his family. He married four times and in three cases his wives were already pregnant before they got married. When he married Sophie, his eldest son and daughter were not even told about it, they only found out later in the summer when Sophie turned up at events.
Some witnesses including Daniel said was it was the happiest period, others say she was basically “an official wife” and that “their open marriage was an open secret”. The truth was probably somewhere in between. She had visited Ambax in November and collaborated closely on the documentary Europa 101 with Daniel. Whatever their personal arrangement, Daniel was deeply affected by her death, even though he refused to come to Ireland. His daughter Ariane wrote how she spent months taking care of him, feeding him sedatives and sleeping pills. He was clearly overwhelmed, so Sophie must have been more than an "official wife" to him. Was their marriage "open"? They clearly had a high degree of independence from each and had affairs in the past.
Nevertheless, Sophie may have balked at spending Christmas in Ambax. For one thing, it was far away from Paris, where her friends and family lived. For another, Daniel’s family and entourage knew very little about her. Apart from his second son Carlo, who was friends with her son Pierre Louis and some servants, she would have been on her own. Christmas in Paris would have been tolerable, she could escape and visit her parents and friends whenever she wanted, but in Ambax, she would be cooped up with nowhere else to go.
There is a question of whether Daniel was having an affair at the time. According to a Garda memo, French journalist Caroline Mangez said that Daniel was with a female film producer. However the files are full of unsubstantiated rumours and lies. Even if he wasn’t having an affair Sophie may have suspected he was. If Daniel had invited a mistress, or even a former mistress, or a former wife to Ambax, it would be unbearably awkward for Sophie. Daniel had uncountable affairs, and many of his mistresses knew each other, some remained on good terms.
Daniel may have been faithful at that time, perhaps he was telling the truth when he said their marriage was harmonius, but in any case Sophie had other reasons to skip Christmas. She had wanted to come to Dunmanus for months, but work got in the way. The heating had just been fixed and she needed to pay the plumber and her housekeeper. They preferred cash.
And if Daniel was unhappy that she wasn’t going to be there for Christmas, they were going on holiday together in the New Year to Dakar, Senegal. It would be much easier for Sophie to be with Daniel by himself than his whole family. This trip to Ireland would be a breather for her. She didn’t want to be alone, she asked at least 8 different people to accompany her, including 2 former intimate partners, though there is no evidence that she was having an affair or intended to have an affair.
There is a post-it note with a message in Sophie's hand seemingly inviting someone to spend Christmas: "Je vous laisse le choix : venir ou de refuser histoire que vous passiez un bon noel"
"I leave you the choice: come or refuse just so you have a good Christmas"
Whoever that note was written to, it was to someone she addressed as "vous" so not one of her closest friends or family.
Work
If she had another relationship, it is not obvious from her diary and it was unknown to her friends. What her diary does show though is that she had thrown herself into work.Apart from her agenda she kept a working notebook, a red hardback book which is filled with a tantalizing mash of different references to famous works of art, music, and contacts details of artists and philosophers. She had recently completed work on three different films. The first work was a documentary on African Art. The next was Europa 101, a documentary written by Daniel showcasing the wealth of European cinema. This was Daniel’s pet project, he loathed US cinema and the dominance of Hollywood. He once likened his wife’s death to a “bad movie”. His life’s work was a “struggle against cheap portrayals of violence, which is what leads to deaths like this” (Irish Independent 12/07/1998). This project involved gathering interviews and footage from dozens of famous directors and actors, including John Malkovich, Ingmar Berman, Pedro Almodovar, Werner Herzog, Nanni Moretti, Jean Luc Godard and many others. It was broadcast on December 8, 1996.
The third was an art house movie called “He sees folds everywhere”, a concept movie exploring the idea of folds and creases in everyday life, in hanging clothes, paper, wrinkles on skin, folds of a human brain. This was a project of the director Guy Girard, and it was the work to complete this that delayed her trip to Ireland. But she had other projects in train in her notebook. She was researching Greek folk music, Rebetiko. She had a project or projects in mind which were somewhat dark in nature.
She was in contact with George Didi-Huberman who had written a book called “The Invention of Hysteria”. This is a photographic history of how Jean Marie Charcot – one of the giants of 19c French science – locked up thousands of women for the imagined maladies of hysteria, lethargy, catalepsie and experimented on them, deliberately photographing them in contrived and frightening poses. It is a very weird and frightening history.
Her next project seems to have been based around human fluids. Her final notes are filled with references to human flesh, death and the four medieval humours of blood, phlegm, black bile, yellow bile. There are extensive notes to what seems to be a lecture given by linguist Jean Claude Milner on the subject of melancholia. Note that “melancholia” is a synonym for “black bile”, one of the four humours.
She was researching the avant garde Irish/British painter Francis Bacon, who was known for producing uniquely disturbing images. She references “Three Studies for the Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion”. There was a Bacon exhibition in Centre Pompidou in 1996 and Sophie must have attended it. Her notebook contains her jottings from a lecture on Bacon by writer Philippe Sollers which seemed focused on blood.
"Why does painting touch the central nervous system?" "We are carcasses of meat, meat above all" "The canvas bleeds, blood spurts red" "Dostoyevsky had a crisis in front of the 16th century Hans Holbein’s painting “The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb She jotted down a quote from the play Libation Bearers from Aeschylus:
Orestes sees the Furies coming and exclaims "O Lord Apollon look! Now they come in troops, and from their eyes they drip loathsome blood!"
The last entry reads "research the Furies"
Friday
Having failed to convince anyone to join her in Ireland for Christmas, she went alone. She telephoned Josephine on Tuesday 17th, told her she would be arriving alone on Friday. She called her again on Thursday to ask her to make sure the house would be warm.She went to the airport on Friday morning, bought a ticket with the return date on the 26th, carrying with her a rather hefty bag filled with clothes, including some eveningwear. Perhaps she envisaged visiting people at Christmas time. She expected to stay nearly a week. Later, possibly on Sunday she changed her ticket, she called the Aer Lingus ticket desk in Charles de Gaulle airport, Paris and got a return flight for the 24th. She received the itinerary details by fax, as she had a machine in the cottage.
She was not in a good mood when she arrived. She had some words with the woman at the Avis counter who passed her to her colleague. The photos on CCTV show a woman looking tired and drawn, something which was remarked upon by the Avis rep, who estimated she was in her forties, a little older than her 38 years. But nobody looks their best walking off an aircraft. She had also attended the Unifrance Christmas party the night before. This was a lavish party held in “Les Bains Douche”, a unique Paris nightclub combined with a swimming pool. Apart from the late night, the social effort must have been tiring. There was a rumour that Sophie had a row that night at Les Bains, a row with one of Daniel’s mistresses, but I have never heard that confirmed. But other reports say that those who met her there found her "radiant", "in good form", "playful". "She went arm in arm to see friends," one guest at the party told Paris Match, "but she always came back to the table where Daniel was sitting." (Paris Match 09/01/1997) Daniel was quoted years later by Michael Sheridan - “She spent some hours having an intense, passionate conversation with a film-maker” - Alain Terzian, producer of Les Visiteurs, one of the most successful French comedies of the 1990s.
Strangely though, Daniel’s first statement said she left on Wednesday. So perhaps it didn’t register with him that she was at the Unifrance party with him on Thursday 19th, or perhaps he had forgotten the party altogether.
Sophie was captured on Cork Airport CCTV at 14:41 pushing a trolley through the arrivals gate. The scheduled arrival time was 13:20, but because of almost an hour’s delay in departure it didn’t touch down until after 2. It would have taken about 15 minutes to pick up baggage from the carousel.
Cork is a small airport and it is quick to get through the arrival hall to the car hire desks, only a matter of a few meters away.
Sophie hired a silver Ford Fiesta and would have been on the road by 14:50.
The quickest route to West Cork would have been via Bandon and Dunmanway but it is more likely she went via Clonakilty and Skibbereen. She stopped in Ballydehob to buy kindling. She may have stopped in Skibbereen to buy petrol. A pump attendant reported seeing a woman matching her description driving a silver Ford buying petrol. He also noted a tall male companion in the passenger seat. The Gardai discounted this sighting because they accounted for the petrol in the car when it was hired and the mileage thereafter. There were also some discrepancies in the vehicle’s appearance and its description in the statement. Also the Ballydehob sighting is more reliable as the woman got a chance to talk to her. It would seem odd to stop in both Skibbereen and Ballydehob, both petrol stations.
But she seems to have stopped again in Schull because she bought bread and cheese in the Courtyard Deli, and this was most likely on Friday. She talked with the proprietor, Denis Quinlan to ask if there would be live music. At this stage it would have been around 4:30pm and after this she went to the cottage. She called her caretaker Josephine at 5:15, so she must have been at home by then. We don’t know if she went out after that point. She may have stayed in. At 10:15 she called her friend Agnès Thomas and spoke to her for half an hour.
Saturday
Sophie’s whereabouts on Saturday morning are unknown. Perhaps she stayed in, perhaps she went out. Finbarr Hellen was working on his land nearby and saw her car outside the house 12 to 1pm. He didn’t see her and thought it was unusual for her not to come out and say hello. He also remarked her car was parked in an unusual place. He did not elaborate more than this.The next event we know is that she bought some groceries in Brosnans supermarket on the main street in Schull and took £200 out of the ATM.
For the curious, her shopping list is listed below:
| Item | Price |
|---|---|
| Firelighters | 0.85 |
| Independent Newspaper | 0.85 |
| EP Televised "Chopped" & Her | 0.52 |
| Parsley | 0.40 |
| Low Fat Yoghurt | 1.90 |
| Ballygowan Natural Spring Water | 0.85 |
| Napolina Penne | 0.75 |
| Rashers | 1.26 |
| Courgettes | 1.23 |
| Chicory | 1.79 |
| Onions | 0.09 |
| Fox's Classic Biscuits | 0.83 |
| Flat Mushrooms | 0.65 |
| Pepper Coated Salami | 0.85 |
| Cooked Turkey | 1.89 |
| Mushrooms | 0.34 |
| Avonmore Leek & Potato Soup | 0.99 |
| Monini Olive Oil | 3.45 |
| Ballygowan Natural Spring Water | 0.85 |
| Avonmore Carrot & Coriander Soup | 0.99 |
| Ballygowan Natural Spring Water | 0.85 |
| 22.18 |
The till recorded a time of 2:49pm.
Sometime after this or perhaps before Sophie entered Tara Fashions, the clothes shop run by Marie Farrell. What Marie Farrell saw that day and subsequent days has been subject to revision, retraction and details seemed to be added with each telling. But I think the most reliable report is the first and all the subsequent revisions cannot be trusted. Farrell called the Gardai on the 25th but they didn’t get around to taking a statement from her until 27th. Even so we can assume her memory was fresh. Here is her statement, verbatim.,
On Saturday the 21st December 1996 I was working in my shop at Main Street, Schull, Co. Cork. Between 2p.m. and 3p.m. I noticed a weird looking character across the road from my shop. He was approx 5’10” in height, late 30’s, scruffy looking, long black coat, flat black beret, thin build, sallow skin, short hair. He was there for about 10 minutes. On Sunday morning at 7.15a.m. approximately I noticed the same man on the road at Airhill. When I saw him he was walking towards Goleen on the right hand side of the road and I was travelling in the opposite direction. When he saw me he stopped and put up his hand to thumb a lift. I did not see this man before or since. On Saturday the 21.12.1996 at approx 3p.m. there was a woman in my shop. She did not buy anything. I now know that this woman was the deceased woman from Goleen. I recognised her from the photograph on the television.
There is also a record of her questionnaire which may have been taken earlier than this statement.
In reply to question no 8 When/where did you last see him/her alive? She replied "saw her in shop. She bought a "Carrig Donn" aran sweater aran nap coloured, rolled neck late Sat aftemoon. Paid £39.00. Questions No. 9, 10, 11 & 12 were left blank. In reply to question No. 13 "any other help?" Marie Farrell replied "saw a man on Sat afternoon hanging around street. Desc late 30's, 5'10" very short hair wearing black beret. Saw him again Sun morning @ 7.20am walking towards Airhill but thumbed her.
In a later questionnaire, Farrell said the sweater was too big and she didn’t buy it.
What is interesting her is that Farrell does not draw any explicit linkage between the weird character in the long black coat and the woman in the shop. They were just there at approximately the same time. Farrell did say in later statements that the man followed her up Ardnamanagh road, but this was many years later. Her statements that she saw the same man at Kealfadda bridge at 3am on Monday are untrustworthy, but we won't go into this here.
A farmer, Frank Lannin, saw Sophie driving towards Schull from Goleen around 3pm. She saluted him as she passed him in his tractor. The time or the direction of travel must be wrong here.
The final sighting on Saturday she was seen in the Courtyard pub, eating a crab sandwich and left at 3:30pm. Sally Bolger went to feed her horses on Alfie Lyons land at 4:15pm and says she saw Sophie’s car at her house.
Saturday evening is a complete blank. Nobody saw her, she may have called people on the phone but we don’t have precise details. Her husband said she called him twice on Saturday, but we don’t have any confirmation of this.
At some point Sophie changed her ticket home. Her diary has a number listed as “O’Mahony” and the number was the line to the Aer Lingus ticket desk in Charles-de-Gaulle Roissy airport. The new itinerary was faxed to her in her cottage. The reason why she decided to come home early is not known. Her friend Jean Senet said her husband Daniel persuaded her. For his part Daniel said there was no particular plan and he was to pick her up from the airport at Toulouse at 8pm. Another report tells that she came home early to meet her father, so she could help him with his taxes.
Sunday
For Sunday morning we don’t have any reports.She called to Dunlough at in the early afternoon, perhaps around 1pm. Sophie had walked here several times before. It is a spectacular headland featuring a lake and three crumbling castles. It was cold and dry at the time, good weather for a walk, if bracing. It is necessary to pass the farm to walk the headland and when Sophie did so she met Tomi Ungerer. This was the second time they had met. Sophie had called here in April but it seemed Tomi and his wife were having a row at the time and Tomi had not paid much attention. Daniel said that Sophie feigned a puncture as an excused to call to the farm. In June Sophie had sent Tomi a fax about the death of a mutual colleague, Gilbert Estève. She may have been seeking information or just making contact. Sophie made a habit out of making contacts with important artists and thinkers. It was one of the things that a colleague said of her, she knew all the right people. It is possible that Tomi was one of the people Sophie wanted to meet for a while. Tomi invited her in for a drink after she had finished her walk. She returned an hour later and they had a conversation over two glasses of wine.
Tomi was a renowned visual artist, with a keen eye and a professional interest in culture. Born in Alsace he was marked by World War II and had seen the ravages of the Nazis and the backlash from the French afterwards. He worked for as a cultural ambassador to improve Franco German relations.
The statement that Tomi gave is remarkable in the insight it gives to Sophie’s character her interests and state of mind.
“She was saying how great Ireland was for literature and education compared to France, how France had thousands of books published every year but that there was no good Authors there, how Ireland was vibrant as a centre of literature for a small Country. She discussed her family, moreover her children and their education in France. She indicated that the reason she was here in Ireland was she wanted to be alone for Christmas. I considered this strange but I sometimes like to be alone too. We talked about books and culture and how the language here was more meaningful and truthful compared to the superficial nature of the French.”
“She seemed a very genuine person, a fine person, not pretentious or snobby. I thought she was deep and intelligent, so much so that I made notes of some things she said, “In a language there should be no need of the use of cuteness” “The problem of France is her lack of modesty”. I wrote those saying they might be useful for my work in the futre. I wrote the quotes on a card in which we exchanged addresses before she left. On hindsight now I would go as far as saying she was not beaming, that she had something on her mind. It’s hard when you do not know someone well to say. I offered her a third glass of wine but she did not take any. We gave her some eggs to take with her, half dozen for her supper. We have hens.”
The word “genuine” is telling. Tomi was struck by Irish people, how the highest compliment an Irish person can give about another, is to say that person is “genuine”.
Tomi described her appearance:
“She was wearing some type of black leather expensive looking pants, brown suede hiking boots, a white/cream ribbed polo necked sweater and a beige wool blazer and a navy blue wool jacket with belt and a navy wool cap and red suede gloves, wine/red gloves. She was dressed very well. She had her hair tied back.”
As to her demeanor, this seems to have grown with the telling. The documentaries made much of the legend of the lady of the lake, whose appearance is reputed to be a harbinger of death. This lurid tale does not feature in the early Garda statements. Tomi remarked that “she was not beaming”, that she may have had something on her mind. His wife Yvonne turned up while they were chatting.
“While we were chatting, Sophie told me that while she was up at the castles she felt this great anxiety almost fear. This is not an uncommon feeling for people who visit the castles. She wasn’t in a cheerful mood but she wasn’t really glum either. She talked about her plans for the future and we spoke about meeting up in Paris in the Spring. She seemed happy to be here and she wanted to be here. She said she liked it here but her husband didn’t. She said she would be back at Easter. We made vague arrangements to meet over the next three days. I gave Sophie some eggs and she left here at about 5.45 p.m.” Yvonne’s estimate of the time she left must be an error. It is more likely she left at around 3:45.
After leaving Dunlough Sophie went to Crookhaven to Sullivans pub, a legendary stop. Here she spoke with the proprietor Billy O’Sullivan and his son Dermot, both of whom speak good French and knew Sophie from prior visits. They also knew her friend Alexandra Lewy. One time Alexandra had arranged to buy a cast iron church gate for Sophie’s birthday, Sophie was fond of antiques and bric-a-brac. Dermot had carried this gate up to the cottage. Sophie asked about getting logs for her fire. Dermot recommended she go to a filling station. She said there was only kindling at the filling stations.
It is interesting that so much of Sophie’s alleged stops and conversations were about fire, kindling, logs etc. Despite this, the photos from her house show she had a lot of fuel. There is a stack of logs, several bales of peat briquettes, what looks to be a 40kg bag of coal and one, perhaps two baskets full of kindling. She had enough for days of fires, unless she lit both hearths, which would be unlikely considering the second hearth did not draft properly, and she was arranging to have it fixed. The kindling may have been bought from Camiers Garage when Kitty Kingston reported meeting her on Friday.
She told her friend Alexandra before she left that she was going to sleep in the guest room because it was the warmest room, being directly above the oil range. There was also a brass bedwarmer found next to her bed. All these details point to Sophie being acutely aware of the cold.
A witness heard her discussing the old Coastguard houses with the Sullivans. These are a prominent landmark visible from O’Sullivan’s pub across the water. The witness left before Sophie did at 4:30pm so she must have returned to the cottage no earlier than 5pm.
The witness noted she was wearing “black leather pants and brown suede desert boots and a long chunky jumper”. This matches well with Tomi Ungerer’s account.
Note the "desert boots" seen by this witness and the "suede hiking boots" mentioned by Tomi Ungerer are probably not the hiking boots she was wearing when she died. The hiking boots she was wearing were very worn, the laces had snapped and had been tied halfway down the lace holes. It looks to me she shoved them on without untying/tying the laces. Sophie would not have visited Schull wearing old worn-out shoes. A pair of dark brown suede "desert boots" are visible at the bottom of the stairs in the garda photos. These match better with the shoes seen by the witness.
It’s 25 minutes drive from Crookhaven back to the cottage so if Sophie left at 4:30 she would have been back home before 5pm.
We know she most likely went home, because at 5:32pm she called her friend Agnès Thomas to wish her a happy birthday. Agnès was out so Sophie left a message.
The postman called at 6pm and noted the lights were on. Presumably he was doing a Sunday shift to cope with the Christmas rush. He didn’t see Sophie’s car, but as he only went as far as the lower gate, it is quite possible he missed it.
At 7:30pm she called her housekeeper Josephine but she was out. She tried her again at 9:10pm but again she was out. Josephine returned and called her back at 10pm. Sophie told her she would be leaving on the 24th, not the 26th as she originally intended. They arranged to meet the following day at noon.
Sophie’s phone records were not available, as the exchange she was on was a traditional analogue exchange, with no recording facility. Schull was one of the last places in the country to have such an old system. Days later Garda technicians tried to retrieve call details from her cordless phone but its batteries were flat and nothing was found.
At around 10:30pm she called her husband Daniel, who said he couldn’t take her call. He said he was in a meeting with Unifrance associates. As it was nearly midnight in France, this an unusual time to have a work meeting. Daniel called her back “about twelve minutes later”. He said she was sleepy and probably in bed. Given that the cordless phone was found next to her bed, this seems plausible. He also said that she told him about her visit to the Ungerers and had formed a work project with him. He said she told him she returned home at 9:30pm, but he could be wrong about this. The phone calls to her friend and housekeeper strongly suggest she was at home from 5:30pm.
This was the last anyone heard from Sophie until her body was discovered at 10am the following morning.
From this point all we have is are the police photos and the story they tell is ambiguous, there are multiple possible interpretations.
The fire was lit that evening and there was an empty wine glass on the mantlepiece with dregs of wine in it. There was a loaf of bread, a white crusty “basket loaf” which had been sliced and left open. This is odd as there are no crumbs visible on the table and no plate. Would Sophie have gone to bed leaving the bread out? It’s possible. Another possibility is that the bread was sliced in the morning. But if so where is the plate that she used?
Conceivably Sophie may have left these items from another evening, but it is more likely she consumed the wine that evening, possibly with some cheese she had in her pantry, and the bread she had cut. There was a book open on the table, propped open by a jar of honey next to an empty teacup. However as the cordless phone was found by her bedside, it seems likely this was all left from the previous evening.
It seems the most likely Sophie spent her last night reading, went to bed and then took the call from Daniel.
The book propped open was not a Yeat’s anthology. There is a tale repeated by many true crime authors that Sophie was reading a Yeats poem called “A Dream Death”. It contains the lines
I DREAMED that one had died in a strange place Near no accustomed hand,
Ralph Riegel titled his book after this poem. But this is not the poem she was reading, if any. Yes there was a Yeats anthology found on her bed, but not the bed she slept in, it was on the bed in her personal room which she didn’t use that weekend. The anthology is “Quarente-cinq poèmes suivi de La Résurrection”, a collection of later Yeats poems translated by Yves Bonnefoy. It does not contain the poem “A Dream of Death” but it does contain a poem called “Death”, a meditation on how animals die versus men.
Nor dread nor hope attend A dying animal; A man awaits his end Dreading and hoping all;
But the Yeats anthology is not open on the bed, it is closed in the police photos. Unless the Gardai picked it up before photographing the room, then we cannot be sure what poem or poems she read. As regards the book propped open on the kitchen table, it’s prose and it is French. Journalist Lara Marlowe wrote that the book open on the table was a book about lighthouses.
Among the exhibits the Gardai took are three books
- Le Coeur Battant – “The beating heart” – this is the title of a 1960 French movie.
- Le Tenes Vert – Unknown – looks like a transcription error by the Gardai, could be “Les Terres Vertes”
- Le Cine Monde – World Cinema
On the shelf in her box bedroom we can see a book by Virginia Woolf, the title itself is illegible in the photo but Woolf’s distinctive profile photo is visible on the spine. I wonder if the book might be “A Room of one’s Own”. This essay advocated that a woman writer could never accomplish anything unless she had financial independence and her own space to work in. Even if it was some other book by Woolf, this essay would have been known to Sophie. It hints at what the white cottage meant to her. Her tiny box room tucked under the gable and raised single bed was a quasi-monastic cell - a creative space, a room of her own in West Cork.
2024.05.11 02:05 FantasticVictory837 Bluebook Test 6: Reading/Writing Module 2 Hard, Question #10
 | submitted by FantasticVictory837 to u/FantasticVictory837 [link] [comments] |
2024.05.11 00:07 Erdwald Searching for a co-author or writing buddy (writing in German)
Hi,
I'm searching for someone who writes/works with me on storys/novels/everything. I always wanted to write a novel with someone since I can't get myself to go further than 20k words when writing alone before I question all my plot decisions.
My English is definitely not good enough to write more than short stories in English. I'm from Germany, and 90% of the time I write in German.
I'm female, 24 years old and haven't published anything yet.
I prefer writing fantasy/magical young adult/teen stuff with deep emotions and complex characters, but not only that. Furthermore, I visited four or more writing workshops and would like to share all the input I got. Also, I love brainstorming together about your stories, my stories or our stories. I already wrote a short screenplay script, two PC game scripts, plenty of short stories and poems, and a handful of potential One-Day-Novel-Beginnings. xD
I know chances are low to find someone writing in German who fits with my writing style/genre, but I want to try.
Currently, I'm studying and working part-time, so I have a lot of time in some phases and then very little again.
My favorite author is Rick Riordan. Most of the time, I don't read, but I watch series. My favorite series are: Doctor Who, The Owl House, Percy Jackson, Loki, Heartstopper, The Dragon Prince, Stranger Things, Ghosts (US), Secrets of Sulphur Springs, Miraculous, Undone, Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist, Once Upon a Time, The Outpost, WandaVision, Heartland, Nobody's Looking, Good Witch, 3Below, Last Kids on Earth, Supernatural, MLP (Gen4 Friendship is Magic), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Forever, Lucifer, Daredevil.
Now you know what kind of stories I like.
submitted by Erdwald to WriteWithMe [link] [comments]
I'm searching for someone who writes/works with me on storys/novels/everything. I always wanted to write a novel with someone since I can't get myself to go further than 20k words when writing alone before I question all my plot decisions.
My English is definitely not good enough to write more than short stories in English. I'm from Germany, and 90% of the time I write in German.
I'm female, 24 years old and haven't published anything yet.
I prefer writing fantasy/magical young adult/teen stuff with deep emotions and complex characters, but not only that. Furthermore, I visited four or more writing workshops and would like to share all the input I got. Also, I love brainstorming together about your stories, my stories or our stories. I already wrote a short screenplay script, two PC game scripts, plenty of short stories and poems, and a handful of potential One-Day-Novel-Beginnings. xD
I know chances are low to find someone writing in German who fits with my writing style/genre, but I want to try.
Currently, I'm studying and working part-time, so I have a lot of time in some phases and then very little again.
My favorite author is Rick Riordan. Most of the time, I don't read, but I watch series. My favorite series are: Doctor Who, The Owl House, Percy Jackson, Loki, Heartstopper, The Dragon Prince, Stranger Things, Ghosts (US), Secrets of Sulphur Springs, Miraculous, Undone, Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist, Once Upon a Time, The Outpost, WandaVision, Heartland, Nobody's Looking, Good Witch, 3Below, Last Kids on Earth, Supernatural, MLP (Gen4 Friendship is Magic), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., Forever, Lucifer, Daredevil.
Now you know what kind of stories I like.
2024.05.10 20:04 Vukobasa An observer in the Near East: MONTENEGRO (1907)
 | ΜΟΝΤΕΝEGRO submitted by Vukobasa to Crnogorstvo [link] [comments] CHAPTER I THE CITY IN THE SKY Why I went to the Balkans―The road to Montenegro―Cettinje and its petroleum tins―About the blood-feud―England and Montenegro―Warned not to attempt to go to Albania―My guide a marked man-The story of Tef―A woman's fickleness, and its sequel. CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje―A cigarette with the Prince―The policy of Montenegro―A confidential chat―His Royal Highness's admiration for England―His views upon Macedonia―He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania. but I persuade him to help me―His Highness's kindness―Souvenirs. ** CHAPTER I THE CITY IN THE SKY Why I went to the Balkans— The road to Montenegro — Cettinje and its petroleum tins — About the blood-feud — England and Montenegro — Warned not to attempt to go to Albania — My guide a marked man — The story of Tef — A woman's fickleness, and its sequel. I ENTERED the Balkans by the back door. The luxuries of the Orient Express had no attraction for me. I wanted to see the Balkans as they really are, those great, wild, mountainous countries, so full of race hatreds, of political bickerings, of fierce blood-feuds, of feverish propa- gandas those nations with their interesting monarchs and their many mysteries. The "Orient" runs direct from Paris to the Balkan capitals, it is true, but if one goes to study a people the capital is not the only place in which to discover the truth. One must go into the country, move among the peasantry, hear their grievances and investigate their wrongs. Therefore I decided to enter the East by Montenegro, and also visit the wild and little-known regions of Northern Albania. The comfortable voyage by the Austrian-Lloyd mail steamer Graf Wurmbrand from Trieste down the Adriatic, touching at Pola, the Austrian naval station, Lussinpiccolo, Zara- famed for its maraschino-Sebenico, Spalato, and Gravosa to Cattaro, has been already described by many writers. Suffice it to say that it is perhaps one of the most picturesque of pleasure-trips in the world, for every moment one has a fresh panorama of mountain and blue sea, of green, fertile islands with subtropical vegetation, and tiny white villages nestling at the sea's edge, as the steamer threads her way through the narrow and often difficult channels. At times the wild scenery, especially in the Bocche di Cattaro, reminds the traveller of the Norwegian fiords, and at others the coast is an almost exact reproduction of the French Riviera. The object of my journey was, however, not in order to write a mere description of men and places. There have been other travellers in the Balkans who have related their story, therefore my mission was to make careful inquiry into the present unsettled state of affairs, try and discover the grievances of both sides, and endeavour to obtain from the rulers and statesmen of the various nations their aspirations for the future. This I succeeded in doing, for the various monarchs of the Balkans graciously gave me audience; and from their Ministers, from the middle classes, and from the peasants, I was enabled at last to form some conclusion as to the real situation-political, economical, social, and financial. The writer who attempts to place the various Balkan questions impartially and clearly before the public will at once find himself utterly confused, and wallowing wildly in a morass of misstatement and misrepresentation. The Balkans are torn by race hatreds, party strife, and the intrigues of the Powers. The Turk hates the Bulgar, the Serb hates the Austrian, the Roumanian hates the Greek, the Albanian hates the Montenegrin, the Bosnian hates the Turk, while the Macedonian hates everybody all round. What is told to one authoritatively one hour, is flatly contradicted the next; therefore it is not in the least surprising that in the European Press there have been so many misstatements about the various Balkan questions, the real truth being so very difficult to obtain. I have, however, endeavoured to obtain it, and at risk of being injudicious, to place before the reader the facts as they are, without any political bias, or any seeking to gloss over the many glaring defects of administration of which I have myself been witness. To describe the beauties of the Bocche di Cattaro, that series of winding channels where the high grey mountains rise sheer from the water, would be only to traverse old ground. Suffice it to say that I landed at Cattaro on a bright, sunny noon, and found upon the quay a tall, lean mountaineer who had been sent to meet me. To the traveller fresh from the West the Montenegrin costume of both women and men is very attractive, but a few days in the Balkans soon accustoms the eye to a perfect phantasmagoria of colour and of costume. Pero was my driver's name, and I noticed that around his waist was a revolver belt, but minus the weapon. I inquired where it was, and with a grin he informed me that Cattaro, being in Dalmatia, the Austrians would not allow Montenegrins to bring arms into their country; so they were compelled to leave them on the other side of the frontier, ten kilometres distant. My bags packed upon the three-horse travelling carriage and secured with many strings, and Pero equipped with a plentiful stock of cigarettes, he mounted upon the box, whipped up his long-tailed ponies, and we started on our eight-hour ascent of that great wall of mountain that hides Montenegro from the sea. As we ascended through the little village of Skaljari we entered upon a magnificent road, said to be one of the greatest engineering feats of modern times, and steadily ascended, until at the striped black-and-yellow Austrian boundary post we crossed the frontier, and were in the "Land of the Black Mountain"-Montenegro. Across the road, at an acute angle, a row of paving-stones marks the frontier, and soon after- wards we found ourselves in the wildest and most desolate mountain region. At a lonely roadside hut Pero obtained his big, serviceable-looking revolver, and I, of course, wore mine in my belt; for in Montenegro or Albania arms make the man. A man unarmed is looked upon as an effeminate coward. Indeed, by order of Prince Nicholas every Monte- negrin must wear the national dress, both men and women, and every man must carry his revolver when out of doors. Four hours from Cattaro we were in a lonely mountain fastness, a wild, desolate, treeless region of huge limestone rocks of peculiar volcanic formation, which gave them the appearance of a boiling sea. The views over the Adriatic as we turned back were so superb that, despite photographing being strictly forbidden on account of the fortresses in the vicinity, I could not resist the temptation to take one or two surreptitiously. On, through a bleak, uninhabited country, we at last reached the guard-house of Kerstac, and then half an hour later found ourselves upon a plateau where, in the centre, stood the small clean village of Nyegush, the ancestral home of the reigning family, and the scene of most of the Montenegrin wars of independence. Here we halted for half an hour at the post-house, and before we left, the big, lumbering post-diligence, with its armed guard, came up behind us. Before we moved off again it had grown dark, the moon shone, and for four hours longer we alternately climbed and descended through that wild region of silence and desolation, until at last we saw, deep below, the lights of Cettinje, the little capital, and an hour later brought us to the unpre- tending "Grand" Hotel. Hardly had I entered my room when there came a loud knock at my door, and a tall, scarlet-coated Montenegrin warrior, armed to the teeth, entered and saluted. For a moment I looked up at him aghast, but the mystery was solved when, next second, he handed me with great ceremony a telegram from a dear friend in England wishing me God- speed. I had taken him to be, at least, one of the Prince's bodyguard, and he was only a plain telegraph messenger! This was but one of many surprises in store for me in Montenegro. Next morning I went out to look round the clean little capital, when, on passing the Prince's palace, I saw a number of soldiers drawn up, and as I went by, the band suddenly struck up the British National Anthem! I raised my hat, halted, and stood puzzled. Surely they were not honouring me! Another moment, however, and I recognised the reason. In a carriage, accompanied by the Grand Marechal of the Court, there drove up my friend Mr. Charles des Graz, the newly-appointed British Chargé d'Affaires to Montenegro, who was about to present his creden- tials to His Royal Highness the Prince. Montenegro is perhaps the most interesting country in all the Balkans. Cettinje, a small, clean town of broad streets and one-storeyed, whitewashed houses, is a little city in the sky, lying as it does in a cup-shaped depression at the summit of a high, bare mountain. Its long, straight, main street reminds one very much of a small country town in England, if it were not that everyone is, by law, compelled to wear the national dress, and every man has in his belt his big, long- barrelled revolver, without which he must never go out of doors. The men, sturdy mountaineers, are of fine physique- handsome fellows, all of them. Their dress consists of dark blue baggy trousers, white woollen gaiters, raw-hide shoes, a scarlet jacket heavily braided with gold, and a small round cap, with black silk around the edge and the crown of the same colour as the jacket, bearing the Prince's initials in Servian letters, "H.I." The women, who are particularly good-looking, wear dark skirts, beautifully hand-embroidered blouses, and a kind of long coat, with open sleeves of soft, dove-grey cloth. Forbidden to wear European hats, they are compelled to adopt an exactly similar cap to the men, except that the crown is embroidered instead of bearing the royal initials. Nowhere have I seen such glorification of the male as in Montenegro. To the men, born fighters as they are, work is undignified; therefore the women toil while the opposite sex look on. I saw women employed in building operations and performing work which, in other countries, is left to day- labourers. Cettinje is quaint in the extreme. The only houses of foreigners are the various Legations, and the only foreigners are diplomats with their wives and families. The first thing that strikes the stranger is the number of petroleum tins. Opposite the hotel I saw a great ring of empty tins, numbering some hundreds, ranged around a fountain. A few women were squatting gossiping, and an armed policeman lounged against the water-source. On inquiry, I found that there was a water famine, and the tins had been placed there at dawn to await the moment when the authorities thought fit to allow the people to get their daily supply. The women had gone away to work, and would return later. The Monte- negrins a short time ago constructed a reservoir, but there was a crack in it, so the water ran away. Hence the famine. The petroleum tin is never out of sight for a single moment in Cettinje. At any hour, and in any street, you see women and children carrying them. They are used for everything, from milk-pails to flower-pots. In Cettinje one comes for the first time up against the dark-faced, scowling Albanian in his tightly fitting trousers of white wool striped with black, his dirty white fez, and the swagger of superiority in his gait. He is well armed, and for a good reason. The Montenegrin hates the Albanian, because of the constant border feuds over at Podgoritza, where blood is constantly spilt, and where I have seen a Montenegrin in the market squatting over a basket of apples with a loaded rifle. That morning I was chatting to a man in Montenegrin dress, of whom I had bought some excellent cigarettes, manufactured by the Montenegro Tobacco Monopoly-an Italian syndicate, by the way and happened to mention that I was on my way to Albania. "Ah, gospodin!" he exclaimed, holding up both his hands, and glancing at the revolver in my belt. "Take my advice. Don't go into Albania or Macedonia. You are not safe there from one moment to the other. For half a word they'll shoot you dead as easily as they drink a glass of wine. No man's life is worth a moment's purchase there. I'm Albanian myself from Kroja-and I know." This was scarcely reassuring. I looked about me on every hand as I strolled through Cettinje. All was so quiet, so orderly, so very peaceful there, even though the big, burly mountaineers in the gold-laced jackets eyed me with askance as I passed. Not without some trepidation I took a number of photographs, for I had heard that, like the Turk, the Monte- negrin was averse to having his counterfeit presentment put upon paper. Nevertheless, the first feeling of insecurity having passed, I very soon found myself quite at home in Cettinje, and in the midst of very good and kind friends. A good many foreigners come up from Cattaro to pry about Cettinje for a day or two, buy picture-postcards and antique arms, sneer at the honest Montenegrin, and return into Dalmatia. Towards such, the Montenegrin is not par- ticularly polite. But those who go to Cettinje to seriously and thoroughly study the people and their future will find a great deal of genuine and charming hospitality. My first day in Cettinje was lonely. Afterwards, until I left, I was always with friends and officials, who took the greatest trouble to answer my questions and explain matters. Montenegro is entirely unlike any other country in the world. Its air of antiquity is particularly pleasing, while on every hand the beneficent rule of Prince Nicholas is apparent. Every man in Montenegro swears by his Prince, whom he almost worships. They call him their "father," and if His Royal Highness raised the standard of war to- morrow, every man would rise and fight to the death. The Prince is accessible to all his people-more so to them, indeed, than to the diplomats. Sometimes, early in the morning, he will sit in an arm-chair on the steps leading to the entrance of his palace, and there hear the complaints or petitions of his people. In this patriarchal way he often ministers justice. Last year he granted Montenegro a Constitution, and there is now a Skupshtina similar to that of Servia; but the people have not yet quite understood that in future they must go to the Ministers, and not to their Prince. They will see him, and nobody else. In no country is loyalty and patriotism so strong as in Montenegro. The army is well trained, and the whole country being one huge natural fortress, a foreign enemy would experience enormous difficulty in gaining entrance. In Cettinje, even a constant traveller like myself meets with continual surprises. One day, while walking at the rear of the Bigliardo, or old palace-so called because when built the first billiard table was introduced-I heard the sound of clanking chains behind me. At first I took no notice, but as it continued with regular rhythm I glanced behind, when, to my amaze- ment, I saw a convict in leg-fetters with difficulty taking his afternoon stroll beneath the trees! There were several others on the grass plot before the prison, idling in the shadow or gossiping with their friends, who had come to keep them company! Inquiriesshowed that most of these prisoners were murderers, not for robbery but for vendetta. In Montenegro the blood- feud is constant, and life is held very cheap. It invariably commences by jealousy, and is of everyday occurrence. Two lovers quarrel, and one is shot. Then the blood-feud commences, and unlike in Italy or other Southern countries, the vendetta is not only upon the murderer, but upon his next-of-kin. Therefore, if the assassin escapes into Servia, Bosnia, or Turkey, as he so often does, the brother of the dead man takes up the feud and kills the assassin's brother without parley when next he meets him. I myself saw a man shot dead one night in Ryeka, at the head of the Lake of Scutari, and the murderer walked coolly away undeterred. It was the blood-feud, and no one took much notice. "S'bogom!" (God be with you!) It is the expression you hear on every hand in the Balkans. In the streets the peasants touch their round caps in salute and exclaim, "S'bogom!" When you leave for a journey and when you return, when you rise and when you go to rest; even if you go for a short walk-it is the same. Life is so uncertain in those wild regions that the protection of the Almighty is invoked upon you always, and your revolver is ever ready in your belt. In Cettinje I had a faithful guide and servant, a black-eyed, somewhat sinister-looking Albanian, named Palok. He travelled with me through Montenegro and Albania, and was most faithful and devoted. Besides Albanian and Serb he spoke a little Italian, and possessed a keen sense of humour. One day, while we were travelling through the wild, bare mountain, a perfect wilderness of huge boulders without a single tree or even blade of grass, we halted for our midday meal, and while eating he told me of a great friend of his who had recently been killed at Spuz for vendetta, and he added, fondling the butt of his revolver, "I too, gospodin, shall die before long." I looked at him in surprise. His usually humorous face had changed. It was dark and thoughtful, and his black eyes were fixed upon me. "Is there a blood-feud upon you, then?" I asked, in surprise. "Yes," he replied briefly; and though I endeavoured to persuade him to tell the story, it was not until the following day that with some reluctance he explained. "A year ago my brother Tef, away in Scutari, fell in love with a beautiful girl. He had a rival-a young Albanian, a coppersmith in the bazaar. They quarrelled, but the girl-ah! she was very beautiful-preferred Tef. Where- upon the rival one night took his rifle and laid in wait for my brother in the main street of Scutari. Early in the evening he left the house of the girl's father, and as he passed the fellow shot poor Tef dead." And he paused as his brow knit deeply, and his teeth were set tightly. "Well?" I asked. "Well, gospodin. What would you have done had your own brother died a dog's death? I took a rifle, and within a week the murderer was in his grave. I shot him through the heart and then I left Scutari." "And you are safe here, in Montenegro ?" "Safe! Oh dear, no," he answered. "One day-it may be to-day-the fellow's brother will kill me. He must kill me. It is Fate-why worry about it? It does one no good." And the marked man, the man doomed to die at a moment when he least expects it, rolled a cigarette and lit it with perfect resignment. "And are you not afraid to go with me back to Scutari?" I asked, amazed at his fearlessness. "Afraid, gospodin!" he exclaimed, looking at me in reproach as his hand instinctively wandered to his weapon. "Afraid! No Albanian is afraid of the blood-feud. I have killed the murderer, and his brother must kill me. It is our law." And the doomed man smiled gravely. "And the girl?" I asked. "Ah! They are all the same," he answered, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "A month ago she married a tobacco- seller a man old enough to be her father. Poor Tef! If he could but know!" "And the blood-feud still continues?" "Of course-until I am dead." Then Palok smoked on in silence, entirely resigned to the fate that awaits him. He knows that one day, as he walks along the road, the sharp crack of a hidden rifle will sound, and he will fall to earth, another victim of a woman's fickleness. S'bogom! God be with you! CHAPTER II AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS The Palace at Cettinje-A cigarette with the Prince-The policy of Monte- negro-A confidential chat-His Royal Highness's admiration for England-His views upon Macedonia-He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania, but I persuade him to help me-His Highness's kindness -Souvenirs. HIS Royal Highness the Prince will be pleased to grant you private audience at four o'clock this after- noon, gospodin." The tall, burly aide-de-camp in the little round cap, high boots, pale blue overcoat, and pistols in his belt, saluted, and we shook hands. It was then three o'clock, and I was just about to go out to visit Madame Constantinovitch, the mother of Princess Mirko. So I had to return at once to my room and dress for the audience. The kings and princes of the Balkans have a habit of summoning one at a moment's notice, and paying visits at unearthly hours. Here, in Cettinje, in the heart of these wild, desolate fast- nesses, one seems so far removed from European influence, yet how great a part has this rocky, impregnable country, with its fierce soldier-inhabitants, played in the politics of Eastern Europe, and how great a part it is still destined to play in the near future! The fact that everybody is armed gives the stranger an uncanny feeling. The man who brings one's coffee wears a perfect arsenal of weapons in his sash, and one quickly acquires the habit of carrying a revolver one's self. Indeed, if you are wise, you will carry a good serviceable weapon from the moment you enter the Balkans to the moment you quit them. But if you approach the Albanian frontier, you will be at once warned not to fire without just cause. A few shots is sufficient to alarm the whole neighbourhood for many miles, and on hearing the alarm every man seizes his rifle and flies to the rendezvous, fully equipped and eager for the fight with those Albanian border tribes, of whom I afterwards had the good fortune to be the guest. I had already had a long chat with Prince Danilo, the Crown Prince of Montenegro, whom I found a very smart and highly educated man, fully alive to the political difficulties of the neighbouring states and the necessity of Montenegro preserving her independence. He held very strong views upon the terrible state of affairs in Macedonia, and gave me many interesting details about his own country. Having met him, and also his younger brother, Prince Mirko, I was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of their father, Prince Nicholas, the ruler of the sturdy, warlike dwellers of the "Land of the Black Mountain "-the principal and most striking figure in this remarkable country, where peace and war walk ever hand-in-hand. Since 1860, when his uncle, Prince Danilo, was assassinated, he has ruled justly, if somewhat sternly, and has succeeded in raising his nation from a state of semi-civilisation to the high place it now occupies in the Eastern world. In 1888 he gave the country a Civil and Criminal Code, and last year he granted a Constitution. Indeed, he has done all in his power to induce his warriors to follow the arts of peace without forgetting those of war. At the hour appointed, the royal aide-de-camp called in a carriage and drove me to the Palace, a long, dark brown building of somewhat plain exterior, as befits the home of a fighting race, where I was received in the great hall by half a dozen bowing servants in scarlet and gold. Here I was met by the chamberlain, who conducted me up the grand staircase and into the great audience-chamber, with its many fine paintings and highly polished floor. Then, after a moment, the Prince-a brilliant figure-entered, shook me by the hand, and welcomed me to Montenegro. These formalities ended, His Royal Highness said in Italian, "Come, let us go into yonder room. We shall be able to talk there more comfortably." And he led me into a smaller chamber, where he gave me a seat at the table where he sat. The afternoon was gloomy, and dusk was creeping on, therefore upon the table a great antique silver candelabra had been set, and by its light I was enabled to obtain a good view of the ruler of Crnagora, the "Land of the Black Mountain." Of magnificent physique, tall, muscular, with hair slightly grey, he bore his sixty-five years lightly. Attired in the splendid national costume of scarlet, blue, and gold, with high boots, he wore a single decoration at his throat, the Cross of Danilo, of which Order he is Master. Upon his hand- some, well-cut features the candles shed a soft light, causing the gold upon his dress to glitter, and I noticed, as I asked him questions, how his dark, keen eyes shot quick, inquiring glances of alertness. After the first few minutes of regal formality His Highness's manner entirely changed. Putting ceremony aside, he pro- duced his cigarette case of crocodile skin, with the royal crown and cipher in gold in the corner-offered me a Montenegrin cigarette, took one himself, lit mine with his own hand, and then we fell to chatting. In the delightful hour and a half we smoked together I asked the prince-poet many questions, and learnt many things. He explained several difficult points in Balkan politics, which to me, an Englishman, had always been puzzling. We spoke in Italian of Macedonia and of a certain well-known foreign diplomat in London who was our mutual friend, the Prince giving me a very kind message to deliver to him. Presently I referred to the splendid result of his rule, and related to him a little incident which had occurred to me in Nyegush a few days before, as showing how deeply he was beloved by his nation. A smile crossed his fine open countenance as he replied simply, "I have done my best for my people-my very best; and I shall do so as long as God gives me life. I am happy to believe that my people appreciate my efforts." "And now, Monseigneur," I asked, "will you tell me what is the present position of Montenegro?" "The present position is peace," was his prompt answer. "I have granted a Constitution, and the first meeting of the new Skupshtina has been held successfully. Though the Albanian question is always with us, I am thankful to say we are on the most excellent terms with Turkey, while towards Russia we are pursuing our traditional policy. For the Emperor Francis Josef of Austria I have nothing but the most profound admiration, and I owe very much to him." "And towards England, Monseigneur ?" "England has been, as you know, Montenegro's very best friend," replied the Prince. "I, personally, have the greatest respect and admiration for your great country. We Montenegrins always remember that it was Mr. Gladstone who gave us the strip of seaboard on the Adriatic with Dulcigno. He was our greatest friend, and his memory is respected by admirer by every man in Montenegro. Of Tennyson, too, I am a great I am very fond of his poems." "You are a poet yourself, Monseigneur," I remarked, remembering that more than one poetical drama from his pen had been successfully produced on the stage. His Royal Highness smiled, and puffed slowly at his cigarette. "I have written one or two little things, it is true; but nothing of late." "I wonder if I dare ask your Royal Highness to write a few lines for me as a souvenir of my visit?" I asked, not without some trepidation. "Ah!-well-I won't promise," he laughed. "All depends whether I'm in the mood for it." "But you will try, won't you? And the Prince nodded assent. Then we spoke of Servia and of recent events there; but he was not inclined to discuss the question, and naturally so, when it is remembered that his daughter was the late wife of King Peter. Returning to the burning question of Macedonia, I saw that he was well informed of all that was transpiring around lakes Presba and Ochrida and down in Serres. "It is a monstrous state of affairs," he declared. "Something must be done at once, for as soon as spring comes again the massacres will increase." "But there are outrages, tortures, and massacres every day," I remarked. "Ah yes," he sighed, "I know. Most terrible details have reached me lately. But you are going to Macedonia yourself, and you will see with your own eyes." "And what, in your opinion, would be the best settlement of the question?" I inquired. "There is but one way, namely, for the Powers to call a conference and place Macedonia under a governor - general, who must be a European prince. The reforms would then be carried out, and the Greek bands expelled from the country. How long will Europe tolerate the present frightful state of affairs?" "The fact is, Monseigneur, that we, in England, are very ignorant of the true state of things, or even of the facts of the Macedonian question," I said. "Ah, there you are quite correct. If your English public knew what was really happening-how an innocent Christian population is being slaughtered and exterminated because of international rivalry-they would cry shame upon those responsible for this wholesale murder and outrage. But" -he smiled-" I almost forget myself. My position as a ruler forbids me to talk politics, you know!" And we laughed together. "So you are going to Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, and to Constantinople-eh?" he remarked a little later, when we had lit fresh cigarettes. "In Bulgaria, and also in Roumania, you will see many things that will interest you. The Bul- garians are very strongly armed, and so are the Roumanians." "Her Majesty the Queen of Roumania has also promised me audience," I said. "When you see her, will you please present to Her Majesty my most cordial respects. She is so very charming." "I want, Monseigneur, to visit Northern Albania, leaving Montenegro by Ryeka and Scutari. Would that be the best route, do you think?" "What!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Do you actually contemplate visiting the tribes up in the Accursed Mountains?" "Certainly. Why not?" "Well, my advice is, don't think of going there. If you do, you will never return. You'll be shot at sight, like a dog. You have no idea what those uncivilised tribes are like. The whole country is utterly lawless." "So I understand. But I've also heard that the Albanian possesses a deep sense of honour. And I thought that I might possibly obtain permission from one or other of the chiefs." The Prince was silent for a moment. Then, looking at me across the table, said- "Do not go. It is far too great a risk." His advice was the same that my, friends in London had given me; the same that I had received there, in the market-place of Cettinje. But I was determined, and pressed His Royal Highness to assist me, at last receiving his promise of help. By his kind permission, the Albanian named Palok acted as my guide, and what eventually happened to me in that wild region will be seen in the following pages. "Well," exclaimed the Prince at last, "if you go up there, it must be at your own risk. I've warned you of the danger. No one has been up there for many years. It has been at- tempted, of course, but travellers have either been held to ransom, and the Turks have been compelled to pay for their release, or else they have simply been shot by the first Albanian meeting them. The country beyond Scutari is the most unsafe in the whole Balkan Peninsula." I replied that I intended to make the attempt. "Well, then, I wish you buon viaggio," he laughed. "May every good luck attend you, and as we say in Montenegro - S'bogom! (God be with you!) When you return for I suppose you will pass this way down to the sea-come and see me, and tell me all about the Skreli and Kastrati country -for of course I am highly interested. They are always at war with our people on the frontier." "I will let your Royal Highness know the moment I am back in Cettinje," I promised. Then rising, he gripped my hand warmly, saying- "Then I will help you if I can. Be careful of yourself, for I shall be anxious about you. Again, S'bogom!" And the Prince accompanied me to the head of the grand staircase, where I made my obeisance, turned and descended through the rows of armed and bowing servants ranged in the hall, charmed by His Royal Highness's graciousness towards me and by the pleasant chat I had enjoyed. When, after my journey through Northern Albania, I one afternoon re-entered that audience-chamber, and he came forward with outstretched hand to greet me, he exclaimed- "Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face a little travel-worn- eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe," he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder. "Come along to this room. It is more cosy," and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet. For nearly two hours I sat relating to him what occurred on my journey, and describing the wild country which had, until then, been practically a sealed book. Even though Cettinje is so near, hardly anything was known of the Skreli, the Hoti, the Klementi, or the Kastrati tribes, save that they were brigandish bands who constantly raided the Montenegrin frontier. The Prince listened to me with great attention, and put many questions to me as we smoked together. Then rising, he took from a drawer in his great writing- table a small scarlet box, and as he opened it he bestowed upon me a compliment undeserved, for he said - "There are few men who would have risked what you have done. Therefore I wish to invest you with our Order of Danilo, as a mark of my appreciation and esteem." And he displayed to me the beautiful dark blue and white enamelled cross of the Order, the same that he was wearing at his throat, surmounted by the royal crown and suspended upon the white ribbon edged with cerise. After he had invested me with the Order, saying many kind things to me, which I really don't think I deserved, he added- "The chef du chancellerie will send you the diploma in due course, and I trust, when you petition your own gracious Sovereign King Edward, that His Majesty will allow you to wear this insignia." I thanked His Royal Highness, gripped his hand, and a few minutes later passed through the line of bowing servants out of the Palace. And that same evening I received from His Royal Highness the signed photograph which appears in these pages. Before I left Cettinje I received the following expressive lines, written especially for me by a Montenegrin poet who is a great personage, but whose name he would not permit me to give. They are in Servian as follows, and I have placed their English translation below :- S' veledušnog Albiona Pružiše se dvije ruke Crnoj Gori da pomogu U junačke njene muke S' vrućom rječu na ustima Gladston diže Crnogorce A Tenison za najprve U svijet ih broi borce Na glas svoih Velikana Britanski se narod trže Da pomože da zaštiti Crnu Goru iz najbrže Posla svoje bojne ladje Sto na tečnost gospostvuju Veledušno da zaštite Domovinu milu Moju O fala ti po sto puta Blagorodni lyudi Soju Dok je svjeta dok je greda Nad Ulcinjem koje stoju Hraniće ti blagodarnost Ova šaka sokolova Koima si u pomoci Stiga putem od valova. The literal translation in English is as follows:- From the great-souled Albion, Two arms were stretched To help Montenegro In her heroic sufferings. With fiery word on his lips Gladstone lifts up Montenegrins, Whilst Tennyson declared them The very first fighters in the world. On the call of their great men, British people rose up In quickest manner, to help And to protect Montenegro. They despatched their war-ships, Which rule over the seas, Generously to protect My Fatherland so dear to me. Oh! thanks to thee, hundredfold thanks, Noble race of men. As long as the world lasts, As long as the mountains above Dulcigno stand, Will remain grateful to thee, This handful of falcons, To whose help thou didst come By the road of the waves. - An Observer in the Near East - William Le Queux. Publisher, E. Nash, 1907. \** https://preview.redd.it/jg36zlvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=eacb8abc6368963f81177eefecbd44642c09cd97 https://preview.redd.it/7lh8gmvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=225f2bc1649240bfe5c57e72dfdaf93f28938bb7 https://preview.redd.it/2lvn8hwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=6677bcd6e7d76a5f229b5ea7e61c9f0a5596ea47 https://preview.redd.it/pgqltmvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e4acf257abe5f0223c62635ecd9ac2a4f5e9614e https://preview.redd.it/xktn0ovu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=14d6087bbc6b3028c40e6e978674d470e23fab35 https://preview.redd.it/4zps2mvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=51e5049c7cbbc1fc455754e40e04c9b2c9a124e0 https://preview.redd.it/9qr2xrwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=48f98198cad524a0157100b60325e72d6b2f1770 https://preview.redd.it/ywzpenvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7118b6072a634d6ccce1b96eaab6bebbf987e194 https://preview.redd.it/9h2y0mvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=966897fbdcca422eee9ff410852bcd8cbe89d1ae https://preview.redd.it/07po9ovu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f8a078de6ef8ffc1808160270e46329f3a097d21 https://preview.redd.it/n89tenvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ea8a9fee167bb25b07ec3137bd235d600cb9dbe4 https://preview.redd.it/vv7knswu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=aa295c8644a75b5f5a5050bf0795875f9925c3b5 https://preview.redd.it/q1jxpnvu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8d7431b419b1f5c1a33dba099465285fc5ed5297 https://preview.redd.it/w44qbfwu1nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=e18314ac2a333efe0b2d9301f7fba3c6d40b12f4 https://preview.redd.it/mclcb6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=90e4b7fedc3b3d63ee33c7c2cbd1b990a60203f3 https://preview.redd.it/qf6829tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=97e01c85545926178ccddbaee3ef4d96f2052201 https://preview.redd.it/5rqaz5tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b90176f3da386c7875f33301b02806cbfd8ec2c1 https://preview.redd.it/702o47tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7f3fe6bbf9e492105e72f1a551d902ec74218d03 https://preview.redd.it/bloxg8ug2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0b3d48034feb0a9f8f192e91df103a0308991c8b https://preview.redd.it/a2jhb8tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bb9a7fbfbce7700a06aa50574a786668dd321727 https://preview.redd.it/jgiqu6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ec2b5af58c8e25428d0c39550ed54d71e6c9188c https://preview.redd.it/ud3kc5tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=73dd2e0d96ef1cae5d9d934234db8f886b543e83 https://preview.redd.it/59uib9tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9b319597ac2f654c036eddec48c29e9ad539bebb https://preview.redd.it/8ahdu6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1ccad4eec7cb2a6ec943633f09df5e4c6368e21a https://preview.redd.it/iat3u8ug2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dd80620268744a4d40a5d90aa291c5c56a5f64a9 https://preview.redd.it/ix1wp7tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=0167cb5340b66f879442cdee00459649a31d8400 https://preview.redd.it/6p3tr6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=ff95f8f74a7a65050a8abd518f321a186425ff92 https://preview.redd.it/iqvfy6tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b0216c5b990fc3f44ac5b266cd3838b2830b295b https://preview.redd.it/d94is8tg2nzc1.jpg?width=465&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=74c14118e9431762a63800f3f25ed864ea637e52 |
2024.05.10 18:14 Economy-Payment9031 My new zine on the Garages of San Francisco
 | Hi all! I wanted to tell you all about my new zine, which is photos of garage doors in San Francisco along with a poem and some information about some of the artists who paint garage door murals in the city. I got it printed in a square format like the Garage Doors themselves and the spiral binding at the top is like the springs that lift up the garages. submitted by Economy-Payment9031 to zines [link] [comments] I got it printed over at mixam.com and they did a really good job. I laid out the zine in Affinity Publisher. Mixam didnt support doing the spiral binding along the top edge (they only do the side edge) so I had to set the margins really wide to keep the spiral in mind as I designed it and then rotated the pages sideways in preview after I exported it from Affinity. I would love for you to check it out over at Etsy https://beautifulxsomethings.etsy.com/listing/1728632289 https://preview.redd.it/94ro3oc9jmzc1.jpg?width=2580&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=f29be1de72ea6ddb005994a045f1ecf9c6d56753 https://preview.redd.it/htvzjm4bjmzc1.jpg?width=3886&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9d34b68233e7228812613371a9a2a5c422ac31b3 https://preview.redd.it/2eyknd7cjmzc1.png?width=804&format=png&auto=webp&s=01db5e7154f9626eb6702d595a3eceeae3574aff |
2024.05.10 09:29 freakyfreakycreepy [Thank You] for helping me though a rough time with reminding me that I am not alone and I am loved. I love you all!!
u/TyeDyeAmish thank you so much for the card, I'm happy to hear from you.🖤
u/notthemonth thank you so much for the beautiful space card, it's so pretty 😍
u/TheFeistyFox thank you so much for the card and your words. I love the last stanza of Funeral Blues, I appreciate you sharing it.
2x u/PinkPenguin thank you so much for the penguin bingo card! Sounds like lots of fun! Also, thank you for the card you sent in memory of Shirley. It's beautiful and your words mean a lot. I love you!! 🖤✨
u/major_ad5436 thank you so much for the bird card, it's hilarious!
u/Cassiopeia88 thank you so much for the seal card, it's great!
u/grasshopper2231 thank you so much for the card. I'm happy to hear about your travelling plans and I can't wait to hear how it went!
u/sadbrokehitchhiker thank you so much for the long necked Karen card!
u/YESmynameisYES thank you so much for the pretty card and your kind words. I've lost quite a few people just as pets and animals, and it feels definitely very different to lose a person vs a pet/animal but also feels similar? I don't know how to describe it any better. I definitely needed a reminder to be kind to myself as I tend to treat myself badly in times like now. Thank you so much for adding those cute dragon stickers, they are wonderful!
u/t3ctim thank you so much for the sharkplane and moose card and the poem. It's perfect!!
u/thecaledonianrose thank you so much for the card, stickers and your words. It means a lot and it helps so much to not feel alone. I appreciate you so much.🖤✨
u/unseenbowl thank you so much for the spring card! My spring season is mostly about my veggie and flower patches. Everything starts to grow - some plants like my potatoes and radishes are already so huuge while others like my peppers, cucumbers and carrots are really small still. I love to watch them grow and I can't wait to harvest✨ this year is my first year with corn and I can't wait to see how they grow and what they taste like compared to store-bought. We do have a weekly farmers market nearby and I love it a lot. Also, we've been to a medieval festival day thingy and I hope there will be more markets and festivals around to visit.
2x u/SweetyDarlingLulu thank you so much for the card and your kind words. Shirley was the bestest dog around, I swear. She's the cutest and I still can't believe she's gone. It's been two weeks now and it didn't get any easier yet,... My tattoo artist had time for me last week and I have her paw under my skin now. It's the paw I held when she crossed the rainbow bridge right above the hand I held her paw with. It helps to have her with me now and be able to hold her paw every time life feels impossible. I love and appreciate you lots including all your cute furry friends.🖤✨ Also, thank you so much for the dragon card. It warms my heart to receive dragon mail from you every time. Your mail is like the light at the end of the tunnel - I know it's there and will arrive and I have no words for how much positive impact you have on me and my life.🖤🖤🖤
u/melhen16 thank you so much for the colourful card you sent! I love the quotes you add on your cards and you are a wonderful part of this community. Thank you for being here🖤🖤🖤
2x u/Caraal thank you a lot for both cards - the dog card reminds me of Shirley when she was younger, it's so adorable. I appreciate your words a lot, all the mail I receive helps so much as I don't feel alone and you all make me feel seen, validated in my feelings and loved. Thanks for that!! Also, thank you so much for adding extras, that's so kind of you.🖤🖤🖤
u/draftyelectrolyte thank you so much for the wonderful card and your kind words. We truly did our best to give her a wonderful life with us. She's been given back from her first owners when she was little, then she came to us and I think we did a good job spoiling her rotten. It makes me happy to hear about your fur friends and to hear that Shirley is not the only Jack Russel trying to be a Dalmatian, haha. I've been dreaming of her a lot lately and it's super realistic. It feels great to have her around in my dreams but it hurts on a different level when I wake up and realise that she's gone. I do believe that they stay around and while not exactly being religious, I love to imagine that everyone that passes is like a guardian angel, taking care of me from afar. There's been moments I am 100% sure that some of them were around and I cherish those moments even if it might be utter bullshit. Buuuuut even if it is utter bullshit, it helped me in those moments and I really love the thought of loved ones being there to support me in hard times.🖤✨
submitted by freakyfreakycreepy to RandomActsofCards [link] [comments]
u/notthemonth thank you so much for the beautiful space card, it's so pretty 😍
u/TheFeistyFox thank you so much for the card and your words. I love the last stanza of Funeral Blues, I appreciate you sharing it.
2x u/PinkPenguin thank you so much for the penguin bingo card! Sounds like lots of fun! Also, thank you for the card you sent in memory of Shirley. It's beautiful and your words mean a lot. I love you!! 🖤✨
u/major_ad5436 thank you so much for the bird card, it's hilarious!
u/Cassiopeia88 thank you so much for the seal card, it's great!
u/grasshopper2231 thank you so much for the card. I'm happy to hear about your travelling plans and I can't wait to hear how it went!
u/sadbrokehitchhiker thank you so much for the long necked Karen card!
u/YESmynameisYES thank you so much for the pretty card and your kind words. I've lost quite a few people just as pets and animals, and it feels definitely very different to lose a person vs a pet/animal but also feels similar? I don't know how to describe it any better. I definitely needed a reminder to be kind to myself as I tend to treat myself badly in times like now. Thank you so much for adding those cute dragon stickers, they are wonderful!
u/t3ctim thank you so much for the sharkplane and moose card and the poem. It's perfect!!
u/thecaledonianrose thank you so much for the card, stickers and your words. It means a lot and it helps so much to not feel alone. I appreciate you so much.🖤✨
u/unseenbowl thank you so much for the spring card! My spring season is mostly about my veggie and flower patches. Everything starts to grow - some plants like my potatoes and radishes are already so huuge while others like my peppers, cucumbers and carrots are really small still. I love to watch them grow and I can't wait to harvest✨ this year is my first year with corn and I can't wait to see how they grow and what they taste like compared to store-bought. We do have a weekly farmers market nearby and I love it a lot. Also, we've been to a medieval festival day thingy and I hope there will be more markets and festivals around to visit.
2x u/SweetyDarlingLulu thank you so much for the card and your kind words. Shirley was the bestest dog around, I swear. She's the cutest and I still can't believe she's gone. It's been two weeks now and it didn't get any easier yet,... My tattoo artist had time for me last week and I have her paw under my skin now. It's the paw I held when she crossed the rainbow bridge right above the hand I held her paw with. It helps to have her with me now and be able to hold her paw every time life feels impossible. I love and appreciate you lots including all your cute furry friends.🖤✨ Also, thank you so much for the dragon card. It warms my heart to receive dragon mail from you every time. Your mail is like the light at the end of the tunnel - I know it's there and will arrive and I have no words for how much positive impact you have on me and my life.🖤🖤🖤
u/melhen16 thank you so much for the colourful card you sent! I love the quotes you add on your cards and you are a wonderful part of this community. Thank you for being here🖤🖤🖤
2x u/Caraal thank you a lot for both cards - the dog card reminds me of Shirley when she was younger, it's so adorable. I appreciate your words a lot, all the mail I receive helps so much as I don't feel alone and you all make me feel seen, validated in my feelings and loved. Thanks for that!! Also, thank you so much for adding extras, that's so kind of you.🖤🖤🖤
u/draftyelectrolyte thank you so much for the wonderful card and your kind words. We truly did our best to give her a wonderful life with us. She's been given back from her first owners when she was little, then she came to us and I think we did a good job spoiling her rotten. It makes me happy to hear about your fur friends and to hear that Shirley is not the only Jack Russel trying to be a Dalmatian, haha. I've been dreaming of her a lot lately and it's super realistic. It feels great to have her around in my dreams but it hurts on a different level when I wake up and realise that she's gone. I do believe that they stay around and while not exactly being religious, I love to imagine that everyone that passes is like a guardian angel, taking care of me from afar. There's been moments I am 100% sure that some of them were around and I cherish those moments even if it might be utter bullshit. Buuuuut even if it is utter bullshit, it helped me in those moments and I really love the thought of loved ones being there to support me in hard times.🖤✨
2024.05.10 00:42 Deacys_bass Letter to a friend
(A small poem I wrote when I was 12 years old)
Dearest friend,
These words do not come easily to me — I can’t write the way I used to.
But something needs to be said here, before it eats me alive.
You whispered to me once in the quiet of the night that I was all you had left, and I know this is selfish of me but sometimes I wish that were still true.
I wish that you would still come to me and cry about being tired, or even just remind me that the lilacs are blooming again.
The days are getting warmer; it’s almost spring. Words bubble up in my chest and threaten to spill out of my lips whenever this time of year rolls around again.
The warmth reminds me of those long summer days spent in the fields with you, my head upon your chest.
I’m not allowed in the fields anymore, but every once and a while we’ll drive past them and those old feelings rise back up and make a nest in my heart.
That summer was a pain, but you loved me, and that in itself was a reassurance that all was well.
So when the house is empty and I’m all alone, I’ll always think of that summer; of long evenings spent with the horses, of the conversations you and I would have in the dead of the night, of my head upon her chest, of green pastures and buttercups — As bad as it was, it’ll never be that good again.
Dear friend, you smiled once, and I knew that everything would be okay — And I loved you.
But I was afraid. How could I not be? You were my best friend, and I was in love with you.
Thats it. I was in love with you, my dear friend. I’ve never said it before, but I’ll say it now.
I loved you the way that the sun loves the plants and the soldiers love the steady earth they stalk upon.
I’m sure that I bore you; I don’t care. Be bored. I love you. I’ll always love you — that is all I need.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t realize until it was too late.
I’m sorry that I’ll never love a boy the way I love you.
And now I fear those long summer days are so far away, and that each day I only grow further from those days, because when summer rolls around this time it’ll be 2 years since, and suddenly I am aware that even the summer of 2023 is beginning to feel further and further away, and that I feel do not feel young, and I never have felt young.
You kissed me once, albeit only on the cheek. You weren’t interested in girls, but you loved me as you had loved no other.
I don’t believe you wanted me like a lover, dear friend— But I know you were in love with me. It is not a simple matter to explain, nor is it an easy one. You were in love with me, but not the way I was in love with you.
I am youth.
I’m not thirteen yet, dear friend, but almost.
Won’t you kiss me again?
I’m still pure, dear friend. I’m the cleanest martyr you’ll ever see.
I’m twelve years old, dear friend, but love ages people.
Won’t you let me be your favorite girl again?
Every piece I’ve ever written has had little bits of you hiding between the lines.
submitted by Deacys_bass to OCPoetryFree [link] [comments]
Dearest friend,
These words do not come easily to me — I can’t write the way I used to.
But something needs to be said here, before it eats me alive.
You whispered to me once in the quiet of the night that I was all you had left, and I know this is selfish of me but sometimes I wish that were still true.
I wish that you would still come to me and cry about being tired, or even just remind me that the lilacs are blooming again.
The days are getting warmer; it’s almost spring. Words bubble up in my chest and threaten to spill out of my lips whenever this time of year rolls around again.
The warmth reminds me of those long summer days spent in the fields with you, my head upon your chest.
I’m not allowed in the fields anymore, but every once and a while we’ll drive past them and those old feelings rise back up and make a nest in my heart.
That summer was a pain, but you loved me, and that in itself was a reassurance that all was well.
So when the house is empty and I’m all alone, I’ll always think of that summer; of long evenings spent with the horses, of the conversations you and I would have in the dead of the night, of my head upon her chest, of green pastures and buttercups — As bad as it was, it’ll never be that good again.
Dear friend, you smiled once, and I knew that everything would be okay — And I loved you.
But I was afraid. How could I not be? You were my best friend, and I was in love with you.
Thats it. I was in love with you, my dear friend. I’ve never said it before, but I’ll say it now.
I loved you the way that the sun loves the plants and the soldiers love the steady earth they stalk upon.
I’m sure that I bore you; I don’t care. Be bored. I love you. I’ll always love you — that is all I need.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t realize until it was too late.
I’m sorry that I’ll never love a boy the way I love you.
And now I fear those long summer days are so far away, and that each day I only grow further from those days, because when summer rolls around this time it’ll be 2 years since, and suddenly I am aware that even the summer of 2023 is beginning to feel further and further away, and that I feel do not feel young, and I never have felt young.
You kissed me once, albeit only on the cheek. You weren’t interested in girls, but you loved me as you had loved no other.
I don’t believe you wanted me like a lover, dear friend— But I know you were in love with me. It is not a simple matter to explain, nor is it an easy one. You were in love with me, but not the way I was in love with you.
I am youth.
I’m not thirteen yet, dear friend, but almost.
Won’t you kiss me again?
I’m still pure, dear friend. I’m the cleanest martyr you’ll ever see.
I’m twelve years old, dear friend, but love ages people.
Won’t you let me be your favorite girl again?
Every piece I’ve ever written has had little bits of you hiding between the lines.
2024.05.09 20:36 classysax4 Dramatic poetry for 6-year-olds
I’ve been reading TS Elliot’s Book of Practical Cats to my son’s kindergarten class and they love it. The drama is really fun, and they understand far more of it than I would have expected.
Can you recommend some more exciting poems at a similar level?
submitted by classysax4 to suggestmeabook [link] [comments]
Can you recommend some more exciting poems at a similar level?
2024.05.09 19:55 SexxxMelaneexxx Quinzaine
Discovering Delicacy in the Quinzaine Form**
Summary:
A quinzaine is a poetic form with roots in French literature. It comprises exactly fifteen syllables, distributed across three lines. This concise structure encourages poets to convey meaning with precision and brevity, capturing moments of beauty or insight.
Examples:
Step 1: Choose a moment, emotion, or image to capture in your quinzaine.
Step 2: Compose three lines, ensuring they contain exactly fifteen syllables.
Step 3: Experiment with different line breaks to enhance the poem's rhythm and meaning.
Example:
Cherry blossoms bloom, a delicate array (5) Soft petals whisper, a fleeting ballet (5) Spring's sweet quinzaine, in nature's display (5)
Remember: The quinzaine's succinct nature challenges poets to distill profound moments into a compact form.
submitted by SexxxMelaneexxx to writingthruit [link] [comments]
Summary:
A quinzaine is a poetic form with roots in French literature. It comprises exactly fifteen syllables, distributed across three lines. This concise structure encourages poets to convey meaning with precision and brevity, capturing moments of beauty or insight.
Examples:
- "Spring Day" by Paul Verlaine (translated).
- "Night" by Louise Glück.
- "Quinzaine" by Raymond Queneau (translated).
- Syllabic Economy: Make each syllable count; the limited space demands precision.
- Focus on Imagery: Use vivid and evocative language to create a powerful image or emotion.
- Play with Line Breaks: Experiment with line breaks to enhance the poem's rhythm and impact.
- How does the brevity of the quinzaine impact the reader's engagement?
- Can you identify contemporary poets who have embraced the quinzaine in their work?
- Explore the works of French poets such as Paul Éluard for classic quinzaines.
- Read modern poets who experiment with syllabic constraints for inspiration.
Step 1: Choose a moment, emotion, or image to capture in your quinzaine.
Step 2: Compose three lines, ensuring they contain exactly fifteen syllables.
Step 3: Experiment with different line breaks to enhance the poem's rhythm and meaning.
Example:
Cherry blossoms bloom, a delicate array (5) Soft petals whisper, a fleeting ballet (5) Spring's sweet quinzaine, in nature's display (5)
Remember: The quinzaine's succinct nature challenges poets to distill profound moments into a compact form.
2024.05.09 05:52 Cultural-Diet8563 For you.
Context: I am a teen and I was homeschooled until last year when I met him. But he is mormon and I'm agnostic. Anyways, then I moved across the country but I can't get over him. I don't usually write poetry. Usually I hate writing it but I love reading it. Here we go. -------
Every day your creep into my mind I wish you would grab me from behind So many things Yet, you are the one that my mind brings It’s been 2 months, 1 week And I still wish that you would kiss me on the cheek I wish you would be tired And I could do what you desired For you, I would stay at home And through my hair I would run a comb I would wait for you in the special dome Where off the coffee I would sip the foam And keep an eye on our child that learned to roam For you, everyday I would cook As you read your prayerbook When you jump into my mind again I count what I would do, now and then It goes well past ten From this, I will never find zen By now, things usually become a blurred memory So why don’t you? Why can’t I finally say “phew” And meet someone new? I hope that you are happy, I really do I hope that you meet the who The one that makes you feel so new The one who never pops a corkscrew The one who doesn’t want a daily brew The one who wants to go to church, too For you, I would have listened to anythings Like how that frog springs Or the sounds of the bird’s wings I would console you on a bad day Say, “Don’t be so gray” Slowly your tears start to decay As I sit and listen to your relay It sucks that it’s not reciprocated Maybe for me, it will become faded And the part of my mind for you, will be sedated For me, love will always be gated I will return to you in some way My mind turns off the gear As I end my poem here
submitted by Cultural-Diet8563 to Poems [link] [comments]
Every day your creep into my mind I wish you would grab me from behind So many things Yet, you are the one that my mind brings It’s been 2 months, 1 week And I still wish that you would kiss me on the cheek I wish you would be tired And I could do what you desired For you, I would stay at home And through my hair I would run a comb I would wait for you in the special dome Where off the coffee I would sip the foam And keep an eye on our child that learned to roam For you, everyday I would cook As you read your prayerbook When you jump into my mind again I count what I would do, now and then It goes well past ten From this, I will never find zen By now, things usually become a blurred memory So why don’t you? Why can’t I finally say “phew” And meet someone new? I hope that you are happy, I really do I hope that you meet the who The one that makes you feel so new The one who never pops a corkscrew The one who doesn’t want a daily brew The one who wants to go to church, too For you, I would have listened to anythings Like how that frog springs Or the sounds of the bird’s wings I would console you on a bad day Say, “Don’t be so gray” Slowly your tears start to decay As I sit and listen to your relay It sucks that it’s not reciprocated Maybe for me, it will become faded And the part of my mind for you, will be sedated For me, love will always be gated I will return to you in some way My mind turns off the gear As I end my poem here
2024.05.09 02:20 bubblegummerr what was the mcq poem for ap lit abt the new year??
it started with the depiction of the celebration of the new year with young and old people, a baby crying.. and then compared the joyness of the new year as quick to fade as a "spring bud" ??? and then the end of the poem is about the importance of thought? comparing it to wings and flight, etc.....
submitted by bubblegummerr to APStudents [link] [comments]
2024.05.08 18:53 a-yeti-story Secrets in “Don’t carry it all”
tl;dr: The analysis interprets "Don't Carry It All" by The Decemberists as a song about a small community experiencing cycles of harvest, birth, and death. The lyrics suggest hidden secrets and multiple layers of meaning. The writer speculates that the deceased boy being mourned might be a bastard son, conceived out of wedlock during the previous spring's turning of the season. The song reflects themes of communal togetherness during times of work and grief, with metaphors tied to nature and the cycle of seasons. Ultimately, it's portrayed as a complex and richly symbolic piece that invites repeated listening and interpretation. The writer expresses a deep appreciation for the song's depth and invites discussion on similar works by The Decemberists. (Summary written by ChatGPT ;)
Let me explain why I think this. I’ve copied the lyrics below and labeled them for easy reference. For instance, (1) refers to the whole intro section, and (1a) refers to the first line, 'here we come to a turning of the season’.
Verse 2
In this context, the first line of the chorus, (2a), might be rephrased as ‘there is nobody that nobody knows’. In other words everyone knows everyone. This is the hallmark of a small town or village. In (2b), letting the ‘yoke fall from our shoulders’ means that we relieve ourselves the burden of the hard work, and we do this, as related in (2d)-(2e), by relying on our community. Here, the ‘holders’ of (2d) are containers for grain or corn. More simply put, those of the village are all working together to harvest the crop. This is all done in the light of the ‘bold and brilliant sun’ in (2e). This is, of course, literally a description of working under the summer sun. But it is also metaphorical: to work under the sun is to have no secrets. As is common in such small towns, in which everyone knows everyone, everyone knows everything about everyone. (These images of fields and community bring Midsommar to mind for me. That is the community I picture for this song, though the differences are stark)
After the work is done, it will be soon a time of rest, as related in (3c)-(3d). But not yet. In (3a), there is a ‘monument’ to be built. Like the harvest, this too is not the work of one individual, but requires the community. For some, the monument means the end of their work, so as related in (3c)-(3d), they may finally lay their heads on ‘freckled knees’. For others though, a ‘vessel pitching hard to starboard’ (i.e., a bountiful harvest) means it is time for trade. Ships (‘vessels’) so loaded with trade goods that they are ‘pitching hard to starboard’ have come to the community’s shores (their ‘summer’s freckled knees), and the product must be bartered for.
Here the chorus in (2) repeats. It has mostly the same interpretation as before, with calm, happy air, though having our ‘hands in holders’ in (2d) now means that we are standing hand in hand, in celebration. But when we get to (4), the second verse, the mood turns somber. It seems that a boy has died. Fittingly, he will be returned to the soil, from which the crops were grown. In this context, (2d) can be reinterpreted: having our ‘hands in holders’ in (2d) now means that we are standing in solidarity against the pain. (3a) and (3b) may similarly be reinterpreted. The ‘monument’ in (3a) built on a ‘plinth’ in (3b) may be a gravestone, built for the boy. So what was a happy time, is now a solemn one. (Side note: I love (4c), ‘lazy will the loam come from its hiding’. The imagery of the rest of the song is so light and dry, so this line about the dark and damp hits hard)
This reading of ‘bear your neighbor’s burden’ triggers a reinterpretation of the chorus, which repeats again now, at the end of the song. And now we are poised to answer the question we began with: What it is that ‘nobody knows’ in (2a) is that the child to be born the next year (at the turning of the seasons from spring to summer) is a bastard son. The mother and father must be worried: will the child have the blue eyes that will give our infidelity away? But for now, nobody knows.
We are also triggered to reinterpret the death of the boy in (4). Is this just any child? It might be, but also notice that the time from the start of autumn (when you must ‘bear your neighbor’s burden’) to the end of spring (‘the turning of the season’ from spring to summer) is 9 months: the exact time required to bear a child. With this context, the “neighbor’s blessed burden” becoming “a burden borne of all in one” is the community coming together to celebrate the birth of the child. (As they say, it takes a village)
Upon re-listening, when we hear (4), we might consider that it is this child’s death (or a child like this one, conceived outside a marriage in the previous spring). This child is stillborn, or did not survive long after birth. For the community, this is bitter and heartbreaking. But for the mother of the bastard son, the feelings are more complex. Though she lost her child, the guilt of adultery and the worry of discovery has been lifted. Now to be ‘beneath the bold and brilliant sun’ in (2e) is ironic: there were secrets here, though they died with the boy.
Of the Decemberists’ songs I’ve listened to, this is my favorite. I suspect that this song is a momentary stroke of genius, and that the other music is not the same. But my knowledge of their music is limited. Are any of their other songs like this? If so, what are they about?
And surely there are things that I’ve missed: songs, like poems, can be open to multiple interpretations. I’m more than happy to hear your thoughts.
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Intro
There are secrets hidden in this one, I think. For one, what exactly is it that “nobody knows”? I have one possible answer, and I thought I’d share. I think the boy whose death the townsfolk gather to mourn is a bastard son (a child born of unmarried parents).Let me explain why I think this. I’ve copied the lyrics below and labeled them for easy reference. For instance, (1) refers to the whole intro section, and (1a) refers to the first line, 'here we come to a turning of the season’.
Lyrics
Intro(1) a. Here we come to a turning of the seasonChorus
b. Witness to the arc towards the sun
c. The neighbor's blessed burden within reason
d. Becomes a burden borne of all in one
(2) a. And nobody, nobody knowsVerse 1
b. Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
c. Don't carry it all, don't carry it all
d. We are all our hands in holders
e. Beneath this bold and brilliant sun
f. This I swear to all
(3) a. A monument to build beneath the arborsRepeat (2), the chorus.
b. Upon a plinth that towers towards the trees
c. Let every vessel pitching hard to starboard
d. Lay it's head on summer's freckled knees
Verse 2
(4) a. There a wreath of trillium and ivyOutro
b. Laid upon the body of the boy
c. Lazy will the loam come from it's hiding
d. Return his quiet certitude to the soil
(5) a. So raise a glass to turnings of the seasonRepeat the chorus, (2), again.
b. And watch it as it arcs towards the sun
c. And you must bear your neighbor's burden within reason
d. And your labors will be borne when all is done
Analysis
Setting the scene
In (1) the scene is set. The ‘turning of the season’ in (1a) is the turn from spring to summer, and with summer comes the harvest, a time of toil. The ‘arc towards the sun’ in (1b), then, is the corn or wheat in the fields, bending in the wind. (Side note: “witness to the arc towards the sun” is one of my favorite lines in the song. Whenever I hear it, I feel like I’m in a field on a clear day, watching the golden wheat sway—a scene familiar from my adolescence in the midwest). It is not lonely individuals in these fields, however. From (1c) and (1d) we know that to reap the bounty of the earth, which is the ‘neighbor’s blessed burden’, is to come together as a community. So harvest is a time of togetherness.In this context, the first line of the chorus, (2a), might be rephrased as ‘there is nobody that nobody knows’. In other words everyone knows everyone. This is the hallmark of a small town or village. In (2b), letting the ‘yoke fall from our shoulders’ means that we relieve ourselves the burden of the hard work, and we do this, as related in (2d)-(2e), by relying on our community. Here, the ‘holders’ of (2d) are containers for grain or corn. More simply put, those of the village are all working together to harvest the crop. This is all done in the light of the ‘bold and brilliant sun’ in (2e). This is, of course, literally a description of working under the summer sun. But it is also metaphorical: to work under the sun is to have no secrets. As is common in such small towns, in which everyone knows everyone, everyone knows everything about everyone. (These images of fields and community bring Midsommar to mind for me. That is the community I picture for this song, though the differences are stark)
After the work is done, it will be soon a time of rest, as related in (3c)-(3d). But not yet. In (3a), there is a ‘monument’ to be built. Like the harvest, this too is not the work of one individual, but requires the community. For some, the monument means the end of their work, so as related in (3c)-(3d), they may finally lay their heads on ‘freckled knees’. For others though, a ‘vessel pitching hard to starboard’ (i.e., a bountiful harvest) means it is time for trade. Ships (‘vessels’) so loaded with trade goods that they are ‘pitching hard to starboard’ have come to the community’s shores (their ‘summer’s freckled knees), and the product must be bartered for.
Here the chorus in (2) repeats. It has mostly the same interpretation as before, with calm, happy air, though having our ‘hands in holders’ in (2d) now means that we are standing hand in hand, in celebration. But when we get to (4), the second verse, the mood turns somber. It seems that a boy has died. Fittingly, he will be returned to the soil, from which the crops were grown. In this context, (2d) can be reinterpreted: having our ‘hands in holders’ in (2d) now means that we are standing in solidarity against the pain. (3a) and (3b) may similarly be reinterpreted. The ‘monument’ in (3a) built on a ‘plinth’ in (3b) may be a gravestone, built for the boy. So what was a happy time, is now a solemn one. (Side note: I love (4c), ‘lazy will the loam come from its hiding’. The imagery of the rest of the song is so light and dry, so this line about the dark and damp hits hard)
The core of my argument
The outro, (5), which resembles (1), is the key to my argument. We have come again to a turning of the seasons, in (5a) and so from summer it has turned to fall. In the context of the funeral in (4), we are primed to read (5c) and (5d) as depicting each neighbor sharing in their ‘neighbor’s burden’:, i.e., helping each other grieve and overcome the pain of the child’s death. But there is a more literal reading here. To ‘bear’, in (5c), is to bear a child: to birth. Bearing a ‘neighbor’s burden’, then, is carrying their child (‘carrying’ in the sense of pregnancy). Where the ‘labors’ in (5d) at first glance seemed to refer to the hard work of the harvest, we now see that these labors are the labors of childbirth, after which the child will be ‘borne’. (Side note: so many of these lines have more than one meaning, which is why listening to it is such a joy: I find something new every time)This reading of ‘bear your neighbor’s burden’ triggers a reinterpretation of the chorus, which repeats again now, at the end of the song. And now we are poised to answer the question we began with: What it is that ‘nobody knows’ in (2a) is that the child to be born the next year (at the turning of the seasons from spring to summer) is a bastard son. The mother and father must be worried: will the child have the blue eyes that will give our infidelity away? But for now, nobody knows.
We are also triggered to reinterpret the death of the boy in (4). Is this just any child? It might be, but also notice that the time from the start of autumn (when you must ‘bear your neighbor’s burden’) to the end of spring (‘the turning of the season’ from spring to summer) is 9 months: the exact time required to bear a child. With this context, the “neighbor’s blessed burden” becoming “a burden borne of all in one” is the community coming together to celebrate the birth of the child. (As they say, it takes a village)
Upon re-listening, when we hear (4), we might consider that it is this child’s death (or a child like this one, conceived outside a marriage in the previous spring). This child is stillborn, or did not survive long after birth. For the community, this is bitter and heartbreaking. But for the mother of the bastard son, the feelings are more complex. Though she lost her child, the guilt of adultery and the worry of discovery has been lifted. Now to be ‘beneath the bold and brilliant sun’ in (2e) is ironic: there were secrets here, though they died with the boy.
Overall thoughts
This is a song about a community coming together for harvest, birth, and death, over and over. And I think, like the cycle of the seasons, this is a song that is made to be listened to again and again.Of the Decemberists’ songs I’ve listened to, this is my favorite. I suspect that this song is a momentary stroke of genius, and that the other music is not the same. But my knowledge of their music is limited. Are any of their other songs like this? If so, what are they about?
And surely there are things that I’ve missed: songs, like poems, can be open to multiple interpretations. I’m more than happy to hear your thoughts.