A Word To Christians....
Listen up,
Christians of this planet....
The
Christ
Was considered a terrorist by the authority
of his time....
The public were and still are good for taxation.
a story is good for a story.
a metaphor is a metaphor.
a rhetoric is good for a check mate.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Related quotes
You're Not From Brighton
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used, funk as we used to
You're not from Brighton
You're not from Brighton
You're not from Brighton
You're, you're, you're, you're
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Said check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check check baby
Check check one two
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two, ha
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two, ha
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two, ha
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two
Said check one two, check one two
Check one two, check one two
[...] Read more
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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Authority Song
They like to get you in a compromising position
They like to get you there and smille in your face
They think, theyre so cute when they got you in that condition
Well I think, its a total disgrace
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
So I call up my preacher
I say: gimme strenght for round 5
He said: you dont need no strength, you need to grow up, son
I said: growing up leads to growing old and then to dying,
And dying to me dont sound like all that much fun
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
Oh no
Oh no
I fight authority, authority always wins
Chorus:
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I fight authority, authority always wins
I been doing it, since I was a young kid
Ive come out grinnin
I fight authority, authority always wins
song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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Check My Machine
(Spoken) Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones
But Names Will Never Hurt Me
Check My Machine
Check Check Check Check Check My Machine
Check My Machine
Check Check Check Check Check My Machine
(Repeat) -
I Got A Woman A Long Time Ago
I Had Trouble
I Want You To See What You Can See
Check My Machine
Check Check Check Check Check My Machine
Check My Machine
Check Check Check Check Check My Machine
(Ad Lib)
I Want You To Check Check Check Check Check My Machine Check Check Check Check Check My
Machine
(Ad Lib)
Check Check Check Check Check My Machine
(Repeat)
song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Rockafeller Skank
Intro
DJ: WBCN who's this?
Brad: Hey this is Brad (this is Brad this is)
DJ: Now uh who's your favorite artist, who
do you want to hear?
Brad: Well m my favorite artist right now is
Fatboy Slim, that guy kicks ass.
DJ: How tremendous is Fatboy Slim?
Brad: The band of the 90's, if you want to call
it a band because it's a one man name.
DJ: Wow...fatboy, and you want to hear that
new fatboy song?
Brad: Absolutely.
DJ: Which one?
Brad: The um funk soul brother check it out.
DJ: Sing it, I don't know which one.
Brad: Right about now, the funk soul brother
check it out now, the funk soul brother.
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
'bout now
'bout now
'bout now
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother
Right About Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Check It Out Now
The Funk Soul Brother, Right About Now
[...] Read more
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rockafeller Skank
Intro
Dj: wbcn whos this?
Brad: hey this is brad (this is brad this is)
Dj: now uh whos your favorite artist, who
Do you want to hear?
Brad: well m my favorite artist right now is
Fatboy slim, that guy kicks ass.
Dj: how tremendous is fatboy slim?
Brad: the band of the 90s, if you want to call
It a band because its a one man name.
Dj: wow...fatboy, and you want to hear that
New fatboy song?
Brad: absolutely.
Dj: which one?
Brad: the um funk soul brother check it out.
Dj: sing it, I dont know which one.
Brad: right about now, the funk soul brother
Check it out now, the funk soul brother.
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, right about now
bout now
bout now
bout now
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother
Right about now
The funk soul brother, check it out now
The funk soul brother, right about now
[...] Read more
song performed by Fatboy Slim
Added by Lucian Velea
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You're My Mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think shes a cow
Shes let you down too many times now
Lets go for a drink, forget it for now
Put It behind you, I think its your round
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Ill tell you what I think, I think hes a pain
He aint got a car, but he drives you insane
Lets go for a drink and sink a few
Enough about him lets talk about you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
All I wanna do is get drunk here with you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate and I will stand by you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
And in the face of things that could hurt you
Youre my mate and I will stand by you
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
Cause youre my mate
TAXI
song performed by Right Said Fred
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soboba
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soccer camp fall 2007 dallas tx
[...] Read more
poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Listen To The Rain
(Rain)
Listen listen
Listen listen
Listen listen
Listen listen
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen listen
Listen to each drop of rain (listen listen)
Aaah
Whispering secrets in rain (listen listen)
Aaah
Frantically searching for someone to hear
That story be more than it hides
Please don't let go
Can't we stay for a while?
It's just to hard to say goodbye
Listen to the rain
Aa...ah
Listen listen listen listen listen listen to the rain
Weeping
Oo...ooh oooh ooh oo...ooh
Oo...ooh oooh oh oh
Listen (listen) listen (listen)
Listen (listen) listen
I stand alone in the storm (listen listen)
Suddenly sweet words take hold
(Listen listen)
Hurry they stay for you haven't much time
Open your eyes to the love around you
You can feel youre alone
But I'm here still with you
You can do what you dream
Just remember to listen to the rain
oo...ooh oh oh oh oh
ooh ooh oh oh oooh
Listen
song performed by Evanescence
Added by Lucian Velea
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‘Bees will Return to Hives! ’
The Saffronization of India?
–Phulbani, Kandhammal, Orissa, India.
'Calm follows every storm;
But Christians must be calm! '
‘Where martyrs’ blood be spilt,
More churches will be built!
Without much shame or guilt,
Fanatics hit the hilt’
Their saffron hues, they spray
On Dalit Christians, aye!
They won’t allow them pray;
They hunt them night and day!
What tragedy now looms!
‘Turn Hindu, ’ call now booms;
‘Or die; be bruised and maimed! ’
Why Christians all are blamed?
Frenzied mobs on rampage:
A war on Christians wage;
Conversion is their lie,
As Christians many die!
Can’t one profess their faith
Of choice and freedom, say?
Are Christians not Indians?
God will show them their way!
Such states are keeping quiet;
They want Christians to fight;
‘Violence begets violence’
Most Christians stay calm, hence.
Are there no basic rights?
Most Christian homes lost lights;
Hundreds have been destroyed;
Pleas have gone null and void.
Most Christians are too hurt;
No one seems to regret;
Churches are simply torched,
And human beings scorched!
As angry mobs destroy,
And loot the Christian homes;
And burn them down overnight;
O, see the Dalit’s plight!
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Future Watch Burma To Syria Conflicts Rising
been watching
the future today...
from past lens astray
Burma as expected
has developed
ethnic problems
with sudden absence
of strict communist
dictatorship firm leash
Burmese are no longer
all brother communists
controlled by the state
past civic grievances
rise from postmortem
state of frozen stasis
past horrors play
on revenge rabid minds
need exercising?
past spectre struggles
post World War II conflicts
leave skeletons in closets
frozen nightmares divisions
war atrocities split Yugoslavia
post familiar communist thaw
emotively haunted people
seem to need to grim settle
past trauma before each
can move on embrace
future possibilities opportunities
in free market societies
when no longer linked
in brotherhood communist
cast iron citizenships
emotively many people
seem to need to settle
the past before they can
move on
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Filippo Baldinucci on the Privilege of Burial
"No, boy, we must not"—so began
My Uncle (he's with God long since),
A-petting me, the good old man!
"We must not"—and he seemed to wince,
And lost that laugh whereto had grown
His chuckle at my piece of news,
How cleverly I aimed my stone—
"I fear we must not pelt the Jews!
"When I was young indeed,—ah, faith
Was young and strong in Florence too!
We Christians never dreamed of scathe
Because we cursed or kicked the crew.
But now, well, well! The olive-crops
Weighed double then, and Arno's pranks
Would always spare religious shops
Whenever he o'erflowed his banks!
"I'll tell you"—and his eye regained
Its twinkle—"tell you something choice!
Something may help you keep unstained
Your honest zeal to stop the voice
Of unbelief with stone-throw, spite
Of laws, which modern fools enact,
That we must suffer Jews in sight
Go wholly unmolested! Fact!
"There was, then, in my youth, and yet
Is, by our San Frediano, just
Below the Blessed Olivet,
A wayside ground wherein they thrust
Their dead,—these Jews,—the more our shame!
Except that, so they will but die,
Christians perchance incur no blame
In giving hogs a hoist to stye.
"There, anyhow, Jews stow away
Their dead; and,—such their insolence,—
Slink at odd times to sing and pray
As Christians do—all make-pretence!—
Which wickedness they perpetrate
Because they think no Christians see.
They reckoned here, at any rate,
Without their host: ha, ha, he, he!
"For, what should join their plot of ground
But a good Farmer's Christian field?
The Jews had hedged their corner round
With bramble-bush to keep concealed
Their doings: for the public road
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from Pacchiarotto (1876)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Syrian Christians Minority Psychology
meanwhile in conflict Syria
Wall Street Journal reports
Christians arm themselves?
but few Christians openly sided
with Bashar al-Assad's regime
as ethnic Syrian Alawites did?
most wise Syrian Christians
have stayed completely silent
due to feared post-Assad era?
Syrian Christians fear Muslim
Brotherhood or Salafi policies in
splinter chaotic post al-Assad era?
Christians afraid fear facing same
scenario as invaded Iraqis faced...
in 2003 post US military invasion?
Christians fear their communities
caught in crossfire will be devastated
by power struggle sectarian groups?
Christians in neighboring Iraq
suffered greatly in sectarian wars
during power struggle past decade?
Christians since beginning of uprisings
consistently acted with minority psychology
an attitude of Christian passive neutrality?
in attempt overthrow of Syrian President
Bashar al-Assad Christian exclusion...
from revolution uprisings was because?
the Syrian Church warned Christians
not to participate in revolution uprisings
yet Syrian church leaders fear prospect
of an Islamic fundamentalist
future takeover in Syria represents
a greater danger to Christians?
than continuation of current President
Bashar al-Assad's administration
because during Assad era Christians
faced no real policy secular difficulty
in practicing their religion difficulties...
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Christmas-Eve
I.
OUT of the little chapel I burst
Into the fresh night air again.
I had waited a good five minutes first
In the doorway, to escape the rain
That drove in gusts down the common’s centre,
At the edge of which the chapel stands,
Before I plucked up heart to enter:
Heaven knows how many sorts of hands
Reached past me, groping for the latch
Of the inner door that hung on catch,
More obstinate the more they fumbled,
Till, giving way at last with a scold
Of the crazy hinge, in squeezed or tumbled
One sheep more to the rest in fold,
And left me irresolute, standing sentry
In the sheepfold’s lath-and-plaster entry,
Four feet long by two feet wide,
Partitioned off from the vast inside—
I blocked up half of it at least.
No remedy; the rain kept driving:
They eyed me much as some wild beast,
The congregation, still arriving,
Some of them by the mainroad, white
A long way past me into the night,
Skirting the common, then diverging;
Not a few suddenly emerging
From the common’s self thro’ the paling-gaps,—
—They house in the gravel-pits perhaps,
Where the road stops short with its safeguard border
Of lamps, as tired of such disorder;—
But the most turned in yet more abruptly
From a certain squalid knot of alleys,
Where the town’s bad blood once slept corruptly,
Which now the little chapel rallies
And leads into day again,—its priestliness
Lending itself to hide their beastliness
So cleverly (thanks in part to the mason),
And putting so cheery a whitewashed face on
Those neophytes too much in lack of it,
That, where you cross the common as I did,
And meet the party thus presided,
“Mount Zion,” with Love-lane at the back of it,
They front you as little disconcerted,
As, bound for the hills, her fate averted
And her wicked people made to mind him,
Lot might have marched with Gomorrah behind him.
II.
Well, from the road, the lanes or the common,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning
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Check It Out
Million young poets
Screamin?out their words
To a world full of people
Just livin?to be heard
Future generations
Ridinon the highways that we built
I hope, that they have better understanding
Check it out
Goin to work on monday
Check it out
Got yourself a family
Check it out
All utility bills have been paid
You cant tell your best buddy
That you love him
So check it out
Where does our time go
Check it out
Got a brand new house in escrow
Check it out
Sleepin?with your back
To your loved one
This is all, we have learned
About happiness
Check it out,
Forgot to say hello to my neighbours
Check it out
Sometimes i question my own behavior
Check it out
Talkin?about the girls, weve
Seen on the sly
Just to tell our souls
Were still the young lions
So check it out
Gettin?too drunk on saturdays
Check it out
Playin?football with the kids
On sundays
Check it out
Soaring with the eagles all week long
And this is all, we have learned
About living
This is all, we have learned
About living
A million young poets
Screamin?out their words
Maybe someday
Those words will be heard
By future generations
Ridin?on the highways that we built
[...] Read more
song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Cruise of the 'In Memoriam
The wan light of a stormy dawn
Gleamed on a tossing ship:
It was the In Memoriam
Upon a mourning trip.
Wild waves were on the windward bow,
And breakers on the lee;
And through her sides the women heard
The seething of the sea.
“O Captain!” cried a widow fair,
Her plump white hands clasped she,
“Thinkst thou, if drowned in this dread storm,
That savèd we shall be?”
“You speak in riddles, lady dear,
How savèd can we be
If we are drowned?” “Alas, I mean
In Paradise!” said she.
“O I’ve sailed North, and I’ve sailed South”
(He was a godless wight),
“But boy or man, since my days began,
That shore I ne’er did sight!”
The Captain told the First Mate bold
What that fair lady said;
The First Mate sneered in his black beard—
His eyes burned in his head.
“Full forty souls are here aboard,
A-sailing on the wave—
Without the crew, and, ’twixt us two,
I think they’ve none to save—
“Full forty souls, and each one is
A mourner, as you know.
They weep the scuppers full; the ship
Is waterlogged with woe.”
Again he sneered in his black beard:
“The cruise is not so brief,
But, ere we land on earthly strand,
All will have found relief.”
“Nay, nay,” the Captain said, “First Mate,
You have forgotten one
With eyes of blue; the tears are true
From those dear eyes that run!
“She mourns her sweetheart drowned last year,
[...] Read more
poem by Victor James Daley
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi
Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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V. Count Guido Franceschini
Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I. The Ring and the Book
Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.
Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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VII. Pompilia
I am just seventeen years and five months old,
And, if I lived one day more, three full weeks;
'T is writ so in the church's register,
Lorenzo in Lucina, all my names
At length, so many names for one poor child,
—Francesca Camilla Vittoria Angela
Pompilia Comparini,—laughable!
Also 't is writ that I was married there
Four years ago: and they will add, I hope,
When they insert my death, a word or two,—
Omitting all about the mode of death,—
This, in its place, this which one cares to know,
That I had been a mother of a son
Exactly two weeks. It will be through grace
O' the Curate, not through any claim I have;
Because the boy was born at, so baptized
Close to, the Villa, in the proper church:
A pretty church, I say no word against,
Yet stranger-like,—while this Lorenzo seems
My own particular place, I always say.
I used to wonder, when I stood scarce high
As the bed here, what the marble lion meant,
With half his body rushing from the wall,
Eating the figure of a prostrate man—
(To the right, it is, of entry by the door)
An ominous sign to one baptized like me,
Married, and to be buried there, I hope.
And they should add, to have my life complete,
He is a boy and Gaetan by name—
Gaetano, for a reason,—if the friar
Don Celestine will ask this grace for me
Of Curate Ottoboni: he it was
Baptized me: he remembers my whole life
As I do his grey hair.
All these few things
I know are true,—will you remember them?
Because time flies. The surgeon cared for me,
To count my wounds,—twenty-two dagger-wounds,
Five deadly, but I do not suffer much—
Or too much pain,—and am to die to-night.
Oh how good God is that my babe was born,
—Better than born, baptized and hid away
Before this happened, safe from being hurt!
That had been sin God could not well forgive:
He was too young to smile and save himself.
When they took two days after he was born,
My babe away from me to be baptized
And hidden awhile, for fear his foe should find,—
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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