luule pildis ja muusikas

Voices About The Princess Anemone


Mulle üliväga meeldib.

The Dead

"The air of the room chilled his shoulders. He stretched himself cautiously along under the sheets and lay down beside his wife. One by one, they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover's eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

Generous tears filled Gabriel's eyes. He had never felt like that himself towards any woman, but he knew that such a feeling must be love. The tears gathered more thickly in his eyes and in the partial darkness he imagined he saw the form of a young man standing under a dripping tree. Other forms were near. His soul had approached that region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward and flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself, which these dead had one time reared and lived in, was dissolving and dwindling.

A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."

James Joyce - The Dead

O' Children

Nick Cave - O' Children

Google Translate'i nuritõlge

Helve Kruus-Sarapuu = Helve Mug-Hazel
käed ulatuvad embama = go hug your hands
Viivi Luik = delay the swans

* Sellelaadseid nuritõlke näiteid lisandub edaspidi kindlasti veel

ja nii ongi

"Teie, kavaler, ei armasta hobust, vaid ennast hobusel, tähendab, teil pole ratsaspordiga ühist teed! Istuge ümber mootorrattale."

Boriss Almazov - „Kõige ilusam hobune"

Ääremärkus

Tahtsin vaid seletada seda, miks siinsed tsitaadid on sellised nagu nad on.
Olen näinud blogisid, kus inimene on kokku kogunud ühelauselised ja lühikesed enda meelest ilmselt väga "diibid" tsitaadid.

Kuid mina kirjutan harva vaid ühelauselisi tsitaate. Üldiselt on mu jaoks huvitavad ja tsiteerimisväärsed terved lõigud või lausete kimbud. Neist vaid üks "deep" lause välja rebida, tundub mõttetu. Iseasi, kui tõesti see üks lause ütleb kõik ära.

Ise ma üldiselt ei viitsiks lugeda vaid ühelauselisi tsitaate. Need ei anna midagi. Puudub kontekst, üldine tunnetus ja stiil.

Kosmikud

Su mindud tee jäi minu sisse
See tume mets ja jahtund maa
Ma tulen taas su sammudesse
Ja ma ei tea, mis minust saab
Ma ei tea, mis must saab

Kosmikud - Mis must saab

* Sedakorda siis nii, et hoopis laulusõnad. Mul on tsitaate hulgim ja nende hulk aina kasvab, kuid pole viitsinud neid siia toksida paraku.