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03 February 2012

Girl from Ipanema, La Mesa Junior High School Band


Untitled from Q Chat on Vimeo.

Vikings attack Malibu

Untitled from Q Chat on Vimeo.

Under a Certain Little Star - a poem by Wislawa Szymborska

Under a Certain Little Star  
by Wislawa Szymborska
translated by Joanna Trzeciak

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. 
My apologies to necessity in case I'm mistaken. 
Don't be angry, happiness, that I take you for my own. 
May the dead forgive me that their memory's but a flicker. 
My apologies to time for the quantity of world overlooked per second. 
My apologies to an old love for treating a new one as the first. 
Forgive me, far-off wars, for carrying my flowers home. 
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. 
My apologies for the minuet record, to those calling out from the abyss. 
My apologies to those in train stations for sleeping soundly at five in the morning. 
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing sometimes. 
Pardon me, deserts, for not rushing in with a spoonful of water. 
And you, O hawk, the same bird for years in the same cage, 
staring, motionless, always at the same spot, 
absolve me even if you happen to be stuffed. 
My apologies to the tree felled for four table legs. 
My apologies to large questions for small answers. 
Truth, do not pay me too much attention. 
Solemnity, be magnanimous toward me. 
Bear with me, O mystery of being, for pulling threads from your veil. 
Soul, don't blame me that I've got you so seldom. 
My apologies to everything that I can't be everywhere. 
My apologies to all for not knowing how to be every man and woman. 
I know that as long as I live nothing can excuse me, 
since I am my own obstacle. 
Do not hold it against me, O speech, that I borrow weighty words, 
and then labor to make them light. 


From Miracle Fair by Wislawa Szymborska, translated by Joanna Trzeciak.
 











02 February 2012

Power tools that will pay for themselves, by Bob Tedeschi

The Guilt-Free Handyman Shopping Spree



PUT a new tool in the hands of some people, guys especially, and they become giddy at the prospect of all the jobs they can now do. For me, it means one more thing to feel stupid about, and one less excuse to blow off a project that surely could wait another week. 

Part of me would like to become that other guy, but such a conversion requires a bit of cash and a bigger measure of wisdom. 

The very basic set of tools I own is good for home repairs and maintenance, and some simple work, like installing shelves or a shower head. But are there other tools — better tools — that would inspire me to chase down ambitious projects instead of fleeing them? 

I put the question to three home improvement specialists: Gordon Bock, an author of “The Vintage House” (W. W. Norton) and former editor in chief of Old House Journal; Duo Dickinson, an architect and the author of “Staying Put” (Taunton), a manual on home remodeling; and Bob Vila, whose syndicated home improvement series jump-started a genre, and whose videos can now be seen at BobVila.com

What I needed, they told me, was a good set of aspirational tools. But a set like that leans heavily on the power-tools category, and could therefore make your bank account tilt. 

Though, as Mr. Bock put it, “good tools don’t cost — they pay for themselves in improved work and long service.” 

If a set of basic tools (hammer, handsaw, jigsaw, drill, screwdriver, level, tape measure, pliers, Vise-Grips, adjustable wrench and socket wrenches) costs around $150, the next step up costs roughly double that. 

Nevertheless, within hours of adding the 10 other items they recommended to my workshop, I had taken on a door-modification project that I’d ignored for a full decade, and I completed it in two hours. Had I paid a carpenter for the work, it might have cost as much as buying all of those tools.
At Mr. Bock’s recommendation, the first item on my list of new tools was an 18-volt cordless drill.
“It’s almost de rigueur,” he said, and the tools have improved in recent years. 

“It used to be that 24 volts was the sweet spot for a tool with power and durability,” Mr. Bock said. “But now you can get the same thing in a smaller package. They’re just incredible.” 

You can buy one for around $60, but my panelists strongly advised me to get one with a spare battery, so I wouldn’t have to worry about losing power midway through a project. Extra rechargeable batteries cost about $30. 

What’s the best way to shop for a drill? Mr. Vila said that most builders and carpenters choose the major brands carried at home improvement specialty stores and local hardware retailers. Bosch, DeWalt, Hitachi, Makita, Skil and Craftsman, he said, are good ones to consider. 

A battery-powered circular saw is another good thing to have, Mr. Bock said, “especially if you’re outside working on a fence or up on a roof, where you don’t want to drag a cord.” 

I built a picket fence in August a few years back, and wasted a good bit of arm strength and a few pints of sweat sawing off the tops of posts. Back then, I’d have killed for a cordless circular saw.
Like cordless drills, battery-powered circular saws start at around $60 for models with 5 ½-inch blades, which will handle most basic tasks. The least expensive 6 ½-inch models sell for about $100.
Mr. Bock’s next recommendation was slightly more controversial. He suggested buying the cordless version of a tool I’d long coveted for its destructive potential: a reciprocating saw. Also known by one of its brand names, a Sawzall, it’s good for demolition and for cutting through walls. 

Or body parts, Mr. Dickinson noted. 

“It’s the greatest tool in America, and second only to chainsaws as the most dangerous,” he said.
“I know my limits,” Mr. Dickinson continued. “If I’m doing a project at home, it’s usually before or after work, when I’m tired, or distracted, and I don’t trust myself with anything dangerous.”
Aside from severing a finger, Mr. Dickinson said, reciprocating saw users might be tempted to blindly cut through a wall containing live wires. 

Duly spooked, I sought a tiebreaker. 

Mr. Vila came down on the side of Team Sawzall. 

Envisioning my next credit-card statement, I felt a good sweat coming on. But Mr. Vila said I could buy a combination cordless kit with a drill and circular and reciprocating saws for $200. 

It was the first time someone from the construction industry gave me an estimate that was actually high. An 18-volt tool kit from Ryobi, with a flashlight, drill, 5 ½-inch circular saw and reciprocating saw costs about $150. The kit even includes a spare battery. 

I bought it, and pledged never to pick up the saws without heeding Mr. Dickinson’s warning.
Mr. Dickinson, who runs a firm in Connecticut, chose as his top tool recommendation a multipiece drilling-and-driving set, which vastly expands the utility of a cordless drill. 

“This thing has changed my life,” he said. “I can be fearless when I attack a job, because no matter what I might need, it’s all here.” 

His set is a DeWalt 80-piece drill-and-drive set, which sells for about $30 and includes nut-setters, roughly 20 drill bits and more than 50 screw-driving tips. For those with more specialized woodworking needs, Ryobi sells a 90-piece drill-and-drive set that includes tools for boring and circular cuts. 

With a multipiece kit, Mr. Dickinson said, you can choose bits of different sizes and shapes that come in handy if, for instance, you are trying to remove a screw that someone stripped as it was put in place. 

In other words, I’ll be able to deal with all of the screws I previously wrecked, for lack of the proper screwdriver. It will also help replace some of the driver bits that mysteriously disappeared the last time my teenage son used them. 

If I’m going to embark on more ambitious home improvement projects, I should resign myself to making a mess of the workspace. 

On this front, Mr. Bock made a nice recommendation: a wet-dry vacuum, more commonly known as a Shop-Vac. They’re far less expensive than I’d previously imagined (a Ridgid six-gallon model is $47), and they’ll suck up substances that would destroy a typical vacuum. 

“You don’t think of it as a tool,” he said, “but you get addicted to it.” 

Slightly less addictive is the noise it generates, which is like what you’d hear if you were strapped to the deck of an aircraft carrier. 

Grab some earmuffs, Mr. Bock suggested (ones by MSA Safety Works cost around $18), or a good set of earplugs (3M TEKK Protection, $3 for seven pairs), if you can wear them comfortably. 

Also on the list of low-tech tools were a few that can help save homeowners from writing big checks to contractors. 

Mr. Vila suggested an auger for unclogging toilets or drains. “Plumbers charge such enormous amounts that for $15 you might be able to do a serious unclogging that saves you a lot of dough,” he said. 

I found none for $15, but I did find a three-foot Ridgid toilet auger that cost about $34, and a six-foot model that was $50. Both would pay for themselves in the time it would take a plumber to walk from his truck to your front door. 

Another of Mr. Vila’s favorite money-saving gadgets is a spline ($5 for a Home Depot brand), which is a specialty tool for replacing screens. “Once you get the hang of it, it’s easy,” he said. “And if you have someone else do it for you, it triples the cost.” 

Mr. Vila suggested a set of wire strippers as well ($16 for Klein Tools wire strippers). “If you’ve ever tried to rewire an old lamp, they’re very handy,” he said. 

He also recommended a hatchet. But as I studied a shelf filled with shiny, expensive blades, I backed into a display for a Workmate portable workbench ($30) and got that instead. 

I can’t count the number of times I’ve tried to fix a bike as it squirms atop a garbage can, or pushed a circular saw within centimeters of the pavement, simply for lack of a proper work surface.

I also can’t count the number of jobs I’ve avoided for the same reason. I grabbed a Workmate and the rest of my new tools, and headed home for my long-overdue door-modification project. 

The door belongs to a guest bathroom, and since it is almost an inch and a half too short for the doorway, people who use the bathroom have little aural privacy. 

I pulled the door from its hinges, steadied it on the Workmate (which took about a half-hour to assemble), drove to the lumberyard for a $2 piece of wood, drilled pilot holes in the wood, added some wood glue and secured the piece with a few screws. 

It was too big by a hair, so I trimmed the piece with the circular saw, and the deed was done. At last.
Next to that door, the most vexing characteristic of my house is the lack of light on the eastern side, which makes my office cavelike in the morning. A window would make a huge difference. All I need is a framing tutorial and something to cut a hole through wallboard, studs and aluminum siding.
I think I’ve got just the tool for the job.
 
Storage Options for Tools
 
AN ambitious set of tools can help you take on projects you once feared, but only if you keep track of your new equipment. Construction industry veterans have developed a long list of home-brewed solutions for organizing their tools and supplies. 

Duo Dickinson, author of “Staying Put,” a home renovation book, recently bought an angler’s tackle box to hold loose items. “All the respectable D.I.Y. guys have one,” he said. “In a world with Ikea, you find yourself with all sorts of hardware you have no use for whatsoever. But you don’t want to throw it away, either. Now you have a place to store all this stuff.” 

Toolboxes are usually big enough to contain the old-school arsenal, but if your arsenal includes power tools, a cheaper and more versatile alternative is a five-gallon bucket. Manufacturers like Bucket Boss and others make sleeves that slip onto buckets, and have multiple pockets for tools and supplies (the Bucket Boss 56 costs around $30). Power tools can fit into the bucket, while the supporting cast fits in elsewhere.

Lykke Li sings I Follow Rivers



Oh I beg you, can I follow
Oh I ask you why not always
Be the ocean where unravel
Be my only, be the water and I'm wading
You're my river running high, run deep run wild

[Chorus]
I I follow, I follow you deep sea baby
I follow you
I I follow, I follow you, dark boom honey
I follow you

He a message, I'm the runner
He's the rebel, I'm the daughter waiting for you
You're my river running high, run deep run wild

[Chorus]
I I follow, I follow you deep sea baby
I follow you
I I follow, I follow you, dark boom honey
I follow you

You're my river running high, run deep run wild
I, I follow, I follow you deep sea baby,
I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you, dark boom honey,
I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you deeps sea baby,
I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you, dark boom honey,
I follow you

[Repeat till end]
I, I follow, I follow you deeps sea baby,
I follow you
I, I follow, I follow you, dark boom honey,
I follow you

Lykke Li sings Sadness is a Blessing



My wounded rhymes make silent cries tonight
My wounded rhymes make silent cries tonight
And I keep it like a burning(?)
I'm longing from a distance
I ranted, I pleaded, I beg him not to go
For sorrow, the only lover I've ever known
Sadness is a blessing
Sadness is a pearl
Sadness is my boyfriend  
Oh, sadness I'm your girl
These scars of mine make wounded rhymes tonight
I dream of times when you were mine so I  
Can keep it like a haunting  
Heart beating close to mine
Sadness is a blessing  
Sadness is a pearl
Sadness is my boyfriend
Oh, sadness I'm your girl
I ranted, I pleaded, I beg him not to go
For sorrow, the only lover I've ever known
Every night I rant, I plead, I beg him not to go
Will sorrow be the only lover I can call my own?
Sadness is a blessing
Sadness is a pearl  
Sadness is my boyfriend  
Oh, sadness I'm your girl  
Sadness is my boyfriend  
Oh, sadness I'm your girl  
Oh, sadness I'm your girl


 

Carl Sagan: The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space



In his book Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space, the astronomer Carl Sagan related his thoughts on a deeper meaning of the photograph:
"We succeeded in taking that picture [from deep space], and, if you look at it, you see a dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever lived, lived out their lives. The aggregate of all our joys and sufferings, thousands of confident religions, ideologies and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilizations, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every hopeful child, every mother and father, every inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every superstar, every supreme leader, every saint and sinner in the history of our species, lived there on a mote of dust, suspended in a sunbeam.
The earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that in glory and in triumph they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of the dot on scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner of the dot. How frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity – in all this vastness – there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. It is up to us. It's been said that astronomy is a humbling, and I might add, a character-building experience. To my mind, there is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly and compassionately with one another and to preserve and cherish that pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known."

01 February 2012

Poems by Tomas Tranströmer, Nobel Prize winner for Literature in 2011

From The Sorrow Gondola - the great Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer's first collection of poems after his stroke in 1990. Translated by Michael McGriff.





April and Silence
Spring lies deserted.
The velvet-dark ditch
crawls by my side without reflections.
All that shines
are yellow flowers.
I’m carried in my shadow
like a violin in its black case.
The only thing I want to say
gleams out of reach
like the silver
in a pawnshop.

Landscape with Suns
The sun emerges from behind the house
stands in the middle of the street
and breathes on us
with its red wind.
Innsbruck I must leave you.
But tomorrow
there will be a glowing sun
in the gray, half-dead forest
where we must work and live.

Midwinter
A blue light
radiates from my clothing.
Midwinter.
Clattering tambourines of ice.
I close my eyes.
There is a silent world
there is a crack
where the dead
are smuggled across the border.


From The Half-Finished Heaven: The Best Poems of Tomas Tranströmer.  Translated by Robert Bly.





After a Death  

Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.

One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
through brush where a few leaves hang on.
They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
Names swallowed by the cold.

It is still beautiful to hear the heart beat
but often the shadow seems more real than the body.
The samurai looks insignificant
beside his armor of black dragon scales.

Outskirts  

Men in overalls the same color as earth rise from a ditch.
It's a transitional place, in stalemate, neither country nor city.
Construction cranes on the horizon want to take the big leap,
   but the clocks are against it.
Concrete piping scattered around laps at the light with cold tongues.
Auto-body shops occupy old barns.
Stones throw shadows as sharp as objects on the moon surface.
And these sites keep on getting bigger
like the land bought with Judas' silver: "a potter's field for 
   burying strangers."
 

Allegro
 
After a black day, I play Haydn,
and feel a little warmth in my hands.
The keys are ready. Kind hammers fall.
The sound is spirited, green, and full of silence.
The sound says that freedom exists
and someone pays no tax to Caesar.
I shove my hands in my haydnpockets
and act like a man who is calm about it all.
I raise my haydnflag. The signal is:
"We do not surrender. But want peace."
The music is a house of glass standing on a slope;
rocks are flying, rocks are rolling.
The rocks roll straight through the house
but every pane of glass is still whole.

From The Great Enigma: New Collected Poems.  Translated by Robin Fulton.

Allegro

I play Haydn after a black day
and feel a simple warmth in my hands.
The keys are willing. Soft hammers strike.
The resonance green, lively and calm.
The music says freedom exists
and someone doesn't pay the emperor tax.
I push down my hands in my Haydnpockets
and imitate a person looking on the world calmly.
I hoist the Haydnflag - it signifies:
"We don't give in. But want peace.'

The music is a glass-house on the slope
where the stones fly, the stones roll.
And the stones roll right through
but each pane stays whole.

Allegro

Jag spelar Haydn efter en svart dag
och känner en enkel värme i händerna.
Tangenterna vill. Milda hammare slår.
Klangen är grön, livlig och stilla.
Klangen säger att friheten finns
och att någon inte ger kejsaren skatt.
Jag kör ner händerna i mina haydnfickor
och härmar en som ser lugnt på världen.
Jag hissar haydnflaggan – det betyder:
»Vi ger oss inte. Men vill fred.«
Musiken är ett glashus på sluttningen
där stenarna flyger, stenarna rullar.
Och stenarna rullar tvärs igenom
men varje ruta förblir hel.
Ur Den halvfärdiga himlen, Bonniers 1962
Copyright © Tomas Tranströmer 1962
Återgiven med vänligt tillstånd av Tomas Tranströmer och Bonniers
Dikten vald av Lars Rydquist, chefsbibliotekarie, Svenska Akademiens Nobelbibliotek

The Half-Finished Heaven

Despondency breaks off its course.
Anguish breaks off its course.
The vulture breaks off its flight.
The eager light streams out,
even the ghosts take a draught.
And our paintings see daylight,
our red beasts of the ice-age studios.
Everything begins to look around.
We walk in the sun in hundreds.
Each man is a half-open door
leading to a room for everyone.
The endless ground under us.
The water is shinig among the trees.
The lake is a window into the earth.

Den halvfärdiga himlen

Modlösheten avbryter sitt lopp.
Ångesten avbryter sitt lopp.
Gamen avbryter sin flykt.
Det ivriga ljuset rinner fram,
även spökena tar sig en klunk.
Och våra målningar kommer i dagen,
våra istidsateljéers röda djur.
Allting börjar se sig omkring.
Vi går i solen hundratals.
Var människa en halvöppen dörr
som leder till ett rum för alla.
Den oändliga marken under oss.
Vattnet lyser mellan träden.
Insjön är ett fönster mot jorden.
Ur Den halvfärdiga himlen, Bonniers 1962
Copyright © Tomas Tranströmer 1962
Återgiven med vänligt tillstånd av Tomas Tranströmer och Bonniers

Under Pressure

The blue sky's engine-drone is deafening.
We're living here on a shuddering work-site
where the ocean depths can suddenly open up -
shells and telephones hiss.
You can see beauty only from the side, hastily,
The dense grain on the field, many colours in a yellow stream.
The restless shadows in my head are drawn there.
They want to creep into the grain and turn to gold.
Darkness falls. At midnight I go to bed.
The smaller boat puts out from the larger boat.
You are alone on the water.
Societty's dark hull drifts further and further away.

Under tryck

Den blå himlens motordån är starkt.
Vi är närvarande på en arbetsplats i darrning,
där havsdjupet plötsligt kan uppenbara sig –
snäckor och telefoner susar.
Det sköna hinner man bara se hastigt från sidan.
Den täta säden på åkern, många färger i en gul ström.
De oroliga skuggorna i mitt huvud dras dit.
De vill krypa in i säden och förvandlas till guld.
Mörkret faller. Vid midnatt går jag till sängs.
Den mindre båten sätts ut från den större båten.
Man är ensam på vattnet.
Samhällets mörka skrov driver allt längre bort.
Ur Klanger och spår, Bonniers 1966
Copyright © Tomas Tranströmer 1966
Återgiven med vänligt tillstånd av Tomas Tranströmer och Bonniers

Open and Closed Spaces

A man feels the world with his work like a glove.
He rests for a while at midday having laid aside the gloves on the shelf.
There they suddenly grow, spread
and black-out the whole house from inside.
The blacked-out house is away out among the winds of spring.
'Amnesty,' runs the whisper in the grass: 'amnesty.'
A boy sprints with an invisible line slanting up in the sky
where his wild dream of the future flies lika a kite bigger than the
             suburb.
Further north you can see from a summit the blue endless carpet of
             pine forest
where the cloud shadows
are standing still.
No, are flying.

Öppna och slutna rum

En man känner på världen med yrket som en handske.
Han vilar en stund mitt på dagen och har lagt ifrån sig
                         handskarna på hyllan.
Där växer de plötsligt, breder ut sig
och mörklägger hela huset inifrån.
Det mörklagda huset är mitt ute bland vårvindarna.
»Amnesti« går viskningen i gräset: »amnesti«.
En pojke springer med en osynlig lina som går snett
                         upp i himlen
där hans vilda dröm om framtiden flyger som en drake
                         större än förstaden.
Längre norrut ser man från en höjd den blå oändliga
                         barrskogsmattan
där molnskuggorna
står stilla.
Nej, flyger fram.
Ur Klanger och spår, Bonniers 1966
Copyright © Tomas Tranströmer 1966
Återgiven med vänligt tillstånd av Tomas Tranströmer och Bonniers

The Nightingale in Badelunda

In the green midnight at the nightingale's northern limit. Heavy leaves hang in trance, the deaf cars race towards the neon-line. The nightingale's voice rises without wavering to the side, it is as penetrating as a cock-crow, but beautiful and free of vanity. I was in prison and it visited me. I was sick and it visited me. I didn't notice it then, but I do now. Time streams down from the sun and the moon and into all the tick-tock-thankful clocks. But right here there is no time. Only the nightingale's voice, the raw resonant notes that whet the night sky's gleaming scythe.

Näktergalen i Badelunda

I den gröna midnatten vid näktergalens nordgräns. Tunga löv hänger i trance, de döva bilarna rusar mot neonlinjen. Näktergalens röst stiger inte åt sidan, den är lika genomträngande som en tupps galande, men skön och utan fåfänga. Jag var i fängelse och den besökte mig. Jag var sjuk och den besökte mig. Jag märkte den inte då, men nu. Tiden strömmar ned från solen och månen och in i alla tick tack tick tacksamma klockor. Men just här finns ingen tid. Bara näktergalens röst, de råa klingande tonerna som slipar natthimlens ljusa lie.
Ur För levande och döda, Bonniers 1989
Copyright © Tomas Tranströmer 1989
Återgiven med vänligt tillstånd av Tomas Tranströmer och Bonniers

The Couple
 
They switch off the light and its white shade
glimmers for a moment before dissolving
like a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then up.
The hotel walls rise into the black sky.
The movements of love have settled, and they sleep
but their most secret thoughts meet as when
two colors meet and flow into each other
on the wet paper of a schoolboy’s painting.
It is dark and silent. But the town has pulled closer
tonight. With quenched windows. The houses have approached.
They stand close up in a throng, waiting,
a crowd whose faces have no expressions.

National Insecurity
 
The Under Secretary leans forward and draws an X
and her ear-drops dangle like swords of Damocles.
As a mottled butterfly is invisible against the ground
so the demon merges with the opened newspaper.
A helmet worn by no one has taken power.
The mother-turtle flees flying under the water.

November in the Former DDR


The almighty cyclop’s-eye clouded over
and the grass shook itself in the coal dust.

Beaten black and blue by the night’s dreams
we board the train
that stops at every station
and lays eggs.

Almost silent.
The clang of the church bells’ buckets
fetching water.
And someone’s inexorable cough
scolding everything and everyone.

A stone idol moves its lips:
it’s the city.
Ruled by iron-hard misunderstandings
among kiosk attendants butchers
metal-workers naval officers
iron-hard misunderstandings, academics!

How sore my eyes are!
They’ve been reading by the faint glimmer of the glow-worm   lamps.

November offers caramels of granite.
Unpredictable!
Like world history
laughing at the wrong place.

But we hear the clang
of the church bells’ buckets fetching water
every Wednesday
- is it Wednesday? -
so much for our Sundays!

The Indoors is Endless


It’s spring in 1827, Beethoven
hoists his death-mask and sails off.

The grindstones are turning in Europe’s windmills.
The wild geese are flying northwards.

Here is the north, here is Stockholm
swimming palaces and hovels.

The logs in the royal fireplace
collapse from Attention to At Ease.

Peace prevails, vaccine and potatoes,
but the city wells breathe heavily.

Privy barrels in sedan chairs like paschas
are carried by night over the North Bridge.

The cobblestones make them stagger
mamselles loafers gentlemen.

Implacably still, the sign-board
with the smoking blackamoor.

So many islands, so much rowing
with invisible oars against the current!

The channels open up, April May
and sweet honey dribbling June.

The heat reaches islands far out.
The village doors are open, except one.

The snake-clock’s pointer licks the silence.
The rock slopes glow with geology’s patience.

It happened like this, or almost.
It is an obscure family tale

about Erik, done down by a curse
disabled by a bullet through the soul.

He went to town, met an enemy
and sailed home sick and grey.

Keeps to his bed all that summer.
The tools on the wall are in mourning.

He lies awake, hears the woolly flutter
of night moths, his moonlight comrades.

His strength ebbs out, he pushes in vain
against the iron-bound tomorrow.

And the God of the depths cries out of the depths
‘Deliver me! Deliver yourself!’

All the surface action turns inwards.
He’s taken apart, put together.

The wind rises and the wild rose bushes
catch on the fleeing light.

The future opens, he looks into
the self-rotating kaleidoscope

sees indistinct fluttering faces
family faces not yet born.

By mistake his gaze strikes me
as I walk around here in Washington

among grandiose houses where only   
every second column bears weight.

White buildings in crematorium style
where the dream of the poor turns to ash.

The gentle downward slope gets steeper
and imperceptibly becomes an abyss.


Further In

On the main road into the city
when the sun is low.
The traffic thickens, crawls.
It is a sluggish dragon glittering.
I am one of the dragon’s scales.
Suddenly the red sun is
right in the middle of the windscreen
streaming in.
I am transparent
and writing becomes visible
inside me
words in invisible ink
which appear
when the paper is held to the fire!
I know I must get far away
straight through the city and then
further until it is time to go out
and walk far in the forest.
Walk in the footprints of the badger.
It gets dark, difficult to see.
In there on the moss lie stones.
One of the stones is precious.
It can change everything
it can make the darkness shine.
It is a switch for the whole country.
Everything depends on it.
Look at it, touch it…

The Tree and the Sky

There’s a tree walking around in the rain,
it rushes past us in the pouring grey.
It has an errand. It gathers life
out of the rain like a blackbird in an orchard.
When the rain stops so does the tree.
There it is, quiet on clear nights
waiting as we do for the moment
when the snowflakes blossom in space.


Winter's Gaze
I lean like a ladder and with my face
reach into the second floor of the cherry tree.
I'm inside the bell of colours, it chimes with sunlight.
I polish off the swarthy red berries faster than four magpies.
At once, after this joyously sunny opening, the tone darkens:
A sudden chill, from a great distance, meets me.
The moment blackens
and remains like an axe-cut in a tree-trunk.

The Couple
They turn the light off, and its white globe glows
an instant and then dissolves, like a tablet
in a glass of darkness. Then a rising.
The hotel walls shoot up into heaven’s darkness.
Their movements have grown softer, and they sleep,
but their most secret thoughts begin to meet
like two colors that meet and run together
on the wet paper in a schoolboy’s painting.
It is dark and silent. The city however has come nearer
tonight. With its windows turned off. Houses have come.
They stand packed and waiting very near,
a mob of people with blank faces.

After a Death
Once there was a shock
that left behind a long, shimmering comet tail.
It keeps us inside. It makes the TV pictures snowy.
It settles in cold drops on the telephone wires.
One can still go slowly on skis in the winter sun
through brush where a few leaves hang on.
They resemble pages torn from old telephone directories.
Names swallowed by the cold.
It is still beautiful to feel the heart beat
but often the shadow seems more real than the body.
The samurai looks insignificant
beside his armour of black dragon scales.


Solitude (I)


translted by Robin Robertson

I was nearly killed here, one night in February.
My car shivered, and slewed sideways on the ice,
right across into the other lane. The slur of traffic
came at me with their lights.
My name, my girls, my job, all
slipped free and were left behind, smaller and smaller,
further and further away. I was a nobody:
a boy in a playground, suddenly surrounded.
The headlights of the oncoming cars
bore down on me as I wrestled the wheel through a slick
of terror, clear and slippery as egg-white.
The seconds grew and grew – making more room for me –
stretching huge as hospitals.
I almost felt that I could rest
and take a breath
before the crash.
Then something caught: some helpful sand
or a well-timed gust of wind. The car
snapped out of it, swinging back across the road.
A signpost shot up and cracked, with a sharp clang,
spinning away in the darkness.
And it was still. I sat back in my seat-belt
and watched someone tramp through the whirling snow
to see what was left of me.


TO CITE THIS PAGE:
MLA style: "Tomas Tranströmer - Poetry". Nobelprize.org. 22 Oct 2011 http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/2011/transtromer-poetry.html

What are the 100 most common words in the English language?





The First Hundred
  1. the
  2. of
  3. and
  4. a
  5. to
  6. in
  7. is
  8. you
  9. that
  10. it
  11. he
  12. was
  13. for
  14. on
  15. are
  16. as
  17. with
  18. his
  19. they
  20. I
  1. at
  2. be
  3. this
  4. have
  5. from
  6. or
  7. one
  8. had
  9. by
  10. word
  11. but
  12. not
  13. what
  14. all
  15. were
  16. we
  17. when
  18. your
  19. can
  20. said
  1. there
  2. use
  3. an
  4. each
  5. which
  6. she
  7. do
  8. how
  9. their
  10. if
  11. will
  12. up
  13. other
  14. about
  15. out
  16. many
  17. then
  18. them
  19. these
  20. so
  1. some
  2. her
  3. would
  4. make
  5. like
  6. him
  7. into
  8. time
  9. has
  10. look
  11. two
  12. more
  13. write
  14. go
  15. see
  16. number
  17. no
  18. way
  19. could
  20. people
  1. my
  2. than
  3. first
  4. water
  5. been
  6. call
  7. who
  8. oil
  9. its
  10. now
  11. find
  12. long
  13. down
  14. day
  15. did
  16. get
  17. come
  18. made
  19. may
  20. part
Taken From: The Reading Teachers Book of Lists, Third Edition; by Edward Bernard Fry, Ph.D, Jacqueline E. Kress, Ed.D & Dona Lee Fountoukidis, Ed.D.

 For the next 900 words, please see this list.

Three of the words come from Old Norse:  "they", "their", and "them"
One is derived from French:  "number"
The rest come from Old English.
This info is from   

Religion for Atheists, by Alain de Botton



Synopsis

What if religions are neither all true nor all nonsense? The long-running and often boring debate between fundamentalist believers and non-believers is finally moved forward by Alain de Botton’s inspiring new book, which boldly argues that the supernatural claims of religion are entirely false—but that it still has some very important things to teach the secular world.

Religion for Atheists suggests that rather than mocking religion, agnostics and atheists should instead steal from it—because the world’s religions are packed with good ideas on how we might live and arrange our societies. Blending deep respect with total impiety, de Botton (a non-believer himself) proposes that we look to religion for insights into how to, among other concerns, build a sense of community, make our relationships last, overcome feelings of envy and inadequacy, inspire travel and reconnect with the natural world.

For too long non-believers have faced a stark choice between either swallowing some peculiar doctrines or doing away with a range of consoling and beautiful rituals and ideas. At last, in Religion for Atheists, Alain de Botton has fashioned a far more interesting and truly helpful alternative.

Excerpt

from Part One: Wisdom without Doctrine
 
1.
The most boring and unproductive question one can ask of any religion is whether or not it is true – in terms of being handed down from heaven to the sound of trumpets and supernaturally governed by prophets and celestial beings.

To save time, and at the risk of losing readers painfully early on in this project, let us bluntly state that of course no religions are true in any God-given sense. This is a book for people who are unable to believe in miracles, spirits or tales of burning shrubbery, and have no deep interest in the exploits of unusual men and women like the thirteenth-century saint Agnes of Montepulciano, who was said to be able to levitate two feet off the ground while praying and to bring children back from the dead – and who, at the end of her life (supposedly), ascended to heaven from southern Tuscany on the back of an angel.

2.
Attempting to prove the non-existence of God can be an entertaining activity for atheists. Tough-minded critics of religion have found much pleasure in laying bare the idiocy of believers in remorseless detail, finishing only when they felt they had shown up their enemies as thorough-going simpletons or maniacs.

Though this exercise has its satisfactions, the real issue is not whether God exists or not, but where to take the argument once one decides that he evidently doesn’t. The premise of this book is that it must be possible to remain a committed atheist and nevertheless find religions sporadically useful, interesting and consoling – and be curious as to the possibilities of importing certain of their ideas and practices into the secular realm.

One can be left cold by the doctrines of the Christian Trinity and the Buddhist Eightfold Path and yet at the same time be interested in the ways in which religions deliver sermons, promote morality, engender a spirit of community, make use of art and architecture, inspire travels, train minds and encourage gratitude at the beauty of spring. In a world beset by fundamentalists of both believing and secular varieties, it must be possible to balance a rejection of religious faith with a selective reverence for religious rituals and concepts.

It is when we stop believing that religions have been handed down from above or else that they are entirely daft that matters become more interesting. We can then recognize that we invented religions to serve two central needs which continue to this day and which secular society has not been able to solve with any particular skill: first, the need to live together in communities in harmony, despite our deeply rooted selfish and violent impulses. And second, the need to cope with terrifying degrees of pain which arise from our vulnerability to professional failure, to troubled relationships, to the death of loved ones and to our decay and demise. God may be dead, but the urgent issues which impelled us to make him up still stir and demand resolutions which do not go away when we have been nudged to perceive some scientific inaccuracies in the tale of the seven loaves and fishes.

The error of modern atheism has been to overlook how many aspects of the faiths remain relevant even after their central tenets have been dismissed. Once we cease to feel that we must either prostrate ourselves before them or denigrate them, we are free to discover religions as repositories of a myriad ingenious concepts with which we can try to assuage a few of the most persistent and unattended ills of secular life.

Table of Contents

Contents


I.      Wisdom without Doctrine
II.     Community
III.    Kindness
IV.    Education
V.     Tenderness
VI.    Pessimism
VII.   Perspective
VIII.  Art
IX.    Architecture
X.     Institutions

About Alain De Botton

Alain de Botton is the author of essays on themes ranging from love and travel to architecture and philosophy. His most recent work, Religion for Atheists, came out in March on 2012. His best-selling books include How Proust Can Change Your Life, The Art of Travel and The Architecture of Happiness. He lives in London, where he is the founder and chairman of The School of Life (www.theschooloflife.com) and the creative director of Living Architecture (www.living-architecture.co.uk). Visit him at: www.alaindebotton.com.

Author Q&A

Q+A: Religion for Atheists


1) One of the premises of your book is that living without God is dangerous, can you explain why? Which are the dangers?In my book, I argue that believing in God is, for me as for many others, simply not possible. At the same time, I do want to suggest that if you remove this belief, there are particular dangers that open up - we don't need to fall into these dangers, but they are there and we should be aware of them. For a start, there is the danger of individualism: of placing the human being at the center stage of everything. Secondly, there is the danger of technological perfectionism; of believing that science and technology can overcome all human problems, that it is just a matter of time before scientists have cured us of the human condition. Thirdly, without God, it is easier to lose perspective: to see our own times as everything, to forget the brevity of the present moment and to cease to appreciate (in a good way) the miniscule nature of our own achievements. And lastly, without God, there can be a danger that the need for empathy and ethical behaviour can be overlooked.
   Now, it is important to stress that it is quite possible to believe in nothing and remember all these vital lessons (just as one can be a deep believer and a monster). I am simply wanting to draw attention to some of the gaps, some of what is missing, when we dismiss God too brusquely. By all means, we can dismiss him, but with great sympathy, nostalgia, care and thought...


2) Is it possible to be a good person without religion?
The problem of the man without religion is that he forgets. We all know in theory what we should do to be good. The problem is that in practice, we forget. And we forget because the modern secular world always thinks that it is enough to tell someone something once (be good, remember the poor etc.) But all religions disagree here: they insist that if anyone is to stand a chance of remembering anything, they need reminders on a daily, perhaps even hourly basis.


3) What do you think of the aggressive atheism we have seen in the past few years?I am an atheist, but a gentle one. I don't feel the need to mock anyone who believes. I really disagree with the hard tone of some atheists who approach religion like a silly fairy tale. I am deeply respectful of religion, but I believe none of its supernatural aspects. So my position is perhaps unusual: I am at once very respectful and completely impious.


4) a) What is it you're most interested in in religion?
The secular world believes that if we have good ideas, we will be reminded of them just when it matters. Religions don't agree. They are all about structure; they want to build calendars for us, that will make sure that we regularly encounter reminders of significant concepts. That is what rituals are: they are attempts to make vivid to us things we already know, but are likely to have forgotten. Religions are also keen to see us as more than just rational minds, we are emotional and physical creatures, and therefore, we need to be seduced via our bodies and our senses too: this was always the great genius of Catholicism. If you want to change someone's ideas, don't only concentrate on their ideas, concentrate on their whole selves.

b) Is it really possible to distinguish, as you do, between faith and the “technicalities” of religion? To reject faith and to save something similar to pray, church, religious rituals?
I absolutely believe that this is possible. I am writing for the sort of reader who thinks, 'I really can't believe in anything supernatural, the supernatural side of religion is impossible for me BUT I love so much here: the ritual, the architecture, the music, the connection with the past...' Why should we be forced to make such a brutal choice? Why is it 'either you have to believe in all kinds of implausible things, but then you get some great architecture etc.' OR, you believe in nothing supernatural, and you are then cast out into a world dominated by IKEA and CNN... The choice doesn't have to be so brutal.

5) You also propose to reform schools and universities to teach humans how to deal with, not knowledge, but the most important existential problems, loneliness, pain and death for example. You even propose to abolish the teaching of history and literature, two basic humanities. Why? Is knowledge so unimportant? Can existential lessons be taught at school?The starting point of religion is that we are children, and we need guidance. The secular world often gets offended by this. It assumes that all adults are mature - and therefore, it hates didacticism, it hates the idea of guidance and moral instruction. But of course we are children, big children who need guidance and reminders of how to live. And yet the modern education system denies this. It treats us all as far too rational, reasonable, in control. We are far more desperate than the modern education system recognises. All of us are on the edge of panic and terror pretty much all the time - and religions recognise this. We need to build a similar awareness into secular structures.

6) Are you nostalgic for the deeply religious past?
Like many people, of course I feel nostalgic. How is it possible not to feel nostalgic when you look at 15th frescoes or the rituals of an ancient carnival? However, we have to ask: how should I respond to my nostalgia? My thought is that we can use it creatively, as the basis for a rebirth, for the creation of new things, for the creation of things that later generations will feel nostalgic about... So it frustrates me when people say things like, 'Well, they knew how to build in the 15th century, now it is impossible...' Why! Anything is possible. We should not sigh nostalgically over religion, we should learn from them. We should steal from them.

7) How do religions teach us?

Religions are fascinating because they are giant machines for making ideas vivid and real in people's lives: ideas about goodness, about death, family, community etc. Nowadays, we tend to believe that the people who make ideas vivid are artists and cultural figures, but this is such a small, individual response to a massive set of problems. So I am deeply interested in the way that religions are in the end institutions, giant machines, organisations, directed to managing our inner life. There is nothing like this in the secular world, and this seems a huge pity.

8) You say that our society lacks of collective rituals, a network of secular churches, of vast high spaces in which to escape from the hubbub of modern society and to focus on all that is beyond us. But what about the fact that whichever society tried to create an effective kind of propaganda in the name of virtue was, after the french revolution, a totalitarian regime in which the state itself became god?
We are too easily frightened here. So often, anytime that someone proposes a valid idea in this area, people say, but what about Hitler, or Stalin... This is not the choice. We can have public morality without fascism, we can even have certain kinds of censorship (for example, of pornography) without dictatorship, we can have great civic architecture which isn't done by governments for their own glory. It is right that people have been scared by certain tendencies in the 20th century, but we shouldnt' always be so unambitious about what we can do. We don't need to abandon ourselves to freemarket capitalism under the spiritual leadership of cable television.
   Much of modern moral thought has been transfixed by the idea that a collapse in belief must have irreparably damaged our capacity to build a convincing ethical framework for ourselves. But this argument, while apparently atheistic in nature, owes a strange, unwarranted debt to a religious mindset – for only if we truly believed at some level that God did exist, and that the foundations of morality were therefore in their essence supernatural, would the recognition of his nonexistence have any power to shake our moral principles.
However, if we assume from the start that we of course made God up, then the argument rapidly breaks down into a tautology – for why would we bother to feel burdened by ethical doubt if we knew that the many rules ascribed to supernatural beings were actually only the work of our all-too human ancestors?
The origins of religious ethics lie in the pragmatic need of our earliest communities to control their members' tendencies towards violence, and to foster in them contrary habits of harmony and forgiveness. Religious codes began as cautionary precepts, which were then projected into the sky and reflected back to earth in disembodied and majestic forms. Injunctions to be sympathetic or patient stemmed from an awareness that these were the qualities which could draw societies back from fragmentation and self-destruction. So vital were these rules to our survival that for thousands of years we did not dare to admit that we ourselves had formulated them, lest this expose them to critical scrutiny and irreverent handling. We had to pretend that morality came from the heavens in order to insulate it from our own prevarications and frailties.
   But if we can now own up to spiritualising our ethical laws, we have no cause to do away with the laws themselves. We continue to need exhortations to be sympathetic and just, even if we do not believe that there is a God who has a hand in wishing to make us so. We no longer have to be brought into line by the threat of Hell or the promise of Paradise; we merely have to be reminded that it is we ourselves – that is, the most mature and reasonable parts of us (seldom present in the midst of our crises and obsessions) – who want to lead the sort of lives which we once imagined supernatural beings demanded of us. An adequate evolution of morality from superstition to reason should mean recognising ourselves as the authors of our own moral commandments.


9) If we were to replace religion with a secular equivalent, who would be our gurus?

We don't need a central structure. We are beyond the age of gurus and inspirational leaders. We are in the age of the Wiki structure. This means that it is up to all of us to look at religion and see what bits we can steal and place into the modern world. We might all contribute to the construction of new temples, not the government, but the concerned, interested individual. The salvation of the individual soul remains a serious problem - even when we dismiss the idea of God. In the 20th century, capitalism has really solved (in the rich West) the material problems of a significant portion of mankind. But the spiritual needs are still in chaos, with religion ceasing to answer the need. This is why I wrote my book, to show that there remains a new way: a way of filling the modern world with so many important lessons from religion, and yet not needing to return to any kind of occult spirituality.  

10. Don’t you think that, in order to truly appreciate religious music and art, you have to be a believer – or, at least, don't you think that non-believers miss something important in the experience?
I am interested in the modern claim that we have now found a way to replace religion: with art. You often hear people say, 'Museums are our new churches'. It's a nice idea, but it's not true, and it's principally not true because of the way that museums are laid out and present art. They prevent anyone from having an emotional relationship with the works on display. They encourage an academic interest, but prevent a more didactic and therapeutic kind of contact. I recommend in my book that even if we don't believe, we learn to use art (even secular art) as a resource for comfort, identification, guidance and edification, very much what religions do with art.