Eleni Perforata in Ikaria 2 (March 27, 2006)


Oh wouldn’t it be dreamy nice if these ancient terrasses refilled; if not with vines (take so much time, work and money to grow), why not instead with Johanes Perforata?

One thing I know well: where I work they’d drink it by the gallons; they’d have it in samovars, one in every room and all around the place.

Then the economy of Ikaria …

… but again, isn’t it perhaps wiser that it stays as it is now : just a few vegetable gardens and the rest covered with white daisies? Who am I to advise on «island economics»? I am critisizing and blaming me for my weakness. I find me guilty of ‘imperialism’. But I won’t send me to the firing squad. The gods will intervene and say: «Let her go; she doesn’t mean to rule the island and change its ways. It’s just that it’s blooming spring and she is feeling lonely; there are so few people around her age there now to share this beauty, the acts and the ideas that go with this wealth. Let her go. This week she will only listen music by Chopin, next week it will be Schubert and the last week before Easter she will listen Bach’s Passion«.

I Imageshake hands with me Imageand I go free again. I have all those CDs. This has happened before, so I know and have taken my measures.

Comments

(9 total)

Ah, viniculture ! After the next episode of «The Story of Life», I challenge you: make an attempt to ‘see’ how it could be revived. Use the medieval parable of the dying vinegrower, his reluctant sons and the alleged treasure in the vineyard to help you start. ‘See’ a new set up, invent a new motivation. Or everybody in Greece will be public clerks on 400 euros a month.

Tuesday March 28, 2006 – 10:44pm (EEST)

Even heaven

Spring make me happy and fool. How can you be sad when the sun shines and the perforata blossoms?
living everyday in a «concrete jungle» I really wonder how can you only think to any antidepressive, there on the island perforata.
I know, even heaven is boring.

Tuesday March 28, 2006 – 11:27pm (CEST)

Yes, ‘see’ grapes growing Elle. The terraces were made for vines, were they not? And spring blossoms to make people happy fools!

Tuesday March 28, 2006 – 09:07pm (PST)

so, it’s 2-2 for spring blues. If the one of the two who don’t understand, (let’s say, Jimmy -lol) was Adam in Paradise, God wouldn’t have created Eve. Then again if Eve didn’t understand too much, there wouldn’t be all that mess afterwards.

-> oh, the grapes… I’ll see what I’ll ‘see’.
(how much does a finacial advisor make, btw?)

Wednesday March 29, 2006 – 09:53am (PST)

Cheer up Sister, if you are sad, I am too.

The Tuft of Flowers
I went to turn the grass once after one
Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen
Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;
I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,
And I must be, as he had been,–alone,

`As all must be,’ I said within my heart,
`Whether they work together or apart.’

But as I said it, swift there passed me by
On noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night
Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,
As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,
And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,
And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look
At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared
Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,
Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,
By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.
But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,
Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,
And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;
So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,
And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech
With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

`Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,
`Whether they work together or apart.’
–ROBERT FROST

Wednesday March 29, 2006 – 11:10am (PST)

of my taste, of my heart (and the rythm which sounds and beats like a song) –thank you –thank you

(btw do you type or copy-paste; hope it’s the second; if the first, ah ah, very very obliged…)
X

Wednesday March 29, 2006 – 12:22pm (PST)

Happy Adam

What a sad world if the both Adam and Eve were sad! So let Adam be sad and Eve be happy, or Adam be happy (let’s say Jimmy) and Eve be sad. This is the secret of love (and happiness), no matter if you’re in heven or hell.

grapes and happiness everywhere in every season
PPP

Thursday March 30, 2006 – 12:32am (CEST)

veuillez excusez my cyclothymic girlfriend; her psyche swirls on a spiral course.

-good poem that – thank you ‘face carved on stone’ for sharing

Thursday March 30, 2006 – 11:22am (EEST)

Elle, this one was cut and pasted for sure and yes, isn’t it lyrical?

Nana, notice that the face in stone, he’s winking😉

Thursday March 30, 2006 – 07:58am (PST)



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