~ I can't decide which book to read first. What do you suggest?
Should it be
~ On another note - I had an awful week and not a very nice weekend. Thanks God, it's over!
Work has been crazy, work mates have been crazy and , to top it, I can't manage to understand malice, stupidity and non-creative minds. But then again, this week is over!
~ I'm off to bed:) Wish you a cool new week:)
xoxo
~~ PS: I really love this song
duminică, 12 septembrie 2010
duminică, 5 septembrie 2010
My books, my drawings
~~ My books
Ernest Hemingway - The Old Man and The Sea ;
Mary Shelley - Frankenstein ;
Salman Rushdie - Haroun and The Sea of Stories
~~ My (crappy) drawings
~ The Blue Alien and The Chocolate Bunny :D
~ The Blue Alien and The Chocolate Bunny :D
sâmbătă, 4 septembrie 2010
Hand in Hand
~ Yesterday, on my way home, I saw something very beautiful on the street – two people, a man and a woman, holding hands and walking slowly together. Old, limping, rusted…but still in love…maybe not the kind of crazy love you feel when you’re 20…perhaps not even the rational love you feel when you’re 40…maybe just the kind of love you feel when you’re 70…close to the end of the line…but still holding hands and hearts with your partner.
This reminded me of a poem my grandma used to tell me when I was little. And the poem goes like this:
This reminded me of a poem my grandma used to tell me when I was little. And the poem goes like this:
Watercolor
by Ion Minulescu
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
City dwellers, on the sidewalk,
Stroll hand in hand and cheek to cheek,
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week,
From under the old umbrellas, which moan and squeak
And can’t sustain
The wet burden of the rain,
City dwellers on the sidewalk,
Look like automatic puppets, straight out of the window shop.
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
Just one sound will fill the sidewalk:
It’s those walking hand in hand and cheek to cheek,
Counting
In their head
The cadence of the rain drops
Dripping from umbrellas,
From water pipes,
And from the brink
Of the sky, like a drink
Giving life--
Jaded,
Futile,
Full of strife.
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
An old man and an old lady –
Two mechanic, broken toys –
Walk hand in hand and cheek to cheek.
.....................
Acuarelă
de Ion Minulescu
În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Orăşenii, pe trotuare,
Merg ţinându-se de mână,
Şi-n oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână,
De sub vechile umbrele, ce suspină
Şi se-ndoaie,
Umede de-atâta ploaie,
Orăşenii pe trotuare
Par păpuşi automate, date jos din galantare.
În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Nu răsună pe trotuare
Decât paşii celor care merg ţinându-se de mână,
Numărând
În gând
Cadenţa picăturilor de ploaie,
Ce coboară din umbrele,
Din burlane
Şi din cer
Cu puterea unui ser
Dătător de viaţă lentă,
Monotonă,
Inutilă
Şi absentă...
În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Un bătrân şi o bătrână -
Două jucării stricate -
Merg ţinându-se de mână...
by Ion Minulescu
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
City dwellers, on the sidewalk,
Stroll hand in hand and cheek to cheek,
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week,
From under the old umbrellas, which moan and squeak
And can’t sustain
The wet burden of the rain,
City dwellers on the sidewalk,
Look like automatic puppets, straight out of the window shop.
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
Just one sound will fill the sidewalk:
It’s those walking hand in hand and cheek to cheek,
Counting
In their head
The cadence of the rain drops
Dripping from umbrellas,
From water pipes,
And from the brink
Of the sky, like a drink
Giving life--
Jaded,
Futile,
Full of strife.
In the city where it rains for just about three days a week
An old man and an old lady –
Two mechanic, broken toys –
Walk hand in hand and cheek to cheek.
.....................
Acuarelă
de Ion Minulescu
În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Orăşenii, pe trotuare,
Merg ţinându-se de mână,
Şi-n oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână,
De sub vechile umbrele, ce suspină
Şi se-ndoaie,
Umede de-atâta ploaie,
Orăşenii pe trotuare
Par păpuşi automate, date jos din galantare.
În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Nu răsună pe trotuare
Decât paşii celor care merg ţinându-se de mână,
Numărând
În gând
Cadenţa picăturilor de ploaie,
Ce coboară din umbrele,
Din burlane
Şi din cer
Cu puterea unui ser
Dătător de viaţă lentă,
Monotonă,
Inutilă
Şi absentă...
În oraşu-n care plouă de trei ori pe săptămână
Un bătrân şi o bătrână -
Două jucării stricate -
Merg ţinându-se de mână...
** Note: The translation is not mine:)
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