For Poets Pamphleteers and Anarchists
national |
miscellaneous |
news report 
Tuesday October 01, 2002 15:53
by in memory of Christopher Daybell - Poets, anarchists and pamphleteers
billions at no dot tv
For poets pamphleteers and anarchists who stand upon the street and rant and charm and remember. without having to find an electricity outlet.
Three little songs to share.
The first´s title translated to english is
"The Basque country"
the first line is
"All the colours of green"
the first line of the third stanza is
"and water is always life"
El Pais Basc
Tots els colors del verdsota un cel de plom
que el sol vol trencar.
ots els colors del verd
en aquell mes de maig.
Tots els colors del verd
sota un cel ben tancat.
I l´aigua és sempre vida
entre muntanyes i valls.
I l´aigua és sempre vida
sota la grisor del cel.
Tots els colors del verd
en aquell mes de mai.
És tan vell i arrelat,
an antic com el temps
el dolor d´aquella ent
És an vell i arrelat
com ots els colos del verd
en aquell mes de maig.
Tots els colors del verd,
gora gora, diuen fort
la gent, la terra i el mar
allá al Pais Basc.
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For some reason it reminds me of:
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Duilleoga ar snámh,
Donn, geal is rua,
Ar abhainn na Life
ag seoladh le sruth.
Spréigh siad brat glas
Ar bharra na gcrann,
Ar fuaid cuibhreann is coillte,
I bfhad, i bfhad ó shin ann.
Duilleoga ar snámh,
Lá coech fómhair,
Ag iompar na háilleachta
Trí shráideanna dobhair.
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This first text is by Raimon (1940-)
a folk singer of Catalúnya
written in 1967
The second text is by
Séamas Ó Néill (1910-1981)
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LITERA SCRIPTA MANET_: LUCAS A NON LUCENDO :
which literally means; THE WRITTEN LETTER REMAINS
: A LIGHT FROM ITS NOT SHINING:
;(The word ´lucas´, a grove is derived from ´lucere´ to shine because the rays of the sun
are supposed rarely to penetrate through its folliage. The phrase is generally used to mark an
"absurd or discordant etymology".
-----------------------
WHICH IS EXACTLY WHY
ECHELON
FAILED
it could not see the wood for the trees.
-----------------------
ALL you are left with
is a single question;
At which TREE do we stop?
Comments (6 of 6)
Jump To Comment: 1 2 3 4 5 6which is exacly why
Echelon failed
it couldn´t see the wood for the trees.
"All you are left with is a
a single
question
at which TREE
do we stop?"
Echelon was derived from ancient Greek so they used to say before it meant.
http://www.echelonwatch.org
do some.
yes that´s why echelon failed.
what fallback is there for the supercomputers of Chomskyite linguistics to weigh, cut and ponder?
nowht, not a shrrkreeed.
If W.B. Yeats in 1923 is a terrorist,
then so too is Finnegans Wake.
we know that brutality is part of War.
we know that murder is part of War.
we have carried our worlds with names writ in stone, and others cried with tears yet the more eloquent for being lost to the keeing wind.
So we don't need videos or photographs to know the Hell that War makes of any mind.
We knew before what would pass.
Without names, without soundbytes,
without families and characters brought forth to occupy more than the proper 15 minutes of infamy.
from around the world in 80 days.
by jules verne.
the opening lines:-
Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of
the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed
always to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage,
about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man
of the world. People said that he resembled Byron--at least
that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron,
who might live on a thousand years without growing old.
Chris Daybell, had an insane regard for all things Byronesque. I doubt in kindness his passion for truth would have borne his heart through these last years. & perhaps he would have died of the same causes but in more suffering but shortly after.
The house of Sheridan, was the house where "gothic" literature in the English language began, as with every beginning scratched by an Irish Quill.
How odd that Jules Verne would place such a famous yet fictional "englishman" in such a wonderful Irish writers kasa.
I wish despite the insanity of these days, that Chris was about to riposte, and maybe accost the burgher of Grafton Street, Dawson Street, molesworth St, and beyond with a cheaply produced but very well put sheet of photocopied genius.
Christopher Daybell was a truly brilliant, but very emotionally-damaged person. I loved him, warts and all.
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