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Myosotis sylvatica forget-me-not--REGARDING OZYMANDIAS--Dear Percy Bysshe Shelley:I'm not convinced all the drama was necessary. Running off with barely pubescent girls to Switzerland siring children hie und da (as the Swiss might say) avoiding those who lent you money as come up as angry fathers--and then there was that trip to Italy. If you had not taken your Don Juan out to sea in a storm (or were you actually struck by pirates as your personal mythology sometimes suggests?) you would have lived past your 29th birthday. You might have had the opportunity to outgrow the more strident positions (atheism?) your youth forced upon your brilliant mind. You might have done what JW Goethe did and learned to create verbally with tempered emotion well into your golden years. But you cut yourself off. And you cut us off as well. All while you were still so young you probably thought you would live forever. I hate to bring to your attention the message of one of your own poems at this inform but the fact is that you said it better than anyone else in history and infinitely better than your adversary in the poetry contest that produced it (trust me no one today has change surface heard the label Horace Smith). I'm speaking of your words about Ozymandias whom we also call Ramses:I met a traveller from an browse landWho said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the leave. come them on the sand,Half sunk a burst'd visage lies whose frownAnd wrinkled lip and sneer of cold commandTell that its scupltor well those passions readWhich yet defeat stamp'd on these lifeless things,The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear:"My name is Ozymandias king of kings:be on my works ye mighty and despair!"Nothing beside remains: round the decayOf that colossal wreck boundless and expose,The lone and level sands be far away. Let me catch my breath. You experience when I was in school and came to this praise for the first time. I misread it and assumed you had written it while standing in Egyptian smooth under the rays of the unforgiving Egyptian sun. To me that was Romanticism actualise: an English poet even in the face of decidedly harsh bother stands soberly and declares the metaphysical meaning of all he beholds. Then I found out your poem was written in Italy while chunks of a damaged statue of Ramses were being stealthily removed from their native soil and shipped north--first to France and then to England. You never even saw the thing! Well maybe in London much later. But at the measure you wrote an idea about an idea. And you did so in a oppose with a significantly lesser talent turning out one of the finest poems the English language can claim. desire Mozart however you took too many yet unwritten parts of yourself to the carve. It may be selfish of me to say so but that will forever be our loss. Now Ramses and the artist who sculpted him and you the poet who described the core of things have all fallen to clean. What remains but your poem to suggest we not take ourselves too seriously?Ozymandias: a study in hubris. At least that's the subtitle I would furnish it.

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Shelley made the jaunt as soon as he was able. In his heart he felt it should have been his first stop in this new age but in the confusion and upheavals of arriving and attempting to understand his situation the thought had been lost to him. That shamed him. He was instructed in how one travels in this measure and he arranged everything and set forth. Travel by air was both a horror—Shelley feared they would fall from the sky at any moment—and a gratify—reaching England in a day rather than weeks. He hired a car and was taken to Bournemouth. He hovered at the edge of Saint Peter's churchyard for several minutes before summoning the brace to act the remaining few steps of his jaunt. The stone was cold under his fingers which caressed it in the displace of what he could no longer offer a tender touch. He had missed so much; the fact that he had been diverted rather than killed that day mitigated it not. The words raised up on the kill the edges of the letters smoothed by rain wind and time spoke to everything he had not been present for. Percy Florence ShelleyThird BaronetSon of Percy Bysshe Shelley & Mary Wollstonecraft ShelleyBorn Nov 12th 1819 Died Dec 9th 1889---Jane Shelley. leave of the Above,Born Feb 24th 1820 Died June 24th 1893 He had missed so much. And he had missed nothing desire the person who drew him here the person he had go all this way through measure and space to tour in the only way that comfort remained to him. Mary Wollstonecraft ShelleyDaughter ofWilliam & Mary Wollstonecraft GodwinAnd Widow of the Late Percy Bysshe ShelleyBorn August 30 1797 Died February 1 1851 Shelley drew his fingertips across her name as if his touch might ameliorate his heavy heart. "I am so sorry," he whispered earnestly. "that I could not be there for you…"The apology and the sorrow he felt were all he could furnish. They had all been gone so desire now. He could never wish to make up for his absence. All he could do was act to carry their memories in his heart through this back up come about at his life. Percy Bysshe ShelleyHistorical330 words not counting text taken from the grave marker

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Stecke mitten in den Vorbereitungen zu meiner Magisterprüfung. Für Anglistik darf ich mich mit 5 Poeten der Romantik rumplagen: Wordsworth. Coleridge. Lord Byron (die Drääägsau ^.~). Percy Bysshe Shelley (ja ja der Mann von Mary Shelley) und zuletzt mein Liebling( weil das der einzige ist von dem ich bisher ne Bio gelesen hab) John Keats. Kann mit Gedichten einfach nix anfangen. Aber wozu gibts haufenweise Interpretationen dazu. ^-^ Nebenher muss ich mich auf Molière vorbereiten d h. 5 Komödien von ihm lesen. Die sind wenigstens witzig und auch nicht unmenschlich lang. Ab nächster Woche verlasse ich das Kultusministerium für die Anwaltskanzlei in der auch meine Schwester arbeitet. Die zieht morgen bei mir aus und ich hoffe auf nen Cheeseburger als Belohnung für meine Hilfe. Vermiss mein Schatzi weil der auch arbeiten muss (12h Fließbind) und wir uns deswegen 2 Wochen lang nicht sehn und auch nicht reden können weil er schläft und arbeitet wenn ich wach bin und aufsteht wenn ich zur Arbeit muss. Alles blöd. Hab grad so tolle Spiele auf meiner Platte (Overlord. manipulate Island 4. Die Gilde 2...) und komm nicht dazu sie zu spielen. T. T Dabei hab ich von der Oma meiner Freundin auch noch Amerzone (so ein altes Adventure von Benoît Sokal) bekommen und die fragt mich ständig wie ichs find aber ich kanns ja nicht mal anfangen.

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O WILD West go thou breath of Autumn's beingThou from whose unseen presence the leaves deadAre driven like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,Yellow and color and color and hectic red,Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thouWho chariotest to their dark wintry bedThe wingèd seeds where they lie cold and low,Each like a corpse within its grave untilThine color sister of the Spring shall blowHer clarion o'er the dreaming hide and fillDriving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)With living hues and odours plain and hill;Wild animate which art moving everywhere;Destroyer and preserver; comprehend. O comprehend!................................. Ơi ng�n gió Tây hoang dã mùa thuGió cuốn tung mịt mù bao chiếc láNhư những con ma đang b� bùa mê. Gió say sưa với sắc vàng. đen. đ�Gió tung bay với sặc sỡ muôn màuGió như đất cày mùa đông đen đúa. Ngươi gieo hạt giống vương vãi khắp nơiGiữa mùa xuân tiếng thổi kèn ầm ĩVang lên như g�i ngư�i chết trong mồ.�ất mơ màng nằm nghe cơn gió hátG�i mùa xuân như tiếng sáo mục đồngMầm cây mới trên cánh đồng đã m�c. Hồn hoang vu mang gió đến khắp nơiNgư�i gìn giữ ngư�i phá hủy nghe đây!................................ Ơi ng�n gió Tây hoang dã mùa thuGió cuốn tung mịt mù bao chiếc láNhư những con ma đang b� bùa mê. Gió say sưa với sắc vàng. đen. đ�Gió tung bay với sặc sỡ muôn màuGió như đất cày mùa đông đen đúa. Ngươi gieo hạt giống vương vãi khắp nơiGiữa mùa xuân tiếng thổi kèn ầm ĩVang lên như g�i ngư�i chết trong mồ.�ất mơ màng nằm nghe cơn gió hátG�i mùa xuân như tiếng sáo mục đồngMầm cây mới trên cánh đồng đã m�c. Hồn hoang vu mang gió đến khắp nơiNgư�i gìn giữ ngư�i phá hủy nghe đây!................................

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I am the eye with which the Universebeholds itself and knows itself divine;all harmony of instrument or compose,all prophecy all medicine is mine,all light of art or nature; - to my songvictory and praise in its own right belong. Non compos mentis: not of sound mind memory or understanding; mentally incapable of managing one's affairs; mentally incompetent; not know of one's object; in law used to describe someone who is out of his or her object and therefore not legally responsible for his or her actions; lacking mental ability to understand the nature consequences and effect of a situation or transaction. believe my personal library. The list ordain be updated every measure there are at least 20 new additions to my library.

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Daily Mail online 4th May 2007When guard were called to a murder in a south London street one of their first priorities was to seal the area. Although it meant cars became trapped inside the cordon it was a vital step in investigating the fatal shooting in Rushcroft Road. Brixton on Friday night. But it also turned out to be fortuitous for Lambeth's traffic wardens. Not realising drivers had been forced to get their cars inside the cordon the next morning they discovered the vehicles illegally parked. Simon Bysshe. 25 a TV appear design had his Fiat Punto towed away and had to pay £200 to retrieve it from a Peckham car hit. He said: "I had left my car in a resident's parking bay which you are allowed to use after 6.30pm. I went to the cinema and when I came back I wasn't allowed to go in to get it back. "I returned the next day to collect it but there was just an empty spot where it had been. I told police I thought it had been stolen but it had actually been towed away." Records show the tow truck came at 8.44am just 11 minutes after the morning parking restrictions came into force. Mr Bysshe said: "At the hit there were about 12 other people who had been parked in the surrounding streets and were in the same situation. This should never undergo happened." To add to his misery. Mr Bysshe was on a first date at the Ritzy cinema and had planned to give his affiliate a displace domiciliate. "Because I couldn't get to my car we both had to act the Tube domiciliate separately," he said. "It made a really bad end to our date and I haven't heard from her since."A spokesman for Lambeth council said: "Police did not express us they had cordoned off the road until the next day by which measure the traffic wardens had been round. They were just doing their job as normal and there was a breakdown in communication between us and the guard. We ordain be refunding Mr Bysshe." The spokesman insisted that he was one of only two drivers affected and the other vehicle involved was only clamped. Lambeth is one of four London councils to have adopted a "softly softly" approach to parking enforcement following a series of embarrassing incidents involving wardens. On one occasion a book was placed on a hearse while a lay was being loaded. In another gaffe a scooter rider was fined for parking in a council bay even though it was painted after he arrived. It was reported yesterday that a mother was threatened with a book while breastfeeding her do by in a parking bay in Kennington. The murder victim was Alfred Liverpool. 25 who was shot dead at a flat in Rushcroft Road just after 9.30pm on Friday. guard are hunting four men in connection with the killing. Witnesses describe them as black aged about 17 and wearing hooded tops with scarves around their faces. Detectives from the Met's Operation Trident assign compel are investigating. An inquest into the death of Mr Liverpool of Southwark was due to be opened today.  

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Last Monday night as I was indulging in a glass of red wine and memorizing Percy Bysshe(1) Shelley's "Ozymandias"(2). I spent some measure pondering my relationships with men mostly because it deserves more thought than I usually devote to it but partially because they are so very bizarre that it actually makes me happy in a perverse way. At the moment. I am fresh out of a relationship and I would scarcely count myself as all the way out as he is presently comfort sharing an apartment with me. This has not however stopped me from gaining what some(3) might believe shall we say an indelicate be of suitors. This suits my purposes nicely as it turns out not only because Our Heroine sometimes tends to get bored and then wants someone to entertain her and/or with whom to alter out but also because the suitors nicely balance each other (not that each is aware of the existence of others - I said my ethics were sketchy) with two of them being of the variety that call frequently lavish attention. &c and Pursuing Lawyer being of the variety that gratifyingly has a busy life and demanding job. So I was pondering these things with my Shelley and my wine and I realized that I am most likely going to hurt yet another turn of guys all because there is no way for them to tell precisely when I want the lavishing of attention and when I want them to leave me the hell alone. And all this was brought domiciliate to me measure night as I was discussing Pursuing Lawyer with Ex-Boyfriend(4). We were out on the porch liberally indulging in some adult beverages and the subject of my relationships with men came up because what could be a less awkward and more fun conversation topic really? And Ex-Boyfriend is of the opinion that all things being compete. Pursuing Lawyer and all other current and future suitors are going to get crushed because I am or so he claims a "maneater". What's sad is not that this has some truth though I scarcely desire to ascribe myself with that kind of destructive power because Our Heroine is a deeply humble person but that all things being equal. I at least partially relish that designation. There are probably deep-seated psychological reasons for this but that's neither here nor there for our purposes because I don't plan to examine them(5). What is both here and there is that I am once again in a position to either prove or contradict this theory and yet I can't seem to carry myself to make the effort to contradict it. Not that I be to be it of course or because I want to cause to be perceived any of these men (I don't) but because I am just so very enamored of doing whatever the hell I conclude like. It would be alter not to strew destruction and hurt about in quite the same quantities I used to though (6). And that thought is what gives me wish that maybe not everyone involved with me at some point or other ordain go up bruised broken or buying a girlfriend/bride online. That and knowing that while the other suitors may be Wooly Lambkins. Pursuing Lawyer appears to be made of sterner stuff. I knew there was something I liked about him. There you undergo it. I suppose that were I not so ethically sketchy now would be an ideal measure for an examination of whether recognizing this and not actively trying to dress my behavior is a) a sign of ingrained "ice princess"-ness b) just plain do by or c) final create of serious laziness on my move. To be honest. I'm inclined to say d) the prove of my indomitable spirit buoyant disposition and serious lack of impulse control but perhaps that's just the springing eternal of hope. Or willful self-delusion. Could be that. But let's at least give me the benefit of the doubt before we go away getting all Percy Bysshe (7) Shelley on me. Or at the very least act and see what delightful mayhem ensues as I merrily trip along my primrose path maybe pausing to furnish thanks that by all accounts. I am a singular and unique girl. Small favors as it were.1 What's sad is that I majored in English at a very prestigious institute of higher learning and have less than a clue how to adjudge this dude's middle label.2 What? What do you do to unwind on a Monday?3 Notably the ex-boyfriend and notably excepted. Our Heroine.4 What? What do you communicate about with your ex-boyfriend/current roommate?5 Though I should admit that for about a year and a half when I was living in Minneapolis the bartenders at my regular bar nicknamed me "Ice Princess" and that didn't really reach me so maybe I should reconsider not examining said deep-seated psychological reasons.6 Awwww. Our Heroine is growing up. Maybe.7 Seriously. Bysshe? What the hell kind of label is Bysshe?

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I met a traveller from an browse landWho said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert. Near them on the smooth,Half sunk a shatter’d visage lies whose frownAnd wrinkled lip and sneer of cold commandTell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet defeat stamp’d on these lifeless things,The hand that do by’d them and the heart that fed. And on the pedestal these words appear:“My name is Ozymandias king of kings:be on my works ye mighty and despair!”Nothing beside remains: round the decayOf that colossal wreck boundless and expose,The lone and level sands stretch far away. “Ozymandias” (det grekiska namnet pÃ¥ farao Ramses den store nittonde dynastin) är alltsÃ¥ en egyptofil superhjälte i Alan Moors Watchmen. Och sista raden The lone and level sands be far away är självklart med i Sisters of Mercys Detta har jag vetat hur länge som helst men har inte gjort kopplingen förrän alldeles nyss. Duh. Nu är inte Andrew Eldritch nÃ¥gon Shelley direkt men jag har alltid gillat just den textraden den är sÃ¥ pregnant. Detta är alltsÃ¥ förklaringen den är snodd rakt av. FrÃ¥gan är nu om även följande rader kommer frÃ¥n nÃ¥gon romantisk poet? Theres a lighthouse in the lay of PrussiaA color house in a red squareIm living in films for the sake of RussiaA kino runner for the DDRAnd the fifty-two daughters of the revolutionTurn the gold to chromeGift…nothing to loseStuck inside of Memphis with the mobile domiciliate. Notera Memphis som kan ligga i Egypten eller Tennessee [not: hur fan stavas denna delstat?] Referensen process Memphis är hämtad frÃ¥n Bob Dylan men i sammanhanget med den egyptiske farao blir det en komisk effekt: farao i mitten av sin benefit ligger inte i en sarkofag utan i en husvagn. Notera ocksÃ¥ att DDR uttalas pÃ¥ tyska ovan för att det ska rimma pÃ¥ Red Square. Älska goter. <a href="" call=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym call=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <have in mind> <label> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q have in mind=""> <strike> <strong>

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Debo confesar que conocía a Mary Shelley y a su bien difundida obra Frankenstein pero no hace mucho empecé a revisar la obra de su esposo y auténtico dueño de tan insigne apellido: Percy Bysshe Shelley uno de los poetas de lengua inglesa más exquisitos que haya leído promete deslumbrar a quien se atreva a sumergirse en la dócil marea de su lírica. Nacido en Sussex. Reino Unido en 1792 fue uno de los representantes más destacados del Romanticismo en su país. Fue un poeta poco convencional y no muy entendido en su época; sin ban se convirtió en una figura de renombre y en un referente para siguientes generaciones de poetas como Robert Browning. Alfred Tennyson y William Butler (a quien pronto dedicaré una reseña también) así como otras destacadas personalidades como Karl Marx. Bertrand Russell o Bernard Shaw quienes supieron apreciar su extraordinario trabajo y técnica. A los 18 años publicó Zastrozzi una novela gótica en la que dio a conocer su visión ateísta del mundo y que lo caracterizaría en gran parte de su producción. Poemas representativos y de gran calibre son Alastor. Prometheus Unbound. Ozymandias que comparten muchos puntos en común y en especial sirven de influencia para otros genios como Lord Byron o John Keats. Su vida estuvo plagada de excesos fue un mujeriego empedernido desde joven; pero también sufrió trágicos sucesos como el suicidio de su cuñada o la muerte de su ex esposa. Harriet ahogada víctima al parecer de suicidio también; todo esta funesta serie de sucesos terminaría con su propia muerte: mientras navegaba en bote se ahogó hecho aún no esclarecido que aparenta ser accidental pero que muchos apuntan como suicidio o incluso como asesinato. Esta última teoría reforzada por dos disparos que estuvieron a punto de quitarle la vida días antes de su deceso a la edad de 29 años. Como sucedió con muchos otros artistas su vida acelerada no fue detrimento para la espectacular magia de sus escritos en los cuales se aprecia técnica e intelectualidad pero principalmente belleza en la lírica versos sorprendentes y un sentido de la estética que hace aflorar en forma fascinante los sentimientos. Este blog está orientado al arte y la cultura. No fomentamos ninguna doctrina filosófica religiosa política o de cualquier otra índole. Apoyamos el libre pensamiento y la difusión de conocimientos.*****Los archivos posteados aquí son utilizados solamente para holdósitos de evaluación y sin fines de lucro. El visitante al bajar cualquier archivo se compromete a eliminarlo en un plazo no mayor a 24 horas. No nos hacemos responsables del uso que este pueda darle.

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Heres Percy Bysshe Shelley's rather plaintive lyrical and very fatalistic poem. the meaning seems to become evermore apparent as our lives compete out. Regards. Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this sound recording/copyright/patent Jim Clark 2002 The flower that smiles todayThe develop that smiles todayTomorrow dies;All that we desire to stayTempts and then flies. What is this... This unforgetable poetical diatribe by Percy Bysshe Shelley 1792 - 1822 against the ruling hierachy of his day (1819) surely seems equaly appropriate to these busted flush early days of the 21st century where uninspired world leadership seems to continue floundering in the repeated mistakes of the past... Regards. Jim Clark All rights are reserved on this video appear recording copyright... Inspired by the poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)Music when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory;Odours when sweet violets sicken,be within the comprehend they quicken. Rose leaves when the rose is dead,Are heaped for the beloved's bed;And so thy thoughts when thou art gone,Love itself shall slumber on. Music by Roderik de ManVideo by Marcel WierckxFor more info... Del poema "Adonais" de Percy Bysshe Shelley. Es la estrofa 29 completa y un fragmento de la 52. Shelley la escribió en recognise de su propio difunto amigo John Keats. La lectura es del 5 de julio de 1969.

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