December 28, 2012 § Leave a comment
otto: fort mops fort
ottos mops hopst fort
otto holt koks
otto holt obst
otto: mops mops
ottos mops klopft
otto: komm mops komm
ottos mops kommt
ottos mops kotzt
– Ernst Jandl
This lipogram about Otto and his dog has no great English translation, so I’ve left it in German. Since the sound is the sense, one only has to listen to appreciate the story (it ends in pug puke):
December 24, 2012 § Leave a comment
December 12, 2012 § Leave a comment
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
– W. S. Merwin
Love lost is not so much about feeling incomplete; rather, it is about learning to be complete in a new way, to weave one’s existence into new tapestries using old threads.
December 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
It is I;
I, this incessant snow,
This northern sky;
Soldiers, this solitude
Through which we go
– Walter de la Mare
Though Napoleon won the Battle of Borodino outside of Moscow in what would be the bloodiest day of fighting in the Napoleonic Wars, he was forced to retreat due to the oncoming Russian winter and the lack of supplies in Moscow. By the time he returned to home soil, his army of 250,000 had dwindled to a quarter of its size, and the battle marked the beginning of Napoleon’s decline.
It remains ambiguous as to whether we hear Napoleon marching to Moscow or slinking away. The poem is either extremely ironic: a megalomaniac marching towards battle and not realizing his imminent downfall; or an apt personal reflection: Napoleon as the cause of the solitude, the thousands lost, the barren landscape through which the soldiers trudge.