Nyt on yö. Minä kuljen yksin tyhjiä katuja. En tiedä, mihin olen menossa, hyvä kun tiedän mistä olen tulossa, ja ruumiissani soi tuhat kaunista ja voimakasta sävelmää, minun koko menneisyyteni, ja silmissäni loistavat tuhannen ihmisen silmät, silmien takana tuntemattomuus, tätä naista ei tunne kukaan, se ei ole vielä täysin syntynytkään, ei kukaan tiedä mitä se on tulevaisuudessa.
- Mirka Lattunen
El a întins spre mine o frunză ca o mână cu degete. Eu am întins spre el o mână ca o frunză cu dinţi. El a întins spre mine o ramură ca un braţ. Eu am întins spre el braţul ca o ramură. El schi-a înclinat spre mine trunchiul ca un umăr. Eu mi-am înclinat spre el umărul ca un trunchi noduros. Auzeam cum se încetineşte sângele meu suind ca seva. Eu am trecut prin el. El a trecut prin mine. Eu am rămas un pom singur. El un om singur
- Nichita Stănescu
Kunst ist nicht ein Spiegel, den man der Wirklichkeit vorhält, sondern ein Hammer, mit dem man sie gestaltet.
- Karl Marx
The Hermit’s Song
A hiding tuft, a green-barked yew tree Is my roof, While nearby a great oak tree keeps me Tempest-proof.
I can pick my fruit from an apple Like an Inn, Or can fill my fist where hazels Shut me in.
A clear well beside me offers Best of drink, And there glows a bed of cresses Near its brink.
Pigs and Goats, the friendliest neighbours, Nestle near, Wild swine come, or broods of badgers, Grazing deer.
All the gentry of the county Come to call! And the foxes come behind them, Best of all.
To what meals the woods invite me All about! There are water, herbs and cresses, Salmon, trout.
A clutch of eggs, sweet mast and honey Are my meat, Heathberries and Whortleberries For a sweet.
All that one could ask for comfort Round me grows, There are hips and haws and strawberries, Nuts and sloes.
And when summer spreads its mantle What a sight! Marjoram and leeks and pignuts, Juicy, bright.
Dainty redbreasts briskly forage Every bush Round and round my hut there flutter Shallow, thrush.
Bees and beetles, music-makers, Croon and strum; Geese pass over, duck in autumn, Dark streams hum.
Angry wren, officious linnet And black-cap, All industrious, and the woodpecker’s Sturdy tap.
From the sea the gulls and herons Flutter in, While in upland heather rises The grey hen.
In the year’s most brilliant weather Heifers low Through green fields, not driven nor beaten, Tranquil, slow.
In wreathed boughs the wind is whispering, Skies are blue, Swans call, river water falling Is calling too.
Yesterday, me and Mihai ate some of the Swedish traditional food surströmming - fermented Baltic herring. I had never tried it before, only felt the terrible smell once when some people thought it would be funny to open a can of surströmming in the hallway in school. Mihai wanted to try it, and the more I told him about how bad it smelled, the more determined he became.
Mihai has just pierced a hole in the can, and has experienced the smell, which already has contaminated his fingers beyond immediate repair.
We went to the park and sat down on a bench by the brook. The wind was luckily somewhat strong, but the smell was still quite ... interesting.
The fish looked quite harmless compared to its smell.
It tasted weird. Very strong, salty and sour. It made the tongue weirdly numb. We ate it with polarkaka, though you're actually "supposed to" eat it with either potatoes and onion or tunnbröd and butter. Well, close enough.
While we were eating, an older man walked by, and as the smell hit him, he just had to ask if it really was surströmming we were eating. He was very happy that young people today still do that - it's "real culture"! For him, it had taken a while before he had learned to love it, but once convinced, he had converted all his family to the delight of surströmming.
Well, after finishing as much as we could (me 1, Mihai 4 herrings), we went back home, still smelling.
Posted at 4:02 pm by turukhtan
bubu November 6, 2005 09:18 PM PST
voi ei........... noi on kyllä köraneita....
muuten se rokka on hernekeittoo.....