Nature, God's Gift (a friend), and something from the world

The past weeks have been good. I got to see Jeff Corwin after a long time absence. He was in Alaska. He is still his usual self  being humours and all. My God I didnot know I missed him that much when I just opened and listen to what he is saying. He stood atop of one of the pick points and he said it is a place where you can only hear the kiss of the breazy cold wind, and nothing else but it is beautifula and specatcular, at that moment I remembered William Wordswoth’s peom,”Tintern Abbey”…… boy oh boy,,,,, I just love this peom… Somebody said to me once , Wordsworth is so good that after reading one of his poems some words still stay with you…. Well lets see if you figure this out.FIVE years have past; five summers, with the length
      Of five long winters! and again I hear
      These waters, rolling from their mountain-springs
      With a soft inland murmur.–Once again
      Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs,
      That on a wild secluded scene impress
      Thoughts of more deep seclusion; and connect
      The landscape with the quiet of the sky.
      The day is come when I again repose
      Here, under this dark sycamore, and view                        10
      These plots of cottage-ground, these orchard-tufts,
      Which at this season, with their unripe fruits,
      Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves
      ‘Mid groves and copses. Once again I see
      These hedge-rows, hardly hedge-rows, little lines
      Of sportive wood run wild: these pastoral farms,
      Green to the very door; and wreaths of smoke
      Sent up, in silence, from among the trees!
      With some uncertain notice, as might seem
      Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods,                     20
      Or of some Hermit’s cave, where by his fire
      The Hermit sits alone.
                              These beauteous forms,
      Through a long absence, have not been to me
      As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
      But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din
      Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
      In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
      Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
      And passing even into my purer mind,
      With tranquil restoration:–feelings too                        30
      Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
      As have no slight or trivial influence
      On that best portion of a good man’s life,
      His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
      Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust,
      To them I may have owed another gift,
      Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood,
      In which the burthen of the mystery,
      In which the heavy and the weary weight
      Of all this unintelligible world,                               40
      Is lightened:–that serene and blessed mood,
      In which the affections gently lead us on,–
      Until, the breath of this corporeal frame
      And even the motion of our human blood
      Almost suspended, we are laid asleep
      In body, and become a living soul:
      While with an eye made quiet by the power
      Of harmony, and the deep power of joy,
      We see into the life of things.
                                       If this
      Be but a vain belief, yet, oh! how oft–                        50
      In darkness and amid the many shapes
      Of joyless daylight; when the fretful stir
      Unprofitable, and the fever of the world,
      Have hung upon the beatings of my heart–
      How oft, in spirit, have I turned to thee,
      O sylvan Wye! thou wanderer thro’ the woods,
      How often has my spirit turned to thee!
        And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought,
      With many recognitions dim and faint,
      And somewhat of a sad perplexity,                               60
      The picture of the mind revives again:
      While here I stand, not only with the sense
      Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts
      That in this moment there is life and food
      For future years. And so I dare to hope,
      Though changed, no doubt, from what I was when first
      I came among these hills; when like a roe
      I bounded o’er the mountains, by the sides
      Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,
      Wherever nature led: more like a man                            70
      Flying from something that he dreads, than one
      Who sought the thing he loved. For nature then
      (The coarser pleasures of my boyish days,
      And their glad animal movements all gone by)
      To me was all in all.–I cannot paint
      What then I was. The sounding cataract
      Haunted me like a passion: the tall rock,
      The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
      Their colours and their forms, were then to me
      An appetite; a feeling and a love,                              80
      That had no need of a remoter charm,
      By thought supplied, nor any interest
      Unborrowed from the eye.–That time is past,
      And all its aching joys are now no more,
      And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this
      Faint I, nor mourn nor murmur, other gifts
      Have followed; for such loss, I would believe,
      Abundant recompence. For I have learned
      To look on nature, not as in the hour
      Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes                    90
      The still, sad music of humanity,
      Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power
      To chasten and subdue. And I have felt
      A presence that disturbs me with the joy
      Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
      Of something far more deeply interfused,
      Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
      And the round ocean and the living air,
      And the blue sky, and in the mind of man;
      A motion and a spirit, that impels                             100
      All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
      And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still
      A lover of the meadows and the woods,
      And mountains; and of all that we behold
      From this green earth; of all the mighty world
      Of eye, and ear,–both what they half create,
      And what perceive; well pleased to recognise
      In nature and the language of the sense,
      The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse,
      The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul                  110
      Of all my moral being.
                              Nor perchance,
      If I were not thus taught, should I the more
      Suffer my genial spirits to decay:
      For thou art with me here upon the banks
      Of this fair river; thou my dearest Friend,
      My dear, dear Friend; and in thy voice I catch
      The language of my former heart, and read
      My former pleasures in the shooting lights
      Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while
      May I behold in thee what I was once,                          120
      My dear, dear Sister! and this prayer I make,
      Knowing that Nature never did betray
      The heart that loved her; ’tis her privilege,
      Through all the years of this our life, to lead
      From joy to joy: for she can so inform
      The mind that is within us, so impress
      With quietness and beauty, and so feed
      With lofty thoughts, that neither evil tongues,
      Rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men,
      Nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all                    130
      The dreary intercourse of daily life,
      Shall e’er prevail against us, or disturb
      Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold
      Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon
      Shine on thee in thy solitary walk;
      And let the misty mountain-winds be free
      To blow against thee: and, in after years,
      When these wild ecstasies shall be matured
      Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
      Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,                       140
      Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
      For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh! then,
      If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
      Should be thy portion, with what healing thoughts
      Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
      And these my exhortations! Nor, perchance–
      If I should be where I no more can hear
      Thy voice, nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams
      Of past existence–wilt thou then forget
      That on the banks of this delightful stream                    150
      We stood together; and that I, so long
      A worshipper of Nature, hither came
      Unwearied in that service: rather say
      With warmer love–oh! with far deeper zeal
      Of holier love. Nor wilt thou then forget,
      That after many wanderings, many years
      Of absence, these steep woods and lofty cliffs,
      And this green pastoral landscape, were to me
      More dear, both for themselves and for thy sake!
                                                              1798.

A long one huh…. yeah I know I know, I am going to hear all about it arenot I? Well I am willing to take the risk. I wonder if jeff feels the same as Wordsworth when he is in the city.

I have met someone here, canot say his name but let’s call him Matteo….. He is like God’s gift to me. He is helping me see clear pictures of my weakness….. before we started talking I was singing

Then my heart did time in Siberia
Was waiting for the lie to come true
‘Cause it’s all so dark and mysterious
When the one you want doesn’t want you too

Now I donot anymore.

Iremeber this siberia, although  TIBE  you donot have anything to do with me singing the song….. Do you remeber one of the questions that you were asked on TV ……………………. has the answer SIBERIA in it…. or was it HEGE…. any way ………….

 Matteo is my Gift hopefully you will get to meet him.

Something of the world………………………. I was shocked to hear Pavarotti died…….. Now I cannot say I understand opera….. I admire those who say they get it. I mean …. oh never mind now I couldnot come up with a word…. any way I believe it is a loss for the opera world,,, there are times I listend to him …. I didnot get it but it has some power that just stops me……PAViI ( I hoped my calling him this isnot an insult, if it is my apologies to whom ever and tibe you know me I cannot helpit, I mean remeber Lampi, Joye, terrr..)any way  he left a great legacy that will stay on forever……. I cannot even believe a year has passed since STEVO (  I know he wouldnot mind) passed away.

 I was hoping I could get excited about the millenium…. apparently I am not…… is something wrong with me. But I am jealous of all those who are able to get back home….. I close my eyes and I could smell … the smell of ” Addis Amet” or the ” beal semon”…… it feels me up with this feeling that I cannot quite explain solidly…. but I feel happy and I want cry at the same time….. all Abesha faces ‘ inde abeba fekto’ …. this is something I always turn to …… for reassurance that I belong somewhere in the east africa where I am loved no matter what…………………. I guess it is just like Wordsworth puts it.

But oft, in lonely rooms, and ‘mid the din
      Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
      In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
      Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
      And passing even into my purer mind,
      With tranquil restoration:

I hope all of you have a great HOLLYDAY………………………Melkam milleneum

Enough of this…. There is a wedding coming up…… so excited about it…… and I am hoping for that ” FIORE” who will sweep me off my feet…… I know both of you are saying….. yeah betty ” keep dreaming on”….. well you just never know……….

 Ciao for now

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4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. tibebe
    Sep 10, 2007 @ 12:45:28

    and some friends can not take criticism.

    for instance , i was about to say ” how idle you have become and how quick!? a few days ago you were talking about mri images and now you are babbling about some lousy pasting scheme.”

    But no; i will not say that because you might take it the wrong way.

    i hope you did not give money to the guy.

    Reply

  2. getere
    Sep 09, 2007 @ 14:47:22

    sometimes friends don’t show you your weakness b/c they don’t really care and sometimes they care but they can’t just get it out. one who shows you your weakensses is a very important one. hang on to him.

    ha ha. ye program mederareb 😀

    Reply

  3. tibebe
    Sep 09, 2007 @ 12:36:54

    you bet your ass you are going to hear about it!

    and to think that i wrote long ones?!

    Here are some comments from the top of my head.And you know that they are not going to be on the poem . I am clueless about what this wordsworth fellow is trying to say. But i got to get the hang of this poetry stuff : i will read it again .

    good luck with mr matteo ferrari :i hope you two get to experience il cielo surra terra . And good luck to him with your weaknesses for he has got a lot of painting to do 🙂

    about siberia , don’t worry I understand. I do not do siberia afterall- i do sahara baby!

    it was the heague ; can not believe you remembered . it has been six years!

    glasses around the world around the world are rejoicing on the occasion of “pavi’s” death . or was it the female opera singers’ voices that broke wine glasses. anyway i heard that it was kind of an urban legend .

    and the millennium ,emph… emph… I smell nothing! Snap out of the nostalgia, will ya! It is like any other holiday except for flags and lights. Very tepid. They are canceling events. Yeprogram mederareb is cited as a reason when there ain’t shit happening. They are insulting our intelligence. Don’t get me started on that one !

    the great Ethiopian run was supposed to take place today.

    Thank you for your best wishes and right back atcha!

    About the wedding, I would not exactly say “keep on dreaming”. But I won’t leave without saying “watch your step” cuz you might end up pulling a hamstring or a spleen ,scrambling for the bouquet.

    Reply

  4. andthree
    Sep 09, 2007 @ 02:17:21

    Mastekakeya..

    The girl doesont check back on what she writes before she posts it , so excuse her…

    ” keep on dreaming”

    Reply

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