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Cattle Die, Kinsmen Die
05:40
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1. Within the gates, ere a man shall go,
(Full warily let him watch,)
Full long let him look about him;
For little he knows, where a foe may lurk.
6. A man shall not boast of his keenness of mind,
But keep it close in his breast;
To the silent and wise does ill come seldom
9. Happy the man who has while he lives
Wisdom and praise as well,
For evil counsel a man full oft
Has from another's heart.
10. A better burden may no man bear
For wanderings wide than wisdom;
It is better than wealth on unknown ways,
And in grief a refuge it gives.
16. The sluggard believes he shall live forever,
If the fight he faces not;
But age shall not grant him the gift of peace,
Though spears may spare his life.
19. Shun not the mead, but drink in measure;
Speak to the point or be still;
For rudeness none shall rightly blame thee
If soon thy bed thou seekest.
23. The witless man is awake all night,
Thinking of many things;
Care-worn he is when the morning comes,
And his woe is just as it was.
The babbling tongue, if a bridle it find not,
Oft for itself sings ill.
36. Better a house, though a hut it be,
A man is master at home;
A pair of goats and a patched-up roof
Are better far than begging.
38. Away from his arms in the open field
A man should fare not a foot;
For never he knows when the need for a spear
Shall arise on the distant road.
43. To his friend a man a friend shall prove,
To him and the friend of his friend;
But never a man shall friendship make
With one of his foeman's friends.
62. When the eagle comes to the ancient sea,
He snaps and hangs his head;
So is a man in the midst of a throng,
Who few to speak for him finds.
63. To question and answer must all be ready
Who wish to be known as wise;
Tell one thy thoughts, but beware of two,--
All know what is known to three.
A man must be watchful and wary as well,
And fearful of trusting a friend.
Oft for the words that to others one speaks
Ye will get but an evil gift.
68. Fire for men is the fairest gift,
And power to see the sun
70. It is better to live than to lie a corpse,
The live man catches the cow;
I saw flames rise for the rich man's pyre,
And before his door he lay dead.
71. The lame rides a horse, the handless is herdsman,
The deaf in battle is bold;
The blind man is better than one that is burned,
No good can come of a corpse.
72. A son is better, though late he be born,
And his father to death have fared;
Memory-stones seldom stand by the road
Save when kinsman honors his kin.
Wealth is as swift as a winking eye,
Of friends the falsest it is.
77. Cattle die, and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one's self;
But a noble name will never die,
If good renown one gets.
78. Cattle die, and kinsmen die,
And so one dies one's self;
One thing now that never dies,
The fame of a dead man's deeds.
79. Certain is that which is sought from runes,
That the gods so great have made,
And the Master-Poet painted;
... of the race of gods:
Silence is safest and best.
[lines selected from the Poetic Edda]
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Eight-Legged Mare
05:56
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Mad Dog Pack
How I love exclamation marks!
How I love to explain!
How happy I am to live among dogs!
Mangy dogs, dank dogs of virtue,
that lick the moon by night!
Dismal dogs of frenzy,
that lick the moon by day!
The moon must always be licked!
Suck it if you have to!
How I love to buy dogs at the highest price possible!
How I love the sun!
How I love the earth!
How I love snow!
I have never seen snow!
Is snow heavy or light?!
How my skin itches!
And I shake!
And I shake!
[words by Legna Rodríguez Iglesias]
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5. |
The Pilgrim of Eternity
10:14
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... and the mountain shepherds came,
Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent;
The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame
Over his living head like Heaven is bent,
An early but enduring monument,
Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song
In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent
The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong,
And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.
A pardlike Spirit beautiful and swift—
A Love in desolation mask'd—a Power
Girt round with weakness—it can scarce uplift
The weight of the superincumbent hour;
It is a dying lamp, a falling shower,
A breaking billow ....
... of that crew
He came the last, neglected and apart;
A herd-abandon'd deer struck by the hunter's dart.
All stood aloof, and at his partial moan
Smil'd through their tears; well knew that gentle band
Who in another's fate now wept his own,
As in the accents of an unknown land
He sung new sorrow; sad Urania scann'd
The Stranger's mien, and murmur'd: "Who art thou?"
He answer'd not, but with a sudden hand
Made bare his branded and ensanguin'd brow,
Which was like Cain's or Christ's—oh! that it should be so!
What softer voice is hush'd over the dead?
Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?
What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed,
In mockery of monumental stone,
The heavy heart heaving without a moan?
...
Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep,
He hath awaken'd from the dream of life;
'Tis we, who lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
And in mad trance, strike with our spirit's knife
Invulnerable nothings. ....
He lives, he wakes—'tis Death is dead, not he;
Mourn not for Adonais. Thou young Dawn,
Turn all thy dew to splendour, for from thee
The spirit thou lamentest is not gone;
Ye caverns and ye forests, cease to moan!
Cease, ye faint flowers and fountains, and thou Air,
Which like a mourning veil thy scarf hadst thrown
O'er the abandon'd Earth, now leave it bare
Even to the joyous stars which smile on its despair!
He is made one with Nature: there is heard
His voice in all her music, from the moan
Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird;
He is a presence to be felt and known
In darkness and in light, from herb and stone,
Spreading itself where'er that Power may move ...
Who mourns for Adonais? Oh, come forth,
Fond wretch! and know thyself and him aright.
Clasp with thy panting soul the pendulous Earth;
As from a centre, dart thy spirit's light
Beyond all worlds, until its spacious might
Satiate the void circumference: then shrink
Even to a point within our day and night;
And keep thy heart light lest it make thee sink
When hope has kindled hope, and lur'd thee to the brink...
... From the world's bitter wind
Seek shelter in the shadow of the tomb.
What Adonais is, why fear we to become?
[PB Shelley, from Adonais]
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The Mystery of The Grail
09:14
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This mystery is revealed only to a few in the initiation of the Grail,
that stone which fell from the Ray of Green Light, that cup of eternal life.
Woe betide the one who, having received the gift of eternity in the cup of death ...
The Way of Return is a hard one. Here is the song of the wayfarer:
O Lucifer.
There never was a passage,
And no one. since
Earliest times,
Has ever discovered it,
Neither by sea nor by land,
This slender thread of crystalline water,
Wind and green light,
This sighing of his breast.
The way is agonising,
Deep are the waters
Of death!
Where, O Lucifer,
Shall we cross this immense sea?
With Luci-Bel we have lit this fire which never goes out and which leads us to a superhuman, irreversible destiny.
Only with the memory of his beloved in his heart can the initiate achieve the Grail.
In the warriors of the order, immortality passes from the species to the individual, accompanied by an incurable sterility. Because he who continues to procreate children of perishable flesh cannot resurrect.
Drive your sword into the mirror beside the fire, so that as it is reflected in it 'everything looks as if it is in an upside-down sky', like an arm holding it, rising out of the waters.
And passing your sword over the fire, sing:
O Sun of Gold that reflects the Black Sun!
O Black Sun that hides the Ray of Green Light!
Withdraw your luminous shadow,
Rend your veils, so that
I may see the hidden face,
Veiled by your disc,
By the revolving of your svastika,
Because the one who is hidden there
Is I myself.
Let forgetfulness never again fall upon us,
let what we lived through in the Eternal Return
not find us again without memory, without recollection,
let us engrave it forever
Continue your search for the city,
enter it.
She, too, is searching for it
Draw your sword, unsheathe it, the moment has arrived.
[words from Nos]
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Bill Boethius & Dali's Car London, UK
"The Dali of guitar noise".
Free improv,
Cinematic Sounds:
Strange Blues:
Cosmic Jazz,
Poetry settings,
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