ZhivagoMiracle~DLBuffaloElk~GoldHeartPaw

Kronstadt Radostburg Stalyn-OJ-Sky Naval Akademy

..

Couldn’t pour ‘Fig Noodle’ piss from a Boot

:GO-Sunna-SIP:

Post the ‘Barstow’ Violin

..

War over Jobless-Vyeche-Committee Words

:Gorky-Zhivago:

The freest ‘Sovied’ Country in the world

..

Boring Establishment Politics - Wolfe KKK Tone – Graduate Explorers Program

DR. ZHIVAGO

by Boris Pasternak

WHITE NIGHT

(471-472)

I see a distant past

And a house on the Peterburg Quai

Daughter of a small landowner of the steppes,

You had come from Kursk to be a student.

You were beautiful, young men loved you.

Through that white night we two

Sat on your window-sill

Looking down from the skyscraper.

Like gas butterflies the street-lamps,

Touched by the morning, trembled.

I talked to you softly

Like the sleeping distance.

And we, like Petersburg spreading away

Beyond the shoreless Neva,

Were held in timid fidelity

To a mystery.

Out there, far off, in the dense forest,

On that white night of spring,

The nightingales filled the woods

With the thunder of their praisgiving.

The mad trilling rolled on,

The voice of the small insignificant bird

Roused a bustle of delight

In the depth of the spell-bound forest.

Thither crept the night,

Hugging the fences like a barefoot tramp,

Trailing behind it, from the window-sill,

The wraith of that conversation.

Within the reach of its echo,

In fenced gardens,

The branches of apple and cherry

Put on white blossoms,

And white as ghosts, the trees

Crowded into the road

As though waving good-bye

To the white night which had seen so much.

THE WIND

(478)

This is the end of me, but you live on.

The wind, crying and complaining,

Rocks the house and the forest,

Not each pine-tree seperately

But all the trees together

With the whole boundless distance,

Like the hulls of sailing-ships

Riding at anchor in a bay.

It shakes them not out of mischief,

And not in aimless fury,

But to find for you, out of its grief,

The words of a lullaby.

ONE RIVER

(37)

From beneath the blue awning of the Pan-American bar you could survey the entire waterfront of Santa Marta. The sun was going down. I found Tim reading a newspaper at one of the tables close to a small bandstand. He had already finished a beer.

"Look at this." He passed me the paper. "It's a couple of years old. I noticed it when I went down to the depot to get newsprint for the plants." Beside a notice for an upcoming performance of El Maestro de Obscuridad, a magician from Bogota who claimed to be able to predice the future, there was a small item about tomb robbers. They had formed an association and wanted the Ministry of Labour to recognize it as an official union. In Santa Marta alone the association had registered ten thousand members. Though it contradicted every law concerning the protection of archeological sites, certain authorities within the Ministry had initially agreed, thus provoking a scandal.....

A waiter brought our dinner, beer and two plates of chips of fish and rice. For a few minutes we ate without speaking. A band started up, and a woman in a satin dress began to sing wearily. I looked up at Tim.

"It's hard to believe the Tairona were once here," I said.

"I know," Tim replied. "You think of this town and then try to imagine priests in cloaks woven with gold and jewels, feather headdresses. Beautiful fields of plants." He stopped eating, looked out to the sea, and then turned back to me. "I'd like to know more about them -- how they lived, what they thought. Have you ever paid atttention to language?"

"In what way?" I asked.

"The choice of words. What they mean. There's a tribe in Uruguay, one of the Guarana groups, whose word for soul was 'the sun that lies within'. They called a friend 'one's other heart.' To forgive was the same word as to forget. They had no writing, and when they first saw paper, they called it the skin of God -- just because you could send messages."

"Like magic."

"It was magic," Tim said. "Did Schultz ever tell you about the Indians in the
Amazon who couldn't tell blue from green?" I forget the tribe. I asked him whether they saw the same colour or whether they just considered the two colors to be one."

"What did he say?" I asked.

"He didn't know. I don't think he ever really thought about it."

"But you have," I said. Tim laughed.

"Reichel talks about all this. In one of his books he says the Tairona believed that gold was the blood of the Great Mother. He sais the Kogi word for vagina is the word for dawn. Can you imagine what it means for a people to have such thoughts?"

"No," I said.

"I can't, either." He smiled. "Listen. Let's get the bill and get out of here. We've got an early start."

SOULDIER WE LOVE YOU!

I read how you took a stand

& refused to kill in Vietnam

You said No Man was Your Enemy

What he's fighting for is to be free

Souldier we love you,

Yeah, souldier we love you.

Standing strong, cause it's hard to do

What you know you must,

Cause it's true.

They'll lock you up in their stockade

Yeah they locked you up,

Cause they're afraid

That you would rap

And spread the word

But you can't jail truth,

It will be heard.

Oh, ain't it hard sometime...

Soldier we love you,
Yeah, soldier we love you.
Standing strong, cause it's hard to do
What you know you must,
Cause it's true...

~!~ ~!~ ~!~ ** ~!~ ~!~ ~!~