mandag den 31. august 2020

Apropos Nature

Nature, temaet for denne uges Poetry Monday mindede mig om en sang, som jeg har et had-kærlighedsforhold til. Den er smuk. De billeder, den fremmaner af det danske bondeland en sensommerdag er næsten perfekte, melodien passer til teksten; og så alligevel ... det der sidste vers altså ... Lyt og læs selv. 

-- 🍂 🍂 🍂 --

Nature - the theme for this weeks Poetry Monday reminded me of a Danish Autumn song with which I have a love-hate relationship. It it beautiful. The pictures it paints, the description of the Danish countryside in Autumn are exquisite and almost perfect. The tune is an earworm ... but that last stanza ... 
  Well read and listen for yourself:


Septembers himmel er så blå - Lyt / Listen - September's Sky is oh so Blue (in Danish).

Tekst - først Alex Garffs original fra 1949.


-- 🍂 🍂 🍂 --

The words, Alex Garff wrote this in 1949 (English below).

Septembers himmel er så blå,
dens skyer lyser hvide,
og lydt vi hører lærken slå
som før ved forårstide.
Den unge rug af mulden gror
med grønne lyse klinger,
men storken længst af lande fór
med sol på sine vinger.

Der er en søndagsstille ro
imellem træ'r og tage,
en munter glæde ved at gro,
som var det sommerdage.
Og koen rusker i sit græs
med saften om sin mule,
mens bonden kører hjem med læs,
der lyser solskinsgule.

Hver stubbet mark, vi stirrer på,
står brun og gul og gylden,
og røn står rød og slåen blå,
og purpursort står hylden.
Og georginer spraglet gror
blandt asters i vor have,
så rigt er årets sidste flor:
oktobers offergave.

De røde æbler løsner let
fra træets trætte kviste.
Snart lysner kronens bladenet,
og hvert et løv må briste.
Når aftensolen på sin flugt
bag sorte grene svinder,
om årets sidste røde frugt
den tungt og mildt os minder.

At flyve som et forårsfrø
for sommerblomst at blive
er kun at visne for at dø,
kan ingen frugt du give.
Hvis modenhedens milde magt
af livet selv du lærte,
da slår bag falmet rosendragt
dit røde hybenhjerte.

Og så på engelsk. Min oversættelse / gendigtning. 


-- 🍂 🍂 🍂 --

And in English. I did the translation/rewrite.

September's sky is oh so blue,
its clouds are shining brightly,
and now we hear the warbling lark
as in the days of spring time.
The sprouts of rye grow forth so green
from earth so newly turned.
The stork already flew away
with sunlit wings a-beating.

There is a quiet Sunday peace
between the trees and branches,
The cheerful joy of growing things,
as in the days of summer.
The cow is munching in the grass
while juices stain its muzzle,
The farmer's driving home with loads,
that shines a sunny yellow.

And every stubble field we see,
Stands brown and yellow golden,
The rowan's red and sloe is blue,
And purple is the elder.
And dahlias they grow and bloom
With asters in our garden,
So rich the last bloom of the year:
Octobers sacrifices.

The apples drop off easily
from tired apple branches.
And soon the leafwork lightens up
With every leaf that's falling.
When evening sunshine on its flight
behind black branches fades,
Of this year's last red fruit
it heavily reminds us.

To fly just like a spring time seed
To be a summer's flower
Is just to wither for to die
And no fruit you deliver.
But if you learned from life itself
The gentle power of ripening,
Behind those faded petals red
your rose hip heart is beating.


Og hvad er der så i vejen med at være et forårsfrø og blive til en sommerblomst, der fryder og fornøjer? Og den får jo også frø, der fryder kommende generationer ... suk. Det er måske bare mig, der ikke fatter meningen, men jeg aner Janteloven og den protestantiske nyttemoral stikke deres fælles hoved frem.

-- 🍂 🍂 🍂 --

And what is so wrong about being a seed in spring, turning into a summer flower that brightens up the world with its beauty?  And summer flowers give off seed that will bloom for generations to come ... Sigh! It might be only me not getting it, but I'm afraid it is the Danish law of Jante and the protestant utilitarian ideals rearing their composite head.

Poetry Monday :: Nature

Diane of On the Border has supplied us with Nature as this Mondays prompt.
   Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey is taking a break due to her husband's ill health. Let's all send warm thoughts, good energy and lots of prayers their way.
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy.


Nature is a wonderful thing, but the word has always been a stone in my shoe. The pronunciation that is. It looks like it has to rhyme with mature, but it doesn't! Here is a non-rhyme: 

Me and the nature
Together we go
Though we are mature
We return to zero.

And when get home
We dance in the wind
and if the rains come
We will never mind.

We harvest and plough
And when we are through
Together we sow
With sweat on my brow.

That's all Folks!


Next Mondays topic: The Kitchen from Mimi. 

torsdag den 27. august 2020

Percy's Story revised

Yesterday I posted my Words for Wednesday story. It seems I did get myself and my dear readers hopelessly entangled  in Percy, the ghost's meandering story. Well Percy is a ghost, and her tales tend to drift and spin, but I do not intend to let anyone get lost in her words. Now I revised this part and try again. Please tell me if you're still lost as to whom is which and doing what. All corrections are accepted, no appreciated with thankfulness.

A small group of apprentices were gathered in the broomshed. Their brooms lay on the floor, or leaned against stalls and walls. In the middle of the group, Susan sat, wet and shivering, with a blanket around her dripping, wet body.
  "I don't belong here!" Susan said in a miserable voice. "Never in living memory has anybody made such a disaster of themself," Susan said with a quiver in her voice.
  "Maybe not in living memory," but what about the memories of a ghost?" Percy said, walking in through the wall.
  Susan pulled the coarsely woven blanket tighter around her wet figure with a shiver.
  "Do tell!" Veronika encouraged the ghost.
  "Maybe you fell into the water obstacle upon exiting the gravity well," Percy said, getting less and less translucent, as she spoke. "And maybe you failed every other obstacle at least once. But you never gave up. You finished the broom race, even though you knew you would end up last."
  "Last!" Susan exclaimed. "I dare say. All the others waited for me at the finishing line for almost half an hour!"
  "Yes," Percy said. "They waited for you. Doesn't that tell you something?"
Percy looked at Susan, who stopped sobbing and looked at her.
"Now listen to my story," Percy continued. "It was one of the older ghosts, who told me this. It dates back from the days when schools for magic were like ordinary boarding schools. When they held a broom race -- it was not held every year then -- one of the boys in third year -- let's call him Allan --  bragged continuously about his prowess on a broomstick. Well, none of the racing teams -- and they even had four of them -- wanted him on their team, but the very next day he challenged every apprentice to race him -- just like now it was customary to leave the race track up for everyone to have a go at it. Every apprentice in the whole school accepted the challenge, and every single one of them, even the first years, outflew him. But Allan did not give up, he stubbornly stayed at the school. He was very quiet for a long time after the broom race. Allan did not say a word to anybody for at lest a month -- the professors thought he was ill, and some even considered exorcising him or de-hexing him or something. Then Allan spoke in one or two word sentences for very long, but he still practised flying, and he also diligently practised all the other forms of magic. And this man, Allan -- it is not his real name by the way -- ended up one of the finest wizards of his year."

  Susan drew a shivering breath and smiled tentatively at the others. Veronika smiled back, one of her flashing smiles: "You know, Susan, you can't be best, or even good at everything."
  "We all wanted so much to finally beat you," Tage said. Lis, Bo, Helge, and Heidi smiled warmly at her and nodded.
  "Well," Heidi said. "I know I'm better than you at transformations, but that's about it. You sure belong here. Just as much as the rest of us."
  "You just have to practise flying those obstacles a bit more," Fiona said. "I'll teach you how. if you care."
  "Do I?" Susan said smiling broadly, "Let me get some dry stuff, then I'm ready!"

As the apprentices walked together out in the sunshine, Susan almost did not feel the ground beneath her feet.


PS: It may be easier -- if you'd like to -- to read the long description of the broom racing contest and much more here: Broom Racing at my dedicated Unicorn Farm Site.

onsdag den 26. august 2020

WfW - Broom Race Aftermath again

For the last time, as this is the last Wednesday of August, Lissa at Memory of Rain is posting the prompts. Today we are given: 

1. belong
2. miserable
3. memory
4. quiver
5. ghost


And/or

6. woven
7. shiver
8. maybe
9. sunshine
10. beneath


Once again I took up the additional challenge to use the words in the order, they were given. This story tells us what happened when Susan and her friends races one another through the obstacle broom race (That long story begins here):

A small group of apprentices were gathered in the broomshed. Their brooms lay on the floor, or leaned against stalls and walls. In the middle of the group, Susan sat, wet and shivering, with a blanket around her dripping, wet body.
  "I don't belong here!" Susan said in a miserable voice. "Never in living memory has anybody made such a disaster of themself," Susan said with a quiver in her voice.
  "Maybe not in living memory," but what about the memories of a ghost?" Percy said, walking in through the wall.
  Susan pulled the coarsely woven blanket tighter around her wet figure with a shiver.
  "Do tell!" Veronika encouraged the ghost.
  "Maybe you fell into the water obstacle upon exiting the gravity well," Percy said, getting less and less translucent, as she spoke. "And maybe you failed every other obstacle at least once. But you never gave up. You finished the broom race, even though you knew you would end up last."
  "Last!" Susan exclaimed. "I dare say. All the others waited for me at the finishing line for almost half an hour!" 
  "Yes," Percy said. "They waited for you. Doesn't that tell you something?" Percy looked at Susan, who stopped sobbing and looked at her.
  "One of the older ghosts told me this story. It dates back from the days when schools for magic were like ordinary boarding schools: When they held a broom race (it was not held every year then), one of the boys in third year bragged continuously about his prowess on a broomstick. Well, none of the racing teams (they even had four of them), wanted him as a participant, but the very next day he challenged every apprentice to race him, just like now it was customary to leave the race track for everyone to have a go at it. Every apprentice in the whole school, even the first years, accepted the challenge, and every single one of them, even the first years, outflew him. But he stayed at the school. He was very quiet after the race, he did not say a word for at lest a month, and then he spoke only one or two word sentences for very long, but he practised flying, he practised all the other forms of magic as well. And he ended up one of the finest wizards of his year."
  Susan drew a shivering breath and smiled tentatively at the others. Veronika smiled back, one of her flashing smiles: "You know, Susan, you can't be best, or even good at everything."
  "We all wanted so much to finally beat you," Tage said. Lis, Bo, Helge, and Heidi smiled warmly at her and nodded.
  "Well," Heidi said. "I know I'm better than you at transformations, but that's about it. You sure belong here. Just as much as the rest of us."
  "You just have to practise flying those obstacles a bit more," Fiona said. "I'll teach you how. if you care."
  "Do I?" Susan said smiling broadly, "Let me get some dry stuff, then I'm ready!"

As the apprentices walked together out in the sunshine, Susan almost did not feel the ground beneath her feet.

mandag den 24. august 2020

Poetry Monday :: Tomatoes

  Diane of On the Border has supplied us with Tomatoes as this Mondays prompt. I felt like not only telling, but also showing how my tomato plants look in the middle of July. 
   Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey is taking a break due to her husband's ill health. Let's all send warm thoughts, good energy and lots of prayers their way.
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy.


Next Monday's topic: Nature, Thank you Diane! 



If the text in the photo is hard to read, it is here in plain text:

Tomatoes

I plant them and water,
I re-pot and plead.
So tiny the sprouts are,
so small in the bed.
Then slowly the grow,
Oh they sprawl and they spread.
They test all my patience,
why don't they turn red?
Then I savour the first one,
and more is ahead.
I pick and I pick them
All filled up with dread.
They thrive and they ripen
They fill up my shed.
We pick and we can them,
When frost kills them dead.
We'll still eat tomatoes,
For dinner and bread.

torsdag den 20. august 2020

TUSAL #49 and probably last

What is TUSAL? Go HERE and see.  Short explanation: Save all your ORTs when stitching, sewing, knitting, crocheting etc. Show them off once a month, on the day of the new moon. It was Wednesday. I'm late. Sorry.

Here's this months ORTs:

 Then why is this TUSAL post probably the last? The reason is twofold. First, our great leader Daffycat is taking a blogging break and is no longer hosting TUSAL - at least for the time being. Nobody has taken over, and thus the TUSAL has become a Facebook thing.
  This leads to reason number two. Facebook is changing its lay out as well. going from this:
to this:
and this probably means, that I am going to leave Facebook. I do not want to wade through an endless ocean of  self-advertisement and irrelevant stuff to get to what matters to me.

onsdag den 19. august 2020

Words for wednesday - 19 August

Today, as all Wednesdays in August, Lissa at Memory of Rain is posting the prompts - she actually did so yesterday my time, much appreciated. Today we are given: 

1. light
2. voice
3. lock
4. hunt
5. laugh

And/or

6. wild
7. simple
8. evanescent
9. vulnerable
10. frigid

I pick up Susan's story at an earlier time again. Back to where she and Taavi, the male Finnish professor were to have a talk of stones with holes in them. I did not use all the words. Missing are: Lock, hunt, laugh and wild.

Suddenly Susan remembered that she was supposed to wait for Taavi in the Barn, not hide away in the library. "Return here and read!" he had said. The incidence with the voices had left her a bit shaken. She felt very vulnerable as she slipped into the long corridor with the book firmly planted under her left arm. But the long slightly twisting corridor lay deserted in the gloomy afternoon light. Taavi was taking the lanterns from Marja and Josta the two Finnish sisters, slender and evanescent like the birch trees for which they were named. They were wet and cold, and went directly to the oven, when Taavi let them go. Susan rose, filled two big mugs with hot tea and went over to them.
"Thank you, Susan!" Josta the oldest of the sisters said. "My fingers need thawing up. I'm frigid."
Marja added: "Thanks, but you know, we're not supposed to talk until we've written our experiences."
"Oh!" Susan said. "A simple 'thank you' and polite small talk won't harm. But I'm off anyway," she added as she saw Taavi waving at her. 
  "Yes Taavi," Susan said. I got the book, sorry about reading it in the library, but something strange happened on my way up there."
  "Are you sure you want to talk about it here?" Taavi asked.
  "No, let's go for a walk." Susan said.
  They together they walked out of the barn, following the path down to the beach, while Susan told Taavi about the voices and what they had said.
  "Are you sure you remember correctly? 'Call on him'. What could they mean, and who is he?" Taavi said, as Susan ended her tale.
  "I'm quite sure, I heard them clearly" Susan answered. "They were close to me and angry at that. They were certain no one was near, else they'd not have spoken out like that."
  "And she did not use magic to see if anybody was in the infirmary?"
  "No, And I stood on the stool. Quiet as a mouse - why do you say this? Mice are so not quiet - Anyway I did not move even a little finger. And I clutched the lucky stone."
  "You did, how extraordinary. Maybe it really acts as a counter to magic. Let me try." Professor Taavi drew his wand. "Now imagine that I'm the lady, trying to make you reveal yourself with the aid of magic. Do as you did in the infirmary."
  Susan clutched the stone closed her eyes and imagined herself back in the small niche in the sick room. Oh, please don't use magic, she thought.
  Taavi looked at his wand. Then he shook his head and mumbled a spell. "I see you now," he said. "But I did not feel like using magic. If I had not been warned, I would not have been aware of it. You, or you and that stone, are not immune to magic at all, but you make me not want to use my magic. It's a compulsion, not very strong, but definitely there. This bears watching. And you just keep that stone handy at all times."
  "Thank you, professor, Yes I will."
  Together they returned to the Barn, just in time for the dismission for the day.

lørdag den 15. august 2020

Poetry Monday :: Responsibilities

  Jenny at Procrastinating Donkey has given us RESPONSIBILITIES as this Monday's subject.
  She and  Diane of On the Border are taking turns supplying us with a theme and crafty poems.
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy.


Hmm. Responsibilities seem not to be the stuff poems are made of. I have been thinking, wringing my hands and from time to time pulled out a hair. I ended up with this half-baked piece of not-quite poerty. I'm not satisfied, but it's what I've got.

Responsiblilties are not
The kind of fluffy stuff whereof
My poerty is made

Responsibility is work
And poetry the extra perk
to do when work is done

Next Monday's clue: Tomatoes

Skydeøvelse - Target practice

   Efter ikke at have skudt med pil og bue siden forrige efterår, begyndte jeg igen i mandags. Til start var det svært bare at ramme den halmballe, jeg havde malet en skydeskive på, men i dag lykkedes det faktisk ret godt.  Dagens første serie endte faktisk med alle pilene inden for den yderste ring, men jeg glemte at tage et billede, så det her må række.

◎⬱

   After not having practised my arrow shooting since Autumn 2018, I began again this Monday. At first it was hard to even hit the big bale of straw we use as a target. Wednesday I painted a target on the bale, today I got all the arrows inside the outer ring, but forgot to take a photo. This almost as good one has to suffice. 

      Også i dag købte Ugelungerne tre nye pile. Så har vi 10, hvis vi lader de to gamle, slidte træpile udgå. Det er herligt. Der kommer nok flere billeder af Uglemors fremskridt senere.

⇶◎

Also today the Owlets went shopping for gifts and brought home three new arrows for MotherOwl. Fine, them we have 10 arrows if we retire the two old, wooden ones. That's a good number.

torsdag den 13. august 2020

Springvandet igen ⛲ Fountain again

Uglemor var til første gang fysioterapi efter sommerferien. Der var sket en hel del med springvandet. Nu ser det sådan her ud:

 -- ⛲ --


When I once again was at PE the stones were put in place.
 Now it looks like this:

 På en Helsinge-facebookgruppe er der nogen, der har delt billeder fra før i tiden. Jeg ved ikke, om det virker. Ellers må jeg lægge et eller to op her. 
 LINK
 In a Facebook group somebody shared photos of the old fountain in Helsinge. Don't know if this works.If not, I've got to put them here.

onsdag den 12. august 2020

Words for Wednesday 12 august 2020

Lissa has given us two photos as prompts. Photolink
Here's a short story. And the two photos of course.



  Susan sat with Grandma's old photo-album in her lap. "I did not know you had been to England, Grandma."
  "Well I have ... those photos ... I had almost forgotten them. It is so long ago. I was sent to England to think over whether I really wanted to marry  your Granddad. It was a terrible trip. It was raining all the time, and the hotel was situated on the edge of the poor quarter." Grandma sighed. 
 "It is me under that umbrella. We had been shopping gifts for those at home. I was wet, cold and terrified. It was such a big city, the types hanging out around the hotel were big, tough and unfriendly. My parents' friends, who had promised to take care of me, left me mainly to their daughter. She just showed me around the town, and took those two photos."
  "Is that you in the background of the lower photo as well?" Susan asked.
  "Yes," Grandma answered. "This was the only  sunny day, as I remember. The hotel is in the small alley where I'm heading. I was afraid of those children. They were so poor. I felt as a millionaire in comparison. Which I most cerainly was not, though I had more money then than I do now."
  "And what happened?" Susan asked.
  "I hurried home, when my 'holiday' ended, and of course I married granddad next year."

torsdag den 6. august 2020

Words for Wednesday 5 August - No Words

  In August Lissa is providing the prompts. They are over at her blog: Memory of Rain
  This week's prompt is:   

1. 'If you feel like screaming, be my guest'
2. 'There is something different about you'


Just because my writing mojo has up and left me, I'll still publish the prompts. If I write something this post will be updated.

tirsdag den 4. august 2020

New Blogger - Again

Today, as I opened Blogger, New Blogger was pre-chosen for me. I decided to give it a try :) I'm happy to rapport that the labelling system now works, and that 'New Post' is no longer a floating orange blob.

It seems like it could actually work now.
Now it's only a bit - a big bit admittedly - slower than Legacy Blogger because of being less compact and requiring more clicks and more scrolling.
Anyhow, I am going to keep on using Legacy Blogger until it is discontinued on August 24th.

I did not experience problems adding photos, partly because they still have the old system as partial overlay.



Orange circles:
- The label system functioning! I deleted Gr, and the check mark is still there!
- New post in its logical place - and with words!
- 24. august - last day for Legacy Blogger
     We can still hope for more improvements before then.

You also still have to change to HTML to write below a photo. I can live with that.

mandag den 3. august 2020

Poetry Monday :: Masks

  Masks - the theme for this Poetry Monday comes from Jenny of Procrastinating Donkey. She and  Diane of On the Border are taking turns supplying us with a theme and crafty poems.
  Mimi of Messymimi's Meanderings also writes a poem for us to enjoy. 


  This Monday's word, masks, was not very inspiring, as I did not want to think of Corona and epidemics and such. But then I remembered a children's song in Danish. 
  In times of old a.k.a. my childhood it was often sung when we ran trick or treating the Monday before Lent - that's what we did then. Now children do it the American way - trick or treating for Halloween, and Monday before Lent is not free from school any more, just a plain ordinary school day. 

Now you can't guess who I am.
No, you can't guess who I am.
Cause I'm wearing a maks
Misk-mosk-mask I wear.
Now you can't guess who I am.

Now you can't guess who I am.
No, you can't guess who I am
Cause I'm wearing a nose
Nis-nas- nose I wear.
Now you can't guess who I am.

Now you can't guess who I am.
No, you can't guess who I am
Cause I'm wearing a frock
Frick-frack-frock I wear.
Now you can't guess who I am.



Next Mondays word is: Dreams


søndag den 2. august 2020

Jeg vokser alligevel - 2 - Defiantly Growing

     For et års tid siden skrev jeg om et træ, der voksede ovenpå en stop-bom for enden af et spor på Hillerød station. Som jeg skrev om dengang, endte det sørgeligt for det voksende træ. Det kan man læse om her: Vokser alligevel 1. Men i dag, da vi atter var på Hillerød station, så vi, at træet groede igen. 

 -- 🌳 --

  Some time ago I wrote about a tree growing on top of a stop-thingie at the end of a train track at the train-station in Hillerød. It had a sad end, as you can read here:  Defiantly growing 1 But today we were once again at Hillerød train station, and look! The tree is once more growing.