0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.
This reminds me of a beautiful Romanian poem: "The death of the Deer"Here is the approximate English translation:The sun, melted down on the earth, left behindAn empty, exhausted, blistering sky.The buckets come up from the fountains all dryMore and more, over the woods fires, firesDance above savage demoniac pyres.I follow my father through the bushes uphill,The fir-trees scrape me, withered up and evil,Together, we start the deer hunting quest,The hunting of hunger in the Carpathian forest.Thirst ruins me. The thin string of waterDrip, drop, from the spout is sizzling on stoneMy temple is throbbing. I walk on anotherEnormous and heavy, strange planet alone.We wait in a place where,from strings of calm waves,The streams still resound.When the sun will be set,When the moon will rise, roundOne by one, in a line, up here,They will come to drink, the deer.I say: "Father, I'm thirsty!" He hushes me at onceBemusing water, how clearly you glow!I'm tied by thirst to the soul meant to dieAt an hour forbidden by custom and by lawThe valley rustles with a withered hissCrosswise the sky, a dire twilight lit the cloudsand far, above the cliff, blood drips.My chest is red, as if wiped my hands of blood on it.With bluish flames through ferns, as in dreamAstounded stars begin to gleamSacrifice of my woods, oh, beautiful prey,How I wish you did not come, how I pray!She bounces lightly then she stopsAnd looks with caution through the grassHer slender nostrils stirred the waterIn circles shimmering like brassA hazy fear glared deep inside her eyesI knew that she would suffer; I knew that she would die,As she stood there, still, she was the sheerMyth of the maid embodied in a deer.White cherry flowers high above herThe moon was sifting on her furOh, how I wish, oh, how I pray,My father's gun to miss its preyThe valleys roaredKnelt, in the streamShe raised her head as in a dream,She watched the sky, the moon, the starsThen felland water gleamed with scarsA blue bird rushed, in a tree, unknownThe deer's life has softly flownCrying like birds when they departAnd their fall migration start.I went to close her eyes, belowSo sadly laid her antlers shadowI started livid when, suddenly, offbeat,My father screeched with joy:"Meat, we have meat!"I say "Father, I'm thirsty!"He nods that I may drinkBemusing water, how sullenly you glow!I feel tied by thirst to the soul that diedAt an hour forbidden by custom and by law...But our laws are useless and deadWhen our life hangs up on a threadAnd custom, law and pity are quickly goneWhen sis' is sick and hungry at homeThe smoke comes out of my father's gunThe leafage in flocks starts to run!My father kindles a terrible fireThe wood seems now darker and higher!I pick up from the grass, as in a dream,A tiny bell with silver gleam,My father, from the spit rends with his nailsThe deer's heart and her entrailsYou, heart? I'm hungry!I want to live, I wish, although...Forgive mee deer, forgive me virgin-doe!I'm tired. How tall is now the fire!The woods, how deep!I cry. What does my father think?I eat and cry!I eat!
Reading this had me close to tears.
... a tranquil idle .
Chapter 4Far to the north there were partisans - bearded artisans and tattooed faeries who had escaped from the forest in brightly colored VWs and on old bicycles. They lived a simple rustic life in a secret commune which was not on any map and was difficult to find - a tranquil idle which smelled of fresh coffee and sourdough bread.
Strangely though I don't remember it smelling of fresh coffee and sourdough bread there.
Quote from: Difydave on July 08, 2014, 10:56Strangely though I don't remember it smelling of fresh coffee and sourdough bread there. Homegrown and socks right ?
istock still works good to me i'm having 250/300 dollars a month with a 1000 pics
Quote from: mojaric on July 09, 2014, 09:06istock still works good to me i'm having 250/300 dollars a month with a 1000 picsGet back to us in six years. Not only was I earning more than $300/month in 2008 when I had -/=1000 files (up to $860 in Nov 2008, which is still my BME), when files were much cheaper, I'm now well below what I was earning then each month but one this year with 3500+ files. It's almost impossible for an indivdual supplier to keep increasing their port at the rate the entire collection is growing, and we have no control over the best match, or where our files end up, or them suddenly deciding to change how our %age is calculated, or them suddenly deciding to undercut exclusive files by indie files on their own site, or offering subs. There are too many imponderables to make any projections, even short term.