Happy Thanksgiving!

Не смотря на то, что у нас уже давным-давно снега, снега и Новый Год не за горами, потянуло на оранжевое и багряное. В ети дни справляют День Благодарения. Говорят, сегодня Обама помиловал индюка...
:))
Интересно, был ли кто-нибудь, кто горько пожалел о том, что он не индюк)))

Tense Tenses

В рассылке пришли шуточки, вот эта особо посмешила:)))

One day an English teacher was looking ill.
A student asked, "What's the matter?"
"Tense," answered the teacher, describing how he felt.
The student paused, then continued, "What was the matter? What has been the matter? What might have been the matter... ?"

Сначала смеюсь, потом смотрю на то, что там студент наспрягал и отмечаю- ето Past Simple, потом Present Perfect, потом модальный глагол плюс Perfect Infinitive...
))) клиника!

Der Erlkönig von Goethe

The theme of supernatural took a firm grip of me))) For quite a while I've meant to put some German bits in the blog, so here it comes, the poem that fascinates me: Der Erlkönig by Goethe.

But first, the legend:

The story of the Erlkönig derives from Danish folk tales, and Goethe based his poem on "Erlkönigs Tochter" ("Erlkönig's Daughter"), a Danish work translated into German by Johann Gottfried Herder. It appeared as "The Elf King's Daughter" in his collection of folk songs, Stimmen der Völker in Liedern (published 1778).
The Erlkönig's nature has been the subject of some debate. In the original Scandinavian version of the tale, the antagonist was the Erlkönig's daughter rather than the Erlkönig himself; the female elf, or ellerkone, sought to ensnare human beings to satisfy her desire, jealousy and lust for revenge.

And the Poem, enjoy:

Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind;
Er hat den Knaben wohl in dem Arm,
Er faßt ihn sicher, er hält ihn warm.

"Mein Sohn, was birgst du so bang dein Gesicht?" —
"Siehst, Vater, du den Erlkönig nicht?
Den Erlenkönig mit Kron und Schweif?" —
"Mein Sohn, es ist ein Nebelstreif."

"Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir!
Gar schöne Spiele spiel' ich mit dir;
Manch' bunte Blumen sind an dem Strand,
Meine Mutter hat manch gülden Gewand." —

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht,
Was Erlenkönig mir leise verspricht?" —
"Sei ruhig, bleibe ruhig, mein Kind;
In dürren Blättern säuselt der Wind." —

"Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehen?
Meine Töchter sollen dich warten schön;
Meine Töchter führen den nächtlichen Reihn,
Und wiegen und tanzen und singen dich ein." —

"Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort
Erlkönigs Töchter am düstern Ort?" —
"Mein Sohn, mein Sohn, ich seh es genau:
Es scheinen die alten Weiden so grau. —"

"Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt;
Und bist du nicht willig, so brauch ich Gewalt." —
"Mein Vater, mein Vater, jetzt faßt er mich an!
Erlkönig hat mir ein Leids getan!" —

Dem Vater grauset's, er reitet geschwind,
Er hält in Armen das ächzende Kind,
Erreicht den Hof mit Müh' und Not;
In seinen Armen das Kind war tot.

Flightless Bird American Mouth [by Iron & Wine]

Благодаря любимому другу было обнаружено следующее Волшебное Творение:

I was a quick wet boy,

Diving too deep for coins

All of your street light eyes

Wide on my plastic toys

Then when the cops closed fair,

I cut my long baby hair

Stole me a dog-eared map

And called for you everywhere

Have I found you

Flightless bird

Jealous, weeping?

Or lost you

American mouth

Big pill looming?

Now I’m a fat house cat

Nursing my sore blunt tongue

Watching the warm poison rats

Curl through the wide fence cracks

Pissing on magazine

Photos, those fishing lures

Thrown in the cold and clean

Blood of Christ mountain stream

Have I found you

Flightless bird

Grounded, bleeding?

Or lost you

American mouth

Big pill stuck going down

Музыкальный вариант Волшебного Творения можно найти сами знаете где ;) он необычайный!

Ignis-fatuus ??

В STRING OF PEARLS [the original penny dreadful featuring SWEENEY TODDTHE DEMON BARBER OF FLEET STREET, ed.] , глава 12, читаю-

It brings with it that unhappy restlessness of intellect which is ever straining after the unattainable, and which is never content to know the end and ultimatum of earthly hopes and wishes; no, the whole life of such persons is spent in one long struggle for a fancied happiness, which like the ignis-fatuus of the swamp glitters but to betray those who trust to its delusive and flickering beams.

Чудное болотное явление, вот что про него пишут-

Ignis-fatuus (plural- ignes fatui , "fool's fires") или Will-o'-the-wisp: Ghostly lights sometimes seen at night or twilight that hover over damp ground in still air — often over bogs. It looks like a flickering lamp, and is sometimes said to recede if approached. Much folklore surrounds the legend, but science has offered several potential explanations.

Spooky!!!

Вот они:

Will-o'-the-Wisp sketch by Rob Alexander, from Selecting Ninth Edition

Following Sweeny Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street

Having seen the film, having read the original 1846/47 penny dreadful , can't help posting this:

THE MAN FROM IRONBARK by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson

It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
He loitered here, he loitered there, till he was like to drop,
Until at last in sheer despair he sought a barber's shop.
"'Ere! shave my beard and whiskers off, I'll be a man of mark,
I'll go and do the Sydney toff up home in Ironbark."

The barber man was small and flash, as barbers mostly are,
He wore a strike-your-fancy sash, he smoked a huge cigar;
He was a humorist of note and keen at repartee,
He laid the odds and kept a "tote", whatever that may be,
And when he saw our friend arrive, he whispered, "Here's a lark!
Just watch me catch him all alive, this man from Ironbark."

There were some gilded youths that sat along the barber's wall.
Their eyes were dull, their heads were flat, they had no brains at all;
To them the barber passed the wink, his dexter eyelid shut,
"I'll make this bloomin' yokel think his bloomin' throat is cut."
And as he soaped and rubbed it in he made a rude remark:
"I s'pose the flats is pretty green up there in Ironbark."

A grunt was all reply he got; he shaved the bushman's chin,
Then made the water boiling hot and dipped the razor in.
He raised his hand, his brow grew black, he paused awhile to gloat,
Then slashed the red-hot razor-back across his victim's throat:
Upon the newly-shaven skin it made a livid mark -
No doubt it fairly took him in - the man from Ironbark.

He fetched a wild up-country yell might wake the dead to hear,
And though his throat, he knew full well, was cut from ear to ear,
He struggled gamely to his feet, and faced the murd'rous foe:
"You've done for me! you dog, I'm beat! one hit before I go!
I only wish I had a knife, you blessed murdering shark!
But you'll remember all your life the man from Ironbark."

He lifted up his hairy paw, with one tremendous clout
He landed on the barber's jaw, and knocked the barber out.
He set to work with nail and tooth, he made the place a wreck;
He grabbed the nearest gilded youth, and tried to break his neck.
And all the while his throat he held to save his vital spark,
And "Murder! Bloody murder!" yelled the man from Ironbark.

A peeler man who heard the din came in to see the show;
He tried to run the bushman in, but he refused to go.
And when at last the barber spoke, and said "'Twas all in fun—
'Twas just a little harmless joke, a trifle overdone."
"A joke!" he cried, "By George, that's fine; a lively sort of lark;
I'd like to catch that murdering swine some night in Ironbark."

And now while round the shearing floor the list'ning shearers gape,
He tells the story o'er and o'er, and brags of his escape.
"Them barber chaps what keeps a tote, By George, I've had enough,
One tried to cut my bloomin' throat, but thank the Lord it's tough."
And whether he's believed or no, there's one thing to remark,
That flowing beards are all the go way up in Ironbark.

The Bulletin, 17 December 1892.