tisdag, september 14, 2010
måndag, september 13, 2010
torsdag, september 09, 2010
måndag, september 06, 2010
21. They tell the story of a certain brother who came to Scete to see Abba Arsenius, and who went into the church and entreated the clergy to take him to see him; and the clergy said unto him, "Refresh thyself a little, and thou shalt see him." And the brother said unto them, "I will eat nothing before I meet him and see him" ; and when the clergy heard this they sent a brother with him to shew him Abba Arsenius, because his cell was some distance away. And when they had arrived there, they knocked at the door and went inside, and having saluted him, and prayed, they sat down and held their peace; and the brother who was from the church answered and said, "I will depart, pray ye for me." But when the other brother saw that he possessed not freedom of speech with the old man, he said unto the brother from the church, "I also will go with thee," and they departed together. Then he entreated him, saying, "Take me also to Abba Moses who was a thief," and when they went to him, the old man received them with joy, and having refreshed them greatly he dismissed them in peace. And the brother who had brought the visitor to Abba Moses said unto him, "Behold, I brought thee to a man from a foreign land, and to an Egyptian, which of the two pleaseth thee?" And he answered and said unto him, ”The Egyptian who hath just received me, and refreshed me." And when one of the old men heard what had happened, he prayed to God, and said, "O Lord, shew me this matter; one fleeth from the world for Thy Name's sake, and another receiveth and is gracious for Thy Name's sake." And behold, suddenly there appeared unto him on the river two great boats, and lo, Abba Arsenius and the Spirit of God were travelling in silence in the one, and Abba Moses and the angels of God were in the other, and they were feeding the monk with honey from the comb.
s. 8-9 här.
onsdag, juni 09, 2010
(mormor Maj somnade in 3 juni i Uppsala. dikten är skriven av Oscar Levertin och så sent som i höstas hörde jag henne, 94 år gammal, recitera den ur sitt berömda minne. Nu har hon funnit sitt Ithaka.)
Jag drömt som främling på en främmad strand
Gud vet hur många år.
Nu vill jag hem. Jag redan lagt från land,
i silkesseglet stormen slår.
Framåt mot obefarna vattendrag
förbi Herakles' stoder
mot fjärran ö i blå arkipelag
jag vridit skeppets roder.
Där ligger solskenslyst i havets mitt
mitt Ithaka, den ö,
där fruktträdsvalven evigt lysa vitt
och dyningarna dö
i säven som en mattad aftonsång
från kärleksdomnad lyra,
dit, vore färden än så hård och lång,
vill jag min farkost styra.
Där stå det vita, marmorsvala hus,
i vilket jag vill bo.
Där silverpoppeln har det högtidssus,
som hägnar med sin ro.
Ack, världens vägar, jag är trött på dem!
Jag hör det dunkla kravet
mot längtans Ithaka, mitt hjärtats hem,
min vita ö i havet.
På hemfärd stadd jag lyssnar så förstrött
på livets lust och larm
som på en man, som av en slump mig mött
och håller fast min arm.
I bröder, än jag går som en bland er,
men ren mot slag som smekning
med avskedsstundens gåtfullhet jag ler.
Jag har gjort upp min räkning.
Blott starkare förnimmer jag var dag
den manande musik,
som eko är av kvällens böljeslag
emot min hemös vik.
Jag drömmer lutad över skeppets toft.
I skum delfiner skalkas,
än syns ej ön, men luftens mandeldoft
förtäljer, att jag nalkas.
Så vill jag bära allt, vad än en man
kan bära utav ve,
ty ett jag vet, ej evigt räcka kan
mitt hjärtas odyssé.
Min sorgs, min glädjes skiljemynt—allt glöms
som mull i mull begravet,
när skeppet når sitt Ithaka, sin dröms
vårvita ö i havet.
lördag, april 03, 2010
fredag, februari 12, 2010
Musee des Beaux Arts
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
(via David Michael, years ago it seems)