The Renaissance men

"So we are back to the great British intellectual airport dilemma: which bit of cultural baggage should you carry into the cabin for your flight through life, and which should remain sealed in the hold? Here is the answer: it is a bogus question. There is no check-in clerk. There are no intellectual baggage limits. The destination is unknown. The flight duration is uncertain. The take-off is right now. You should take both, because you will need them on the journey, and there is no carousel at the other end."

-from the article "Why are we still having the old arts v science debate?"

and commenting on "Is the Renaissance scholar dead?"

Medieval Tech Support

Vojvodina

I
Veruju vo jedinu i vo jed i vo inu
ravnicu – mater moju i zapljuvanu i svetu.
tu Vojvodinu u soli, u hlebu i vinu,
i ne verujem joj, veru joj njenu i krv joj somotsku i prokletu
a slepački joj se molim dok mi na usni rđa i rže i miriše
blagoslovena kao pričest i zrno aprilske kiše
i dok me kolje pod grlom njen dah ljut kao vile,
pa teme i čelo škropi beli cvet bagremova,
i dok se rvem sa žitom, dok zvezde po meni mile,
a ona rominja i tinja i survava se sa krova
sva toržestvena i roždestvena od lepote i rugla
i kao srce mokra i kao srce okrugla.
Jao ravnico, zloslutnico! Zlatna sačmo u sisi!
Jao svevišnja moja iz birtija i crkava!
Ti, dušo, što isplažena i bosonoga visiš
i pozlaćena i plaćena, i detinjasta i lukava,
a tako sasvim sveta i zlikovačka i lomna,
i kao nebo niska, i kao nebo ogromna.

II
Volim je od štala do (neba) oltarskih dveri i od blata do pšenice,
toplu od ciganskih gudala i blagdanskih očenaša,
vršidbenu i zadušničku, smeđu kao devojačke pletenice
tu zemlju čardaša, čaša i bezemljaša,
gde su služili bdenija i ljude za glavu skračivali,
gde su starice tepale i pragove branile golim šakama,
pa su je brali i ždrali rukama, pa su crkavali i živeli,
pa su je voleli ljudi, i kleli, i psovali, i plakali.
Tu Vojvodinu bogomoljačku, i bezbožničku, i vinsku,
belju od jaganjaca, crnju od paljevina.
Tu Vojvodinu svetonikoljsku, velikogospojinsku,
kad se lumpovalo od Vršca do Temišvara, Sombora i Segedina,
pa niko u brkovima nije imao gustu pesmu kao taj narod
robijaški i prvomajski, razbijenih temena i zuba,
ta Vojvodina ašova, britvi, molitvi i šamara,
zarasla u želje, u laž, u borbu, u izdajstvo, u ljubav.
Volim je, jer svi smo široki i obični kao ova ravnica,
jer smo i veliki i prokleti na ovim zelenim travama,
i milioni suludih, rumenih zvezdanih ptica
večito će lepršati nad našim umornim glavama.

III
Muču steoni vinogradi. Peni se jesen u kacama.
Rđaju po bespućima vetrovi sa kutnjacima masnim od slanine.
Rodio te otac. Ubio te sin. Brat bratu o vratu i po vratu.
A krstovi najveće drveće. A grobovi najveće planine.
Na usni tamjan i nafora. Nozdrva od bosiljka bela.
Zubi utrnuli od bećaraca i truli od opela.
Jao ravnico! Jao krtico! Jao bezglava tico!
Jao sve moje nesito i ponosito i napito!
Moje žetvo i žito. Moja kletvo i tugo.
I jao Vojvodino - gladna godino, i Vojvodino – dugo!
Širok Dunav. Široke pustare. Široko garavo oko.
Od svetog Čarnojevića, do svetog skeledžije na Tisi,
oče naš u opancima, u katancima i lancima,
oče naš iže jesi i iže nisi.

IV
I volim je prosjačku, pred crkvama, nedeljama u ritama,
i svatovsku, astragansku, neucveljenu bolovima,
i Vojvodinu vašarsku i harmonikašku, čas raspusnu, čas pitomu
i birtijašku što osvanjiva štucajući pod stolovima,
pa Vojvodinu bečku i varmeđsku sa tuđim barjacima pred četama
K. u K. regimente, kraj druma istorija silovana i zaklana,
i Vojvodinu solunsku i krfsku pod bajonetima,
sivu kao vojnička smrt u koporanima i zajedničkim rakama.
Pa je volim šestoaprilsku, logorašku, isprebijanu,
obešenu o bandere, probušenu po čelima,
uzoranu od tenkova, od krvi izopijanu,
i partizansku kad je oktobra donela proleće selima.
Volim je koliko je zla i dobra. Volim je podjednako.
Prskajte kajsije zvezda u kosi drveća njenog!
Uvek će biti krovova pozadi kova svakog
jer uvek se rumeno nastavlja na rumeno.

V
Lete nad Fruškom gorom, nad tornjevima, nad đermovima
nakolmovani paorski anđeli bez krila i oreola.
Lete do zvezda i vraćaju se sa zvezda lepi, mrtvi i šašavi,
sa ufitljenim brkovima, u gaćama od šest pola.
Lete sa glavom crvenom kao raspuknuta lubenica.
Sa obrazima od licidarskih lutaka i jezikom od koljiva.
Leti Panonija hiljadu puta zaklana i uvek najlepše živa.
Panonija što prašta i što se iz groba seća,
sva od praporaca i dukata, sva mnogo srneća i kereća.
Jao ravnico! Jao česnico! Jao vodo i travo!
Jao sve moje plavo, drveno od krstova i pravo!
Jao žuto od snopova, od mrtvaca, od sunca i od sveća!
I jao šareno od vina, od violina, od sukanja i cveća!
Ja tebe nožem i hlebom. Ti mene solju i satarom.
Ja tebe nogom i bojom. Ti mene ruzmarinom i materom.
Jednu zob zobali, jednako groba dobili,
jednako se oplodili i rodili i prodali.
Četir konja debela u pesmu si uprezala!
Četir strane sveta u pupak si nam uvezala!
Ej, Vojvodino, od plača, od đubreta i od kolača,
a vere četir, a peta ciganska, a šesta iz tambure riče!
I svi mi na sramotu ličle! I svi mi na boga liče!

VI
Zaigraj, zavitlaj zemljo, lepoto bodonoga,
nevesto moja najlepša u dronjcima i plaču,
ti što se moliš bogu i ti što pljuješ na boga,
ti što si dugovala i naplatila račun,
nazdravlje! Diži čaše! Razbij astale šakom!
Zapevaj preko njiva neka zabride kosti!
Volim te što si prosta, sirova, divlja tako,
i tako mnogo luda, volim te, volim, oprosti,
ti, od ponosa i stida, od đinđuva i vaški,
ti, ljuljaško i rako – žut zubat smeh ne skrivaj,
pevaj pijano racki, madžarski, totski, vlaški,
makedonski i lički preko dalekih njiva!
I tako do smaka sveta, najteža zemljo moja,
sa ukusom muškatla, krvi, hleba, i saća!
Od paorske sam lepote, radosti, psovki i znoja.
Razdrlji prsluk i gutaj! Ja ovu zdravicu plaćam!

- Miroslav Antic

Myth...

The deep fascination of myths is that they speak directly to deeper levels of our nature and to the subconscious, and give the profound assurance that we are each, in essence, deathless and immortal sparks of Divinity on the long evolutionary journey into higher consciousness.
- Sir George Trevelyn

The Reluctant Dragon

Ero i Kadija :)

Čuvao Ero kadijna goveda, pa imao i svoju jednu kravu, te išla s kadijinim govedima. Jedan put se dogodi, te se pobode kadijna krava s Erinom, pa Erina krava ubode kadijnu na mjesto. Onda Ero brže bolje otrči kadiji:
"Čestiti efendija! tvoja krava ubola moju kravu."
– "Pa ko je kriv, more! je li je ko naćerao?"
– "Nije niko, nego se pobole same."
– "E! vala, more! marvi nema suda."
– Onda Ero: "Ama čuješ li ti, efendija! što ja kažem: moja krava ubola, tvoju kravu."
– "A a! more! stani dok pogledam u ćitap;" pa se segne rukom, da dovati ćitap, a Ero te za ruku:
"Ne ćeš, Bog i Božja vjera! Kad nijesi gledao mojoj u ćitap, lje nećeš ni tvojoj."

Gubbio studio

POENITET . ALTRICI . SVCCVBVISSE . SVE . ASPICIS . ETERNOS . VENERANDE . MATRIS . ALUMNOS . DOCTRINA . EXCELSOS . INGENIOQ3 . VISOS . VT . NVDA . CERVICE . CADANT . ANTE . ORA . PARENTIS . SUPPLICITER . FLEXO . PROCVBVERE . GENV . IVSTITIA . PIETAS . VINCIT . REVERENDA . NEC . VLLUM . POENITET

Jesen (opet)

Noć bez neba, noć jesenja; a kroz tamu
Ide, mili sumaglica, vlaga hladna,
Zemlja mokra i crni se k'o strast gladna.
Gde-gde samo suve senke golih grana
K'o kosturi od života, mrtvih dana.

Svuda zemlja; vidik pao. Vlažna tama
Po zvucima, preko mira, leži, spava.
I tišina u dolini zaborava
Mirno trune. Nigde nieg što se budi.
Sumaglica. Noć bez neba. Pokrov sudi.

Vladislav Petković - Dis

podsetilo me na čika Vardy-a...

The belief in an external world independent of the perceiving subject is the basis of all natural science. Since, however, sense perception only gives information of this external world or of "physical reality" indirectly, we can only grasp the latter by speculative means. It follows from this that our notions of physical reality can never be final. We must always be ready to change these notions - that is to say, the axiomatic basis of physics - in order to do justice to perceived facts in the most perfect way logically. -Einstein

Koracima Jamesa Cooka.....

Sad kad sam okusila vetar, počinjem sa ozbiljnim pripremama za južni Pacifik. (ne bih li utvrdila da je zemlja zaista okrugla)

Me'n'these here scurvy scallywags drug our sorry keesters out t'th'ship'n'had us a grand great adventuaaarrr! We almost had t'keelhaul Mad Connie f'r gettin inter th' grog behind our backs!

Apologia Pro Libro Suo...

I

My publishers have asked me to use the occasion given by a new edition of The Story of Philosophy to discuss the general question of "outlines," and to consider some of the shortcomings of the volume. I am glad of this opportunity to acknowledge these, and to express with all the weakness of mere words the gratitude that I must always feel for the generosity with which, despite so many defects, the American public has received this book.

The "outlines" came because a million voices called for them. Human knowledge had become unmanageably vast; every science had begotten a dozen more, each subtler than the rest; the telescope revealed stars and systems beyond the mind of man to number or to name; geology spoke in terms of millions of years, where men before had thought in terms of thousands; physics found a universe in the atom, and biology found a microcosm in the cell; physiology discovered inexhaustible mystery in every organ, and psychology in every dream; anthropology reconstructed the unsuspected antiquity of man, archeology unearthed buried cities and forgotten states, history proved all history false, and painted a canvas which only a Spengler or an Eduard Meyer could vision as a whole; theology crumbled, and political theory cracked; invention complicated life and war, and economic creeds overturned governments and inflamed the world; philosophy itself, which had once summoned all sciences to its aid in making a coherent image of the world and an alluring picture of the good, found its task of coördination too stupendous for its courage, ran away from all these battlefronts of truth, and hid itself in recondite and narrow lanes, timidly secure from the issues and responsibilities of life. Human knowledge had become too great for the human mind.

All that remained was the scientific specialist, who knew "more and more about less and less," and the philosophical speculator, who knew less and less about more and more. The specialist put on blinders in order to shut out from his vision all the world but one little spot, to which he glued his nose. Perspective was lost. "Facts" replaced understanding; and knowledge, split into a thousand isolated fragments, no longer generated wisdom. Every science, and every branch of philosophy, developed a technical terminology intelligible only to its exclusive devotees; as men learned more about the world, they found themselves ever less capable of expressing to their educated fellow-men what it was that they had learned. The gap between life and knowledge grew wider and wider; those who governed could not understand those who thought, and those who wanted to know could not understand those who knew. In the midst of unprecedented learning popular ignorance flourished, and chose its exemplars to rule the great cities of the world; in the midst of sciences endowed and enthroned as never before, new religions were born every day, and old superstitions recaptured the ground they had lost. The common man found himself forced to choose between a scientific priesthood mumbling unintelligible pessimism, and a theological priesthood mumbling incredible hopes.

In this situation the function of the professional teacher was clear. It should have been to mediate between the specialist and the nation; to learn the specialist's language, as the specialist had learned nature's, in order to break down the barriers between knowledge and need, and find for new truths old terms that all literate people might understand. For if knowledge became too great for communication, it would degenerate into scholasticism, and the weak acceptance of authority; mankind would slip into a new age of faith, worshiping at a respectful distance its new priests; and civilization, which had hoped to raise itself upon education disseminated far and wide, would be left precariously based upon a technical erudition that had become the monopoly of an esoteric class monastically isolated from the world by the high birth rate of terminology. No wonder that all the world applauded when James Harvey Robinson sounded the call for the removal of these barriers and the humanization of modern knowledge.

reče Will Durant pri drugom izdanju "The Story of Philosophy"

Giovanni Sollima - Sogno ad Occhi Aperti (Daydream) I

Nybrogatan, Stockholm. noon.

Misao...

We ourselves are not an illusory part of Reality; rather are we Reality itself illusorily conceived. - Fingers Pointing Toward the Moon by Wei Wu Wei

more to come o zlu zvanom Facebook i komercijalizaciji jednog bubrega...

The End of Raven, by Edgar Allan Poe's Cat

On a night quite unenchanting,
when the rain was downward slanting,
I awakened to the ranting
of the man I catch mice for.

Tipsy and a bit unshaven,
in a tone I found quite craven,
Poe was talking to a Raven perched
above the chamber door.

"Raven's very tasty," thought I,
as I tiptoed o'er the floor,
"There is nothing I like more".

Soft upon the rug I treaded,
calm and careful as I headed
Towards his roost atop that dreaded
bust of Pallas I deplore.

While the bard and birdie chattered,
I made sure that nothing clattered,
Creaked, or snapped, or fell, or shattered,
as I crossed the corridor;

For his house is crammed with trinkets,
curios and weird decor -
Bric-a-brac and junk galore.

Still the Raven never fluttered,
standing stock-still as he uttered,
In a voice that shrieked and sputtered,
his two cents' worth - "Nevermore."

While this dirge the birdbrain kept up,
oh, so silently I crept up,
Then I crouched and quickly leapt up,
pouncing on the feathered bore.

Soon he was a heap of plumage,
and a little blood and gore-
Only this and not much more.

"Oooo!" my pickled poet cried out,
"Pussycat, it's time I dried out!
Never sat I in my hideout
talking to a bird before.

How I've wallowed in self-pity,
while my gallant, valiant kitty
Put and end to that damned ditty" -
then I heard him start to snore.

Back atop the door I clambered,
eyed that statue I abhor,
Jumped - and smashed it on the floor.

:) (from Henry Beard's, Poetry for Cats, copyright 1994)

Pogresan Lervik

...i posle svega, ptica mi ukrala celu tablu cokolade! Ih, kako da se
ljutim? Ptica mi je odletela iza leđa sa c e l o m t a b l o m č o k o l a d e!

Welcome to Sweden.

Juče Kalemegdan...

danas okružni zatvor u Subotici. All in a day's work! ;) Bilo je i krajnje vreme da dobijem svoj kriminalni dosije. Na šta bi mi inače biografija ličila?


Anyway, ovo je lepo palo... Mmm... Kalemegdan... sunce... izležavanje na travi... podseća na Brisel... :) Večeras, potraga za nekim tragom kulture i života u Subotici...
- kriminalka

...

Magnolije...

Palić... na korak od ringišpila i šećerne vate...

Posle Olomouca, Bratislavskog jutra, popodnevnog sunčanja u Budimpešti i promatranja golubova... Dozvoljavam sebi samo po stranicu dnevno Assmannove knjige. Još pretty much u uvodnom delu, ali osvetlao je obraz kad iznenada (o svom pristupu radu) reče:
"...having turned to ancient Egypt thirty-five years ago with questions that are all too easily forgotten as soon as one enters an academic discipline. Disciplines develop questions of their own and by doing so function as a mnemotechnique of forgetting with regard to concerns of a more general and fundamental character. In this book I try to remember and recover the questions, not to answer them."

Olomouc, CZ...

David Zissenwine! aaaaa :)
i dobila sam recomended reading list/authors! :) Meesa happy... Sad opasno započinjem svoju borbu za opstanak čovečanstva, sa Ericssonom, Deweyem i družinom.
usput, jedna lepa misao:
"...u moru bezvrijedne suvremene buke koju još samo krajnje ignorantni nazivaju glazbom..."

Brno, CZ...

One dead man and many train stops later, internet discovered in the strange habitat somewhere.. one hour from my hopeful destination. No seats available on buses in the next two days, I have a train ticket, but this day's experience taught me I might need to fight for actually getting there - especially since one of the stops is: "Nezamyslice"! :) divno...

pricica sto mi je u glavi zahvaljujuci s. i zasluzuje da oplemeni ovo Brnsko iskustvo-
"...na himalajima domoroci koji rade kao nosaci planinarskim ekspedicijama cesto stanu u sred onog snega i leda, sednu sa svim stvarima i nece da se mrdnu dalje. kad ih planinari izbezumljeni pitaju zasto, oni kazu da cekaju da ih dusa sustigne, jer su isli prebrzo i dusa im je ostala negde iza."

p.s. e da, ona druga bakica je pravila lutke...