Galina Nikolaeva

Галина Николаева
(http://www.livelib.ru/author/317085)
no copyright infringement intended

The daughter of a schoolteacher, Galina Nikolaeva (1911-1963) graduated from a medical institute in 1935. Her father and her husband were both imprisoned in 1937, victims of the Soviet political terror of that period. During WWII, Nikolaeva worked as a physician on the Stalingrad front, then in Northern Caucasus. After the war she began known as a writer. Short story Гибель командарма (Death of the Army Commander) was published in 1945, a collection of verses (Сквозь огонь - Through Fire) followed, in 1946. In 1950 Nikolaeva published Жатва (Harvest), a novel depicting the people of a northern village and the postwar restoration of the rural economy. Повесть о директоре МТС и главном агрономе (Tale of the Director of an MTS and the Chief Agronomist), published in 1954, dealt also with rural life, and maybe foretell her masterpiece, Битва в пути (Battle en Route), from 1957.

(I used information from Encyclopedia - The Free Dictionary and Живая библиотека — социальная сеть читателей книг)

(A Life in Books)

Imagini din Cartierul Titan

Musical Background: Bring It Back, Michael Mills

(Bucuresti)

Viktor Astafyev

Viktor Astafyev
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Viktor_Astafyev.jpg)
no copyright infringement intended

born in 1924 in the region of Krasnoyarsk, on the bank of Yenisei; spent much of his childhood in an orphanage; conscripted in the Soviet Army in 1942, wounded in the war; from 1945 on, lived in various regions of Russia (Urals, Perm, Vologda), working as a locksmith and smelter; published his first book in 1953l passed away in 2001 (wiki).

Astafyev has always been a highly individual writer who conforms to no movements or stereotypes.... He has always remained true to himself, and has retained a certain hard-edged integrity. His novel Прокляты и убиты is a gritty, typically uncompromising picture of war, with many naturalistic descriptions in a style the author has developed since the cathartic Печальный детектив. Astafyev remains very much a writer who refuses to be easily categorized: he is neither a Village Prose Writer, nor a writer of war prose, nor a writer who explores the mistakes of the recent Soviet past. At the same time, he is all of these. Capable of surprising and even shocking his reader, Astafyev maintains a deep lyrical sense that has produced what Eidelman called the best descriptions of nature for decades. More than any other writer living in Russia today (with the possible exception of Solzhenitsyn), he is a writer who examines man as subjected to and molded by the total Soviet experience.

(David Gillespie, quoted in wiki)

(A Life in Books)

Arvid has a Question

(https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=603082786368390&set=a.100729353270405.1439.100000000217321&type=1&theater)
no copyright infringement intended

Arvid has a good question: what wine would you serve with this mess? A few would go for a beer, but white wine seems to be the right choice. Now, what kind of white wine? Some would say a Riesling would be good, for some others a Chardonnay or a Sauvignon would go, some would prefer champagne. Well, it's your turn now.


(P and C Art)

Bucharest: Mid May in IOR Park

(Musical Background: Beethoven, Piano Sonata No.18 in E-Flat Major, Op.31 No.3: I. Allegro, Clara Haskil)

(Bucuresti)

Valentin Rasputin

Valentin Rasputin
source: Александр Стручков
(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:%D0%92%D0%B0%D0%BB%D0%B5%D0%BD%D1%82%D0%B8%D0%BD_%D0%A0%D0%B0%D1%81%D0%BF%D1%83%D1%82%D0%B8%D0%BD.jpg)
no copyright infringement intended

I met firstly with the books of Valentin Rasputin by the end of the 1970's. They made an extraordinary impression on me. It was my first contact with the Siberian writers, the village prose movement. I remained through the years an admirer of Rasputin's works. His heroes are Siberian peasants, facing complex ethical and spiritual challenges.

• Doua romane de Valentin Rasputin

(A Life in Books)

Merle Haggard - Mama Tried (1968 live TV performance)

Merle Haggard
(http://www.breakoutmanagement.net/booking-non-exclusive-artist/merle-haggard/)
no copyright infringement intended

I recently met with a friend from old times. I haven't seen him since the 1960's. He was by then a mix of shyness and courage (as all of us used to be), and loved singing all kind of songs. Now he looks old, naturally, while his eyes are telling the story of a life, with ups and downs, with the force to pass over bad times and go on. I'm looking at Merle Haggard now, the video I found is a live recording from the 1960's, while the image above shows a grown-up whose eyes are telling the story of a life.

The first thing I remember knowing,
Was a lonesome whistle blowing,
And a young un's dream of growing up to ride;
On a freight train leaving town,
Not knowing where I'm bound,
No-one could change my mind but Mama tried.
One and only rebel child,
From a family, meek and mild:
My Mama seemed to know what lay in store.
Despite all my Sunday learning,
Towards the bad, I kept on turning.
'Til Mama couldn't hold me anymore.

And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole.
No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried.
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.
That leaves only me to blame 'cos Mama tried.

Dear old Daddy, rest his soul,
Left my Mom a heavy load;
She tried so very hard to fill his shoes.
Working hours without rest,
Wanted me to have the best.
She tried to raise me right but I refused.

And I turned twenty-one in prison doing life without parole.
No-one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried.
Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading, I denied.
That leaves only me to blame 'cos Mama tried.

(http://www.cowboylyrics.com/lyrics/haggard-merle/mama-tried-507.html)

(video by goldwax)

(Blogosphere)

Funny Movies Made by Kids

My granddaughters Bianca and Daria, together with their friends, playing in funny movies made by themselves. Enjoy!

Bollywood Brunettes.mov

Super Brunettes.mov

(Lexington)

Emily Dickinson: There is no Frigate like a Book

source: Eclectic Eyez
no copyright infringement intended

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

(http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-book/)

(Emily Dickinson)

Cateva cuvinte despre o poeta

Emily Dickinson
(http://tuvala.blogspot.com/2008/04/perfect-sunday-poem-emily-dickinson.html)
no copyright infringement intended

(click here for the English version)

Aceasta lume nu este o concluzie;
Dincolo de ea sta o urmare,
Nevazuta, asa cum e muzica,
Insa o certitudine, astfel cum e sunetul.

Dupa ce a murit, in camera ei au fost gasite manuscrisele, mii de versuri. Nimeni din familie nu banuise ca era poeta. Astazi este socotita una din marile poete ale literaturii americane, poate cea mai mare.

Cum arata? Un fost coleg din anii de scoala isi va aminti, peste ani, si va avea o fraza superba, she was not beautiful, yet she had great beauties. Ochii ei castanii erau calzi si blanzi, parul ei, tot castaniu, i se revarsa inelat peste umeri. Ii placea sa se imbrace in alb si ii placeau mult florile.

A fost vreodata indragostita? Sigur ca da. Dar a stiut sa isi pastreze taina in inima. Au ramas ciornele a patru scrisori - si indaratul frazelor conventionale traieste, urla patima, o patima care doare, fiindca si-a infranat-o atat de mult. Barbatul era un om al bisericii, un pastor, cu zece sau cinsprezece ani mai in varsta, casatorit si cu copii. Raspunsurile lui nu s-au pastrat. In anul acela ea a scris sute de poezii.

Pastorul a stiut sa reziste navalei sentimentelor - si s-a mutat undeva departe, in California.

Iar ea a devenit din ce in ce mai retrasa. Iesea rar din camera, din ce in ce mai rar - de obicei ca sa mearga la vanatoare, prin coclaurii Noii Anglii. Avea un tovaras de nadejde, un caine urias.

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don't know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—

(http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-world-is-not-conclusion/)