Ambis tišine jednog medicinara

Opis bloga

• Moj je um palača.
  Puna najdivnijih snova.....
  .....i tako užasnih noćnih mora.....
  Ecce homo.

Linkovi

• Blog.hr
  Ljubitelji irske muzike ujedinimo se
  

Život je san

• Zaista, treba da svladamo
  Ovu našu ćud opaku,
  Pomamu I čežnju svaku,
  Jer zapravo mi sanjamo.
  Tako treba, jer ovo je
  Čudan svijet I čudan dan
  Gdje je život samo san,
  A iskustvo moje sudi :
  Čovjek sanja ono što je,
  Sanja, dok se ne probudi.
  
  
  I kralj, koji vlada svima,
  Sanja kako zapovijeda,
  U toj varci sebe gleda
  Kako mnoge časti prima,
  A na vjetar sve ih piše,
  Jer smrt strašna sve ih briše
  I u prah će sve to strti.
  Tko je dakle željen vlasti
  Kad zna da će jednom pasti
  Čim se prene – u snu smrti.
  
  
  Gavan sanja blago svoje
  I posvuda strah ga prati,
  Bijednik sanja kako pati
  Sve tegobe I nevolje.
  Sanja, kom se uspjeh nudi,
  Sanja, koji časti žudi
  I tko vrijeđa bližnjeg svoga.
  Tako eto stvari stoje :
  Svaki sanja ono što je,
  Samo nije svjestan toga.
  
  I ja sanjam da sam tu,
  Sputan u tom kutku bijednom,
  A snio sam da sam jednom
  Uživao sreću svu.
  Što je život ? Mahnitanje.
  Što je život ? Puste sanje,
  Prazna sjena što nas ovi.
  O, malen je dar nam dan,
  Jer sav život – to je san,
  A san su I sami snovi.
  
  Piedro Calderon de la Barca
  

The Stolen Child

• Where dips the rocky highland
  Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
  There lies a leafy island
  Where flapping herons wake
  The drowsy water-rats;
  There we've hid our faery vats,
  Full of berries
  And of reddest stolen cherries.
  Come away, O human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
  
  Where the wave of moonlight glossess
  The dim grey sands with light,
  Far off by furthest Rosses
  We foot it all the night,
  Weaving olden dances,
  Mingling hands and mingling glances
  Till the moon has taken flight;
  To and fro we leap
  And chase the frothy bubbles,
  While the world is full of troubles
  And is anxious in its sleep.
  Come away, O human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
  
  Where the wandering water gushes
  From the hills above Glen-Car,
  In pools among the rushes
  That scarce could bathe a star,
  We seek for slumbering trout
  And whispering in their ears
  Give them unquiet dreams;
  Leaning softly out
  From ferns that drop their tears
  Over the young streams.
  Come away, O human child!
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
  
  Away with us he's going,
  The solemn-eyed:
  He'll hear no more the lowing
  Of the calves on the warm hillside
  Or the kettle on the hob
  Sing peace into his breast
  Or see the brown mice bob
  Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
  For he comes, the human child,
  To the waters and the wild
  With a faery, hand in hand,
  From a world more full of weeping that he can understand.
  
  Yeats