BASQUE COUNTRY in watercolors and photographsWith this small collection of watercolors, Lodya introduces the Basque Country through the pages, the sweetness of the valleys, the facades adorned with garlands of hanging peppers, the half-timbered labourdine houses, the rock of the Virgin, the two twins, the former first tuna harbor, the House of Infante of Spain, the authentic cogwheel train, the pottocks, the Villa of Cyrano de Bergerac Author, the major step of the pilgrimage to Saint-Jacques de Compostelle.
https://www.edilivre.com
and in french version
et aussi sur EDILIVRE :
Sélectionner le livre en dessous à gauche du titre. Select on the left side the book beside the title Le Pays Basque.
Avec ce petit recueil d'aquarelles, Lodya fait découvrir le Pays basque au fil des pages : la douceur des vallons, les façades ornées de guirlandes de piments suspendus, les maisons labourdines à colombage, le rocher de la Vierge, les Deux Jumeaux, l'ancien premier port thonier, l'authentique train à crémaillère et les pottocks, la villa de l'auteur de Cyrano de Bergerac, l'étape majeure du pèlerinage vers St Jacques de Compostelle, la maison de l'Infante d'Espagne...
https://www.edilivre.com/pays-basque-lodya.html/
With this little watercolour book , Lodya made discover the Basque country in the course of pages, the sweetness of valleys, facades decorated with garlands of suspended hot peppers, houses half-timbered labourdines, the rock of the Virgin, both twins the former old first harbour tuna boat, the authentic rack train and pottocks (small horses) villa of author of Cyrano de Bergerac, the major stage of the pilgrimage towards St Jacques de Compostelle, La Maison de L'infante....
LE PAYS BASQUE dessiné par LODYA
Pays Basque drawings by LODYA
A 3 km de Saint-Jean de Luz - Visite du parc et du chateau
3 km from Saint Jean de Luz visit of the park and the castle
Pottok , chevaux basques sauvages. Nous pouvons voir ces petits poneys qui vivent en liberté.
Pottok wild ponies, typical of the Basque Mountains. We can see pottoks, small ponies which live in liberty.
Dans les montagnes basques
In the basques moutains
DIE SCHLOSSER DER LOIRE - LODYAEntdecken Sie die Schlösser der Loire Einige dieser Burgen sind die großen königlichen Residenzen des Monarchen und seines Hofes (BLOIS, CHAMBORD, AMBOISE, LANGEAIS...). Diese Broschüre ermöglicht es Ihnen, Ihre Reise durch das „Tal der Könige" zu genießen.
https://www.thebookedition.com
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white
The violets and the lily cups
Those flowers made of light !
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum on his birthday
The tree is living-yet !
With A Flower
I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too --
And angels know the rest.
I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.
Amazing Joy
A new family member has arrived,
Your darling, precious baby.
Your lives are filled with amazing love,
And sleep has become a "maybe!"
Congratulations! Now enjoy
Your dear and special treasure;
Your lives are better, now transformed
With childhood’s awesome pleasure.
By Joanna Fuchs
A little Dog that wags his tail by Emily Dickinson
A little Dog that wags his tail
And knows no other joy
Of such a little Dog am I
Reminded by a Boy
Who gambols all the living Day
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose --
The Cat that in the Corner dwells
Her martial Day forgot
The Mouse but a Tradition now
Of her desireless Lot
Another class remind me
Who neither please nor play
But not to make a "bit of noise"
Beseech each little Boy --
Wind
This house has been far out at sea all night,
The woods crashing through darkness, the booming hills,
Winds stampeding the fields under the window
Floundering black astride and blinding wet
Till day rose; then under an orange sky
The hills had new places, and wind wielded
Blade-light, luminous black and emerald,
Flexing like the lens of a mad eye.
At noon I scaled along the house-side as far as
The coal-house door. Once I looked up -
Through the brunt wind that dented the balls of my eyes
The tent of the hills drummed and strained its guyrope,
The fields quivering, the skyline a grimace,
At any second to bang and vanish with a flap;
The wind flung a magpie away and a black-
Back gull bent like an iron bar slowly. The house
Rang like some fine green goblet in the note
That any second would shatter it. Now deep
In chairs, in front of the great fire, we grip
Our hearts and cannot entertain book, thought,
Or each other. We watch the fire blazing,
And feel the roots of the house move, but sit on,
Seeing the window tremble to come in,
Hearing the stones cry out under the horizons.
Ted Hughes
An afternoon at home
Every monday afternoon, I give something to eat and to drink to my three canaries and my two fish.
I bought a new cage for my three canaries. They are flying in it.
When they are hungry, I give them something to eat and when they are thirsty, I give them something to drink.
My birds are pretty feathers.
I have also two fish. They are swimming in a fish-bowl. One of my two fish is red and the other is red and black.
I give my fish some food because they are hungry.
I like my pet animals.
MC (November 1972)
A cat on a wire by Raymond A. Foss
A short chain-link fence
ran along the sidewalk
in front of the old New Englander
the short front yard
just over elbow high
a cluster of birds
landed and flew
from the wire, the bar
to the flowerbed beyond the fence
in the left corner of the side yard
a tabby cat, too young for sense
standing opposite the other end
of the fence
eyed the birds, a quick snack
raised and lowering his head
poised to pounce, to jump
to the top of the fence
walk like on a tightrope walker
a gymnast on the beam
to get his prey
THE DAFFODILS
By william Wordsworth
I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high over vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of gloden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
I REMEMBER - (Th Hood)
The cat shot over the sleeping dog
And caught it with his paw
The cat shot over the table
Dog chased him through the door
The cat shot over the TV
And Landed in a chair
The cat shot over the ceiling light
Springs shot him through the air
The cat shot over the mirror
A cat gave him a fright
The cat shot over his image
But didn’t want to fight
The cat shot over the fireplace
Burnt tail on red hot coal
The cat shot over the hearthrug
Like a firework on a roll
The cat shot over the window ledge
Burnt curtains caught in the nets
The cat shot over in dad’s old car
For a visit to the vets
© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes
David Threadgold
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DIVERS POEMS
Beach Sand by Raymond A. Foss
Maybe it is the memories
the change of pace that brings us there
the sense of vacation
maybe the smell of the place
the sights of the gulls, the dunes, the grasses
but oh it is the feel of it,
the crunch and slide of it
the feeling of beach sand
so different from dirt, soil, loam
no, not earthy, moist, rich,
but oh so granular and gritty
even when wet,
moveable paper spreading under toes
sliding beneath the soles
smoothing my skin
clearing my mind
unburdening me of the rest
drawing me to the tactile, the feel
of beach sand
THE DAFFODILS
By william Wordsworth
I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high over vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of gloden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
An afternoon at home
Every monday afternoon, I give something to eat and to drink to my three canaries and my two fish.
I bought a new cage for my three canaries. They are flying in it.
When they are hungry, I give them something to eat and when they are thirsty, I give them something to drink.
My birds are pretty feathers.
I have also two fish. They are swimming in a fish-bowl. One of my two fish is red and the other is red and black.
I give my fish some food because they are hungry.
I like my pet animals.
MC (November 1972)
Summer Sun by Robert Louis Stevenson
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy's inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
Emily_Dickinson_DAISY_POEM
THE GARDEN OF FLOWERS BY MCL
That it is beautiful this garden in spring
When it covers white lilac
And the lawn is green
As of the first rains
The trees deploy their sheets while the flowers hatch,
Petals of roses exhale an exquisite odor close to the handing-over.
Gaston the gardener puts its apron.
Equipped with shears, it cuts the first flowers.
With its wheelbarrow
Not, nothing stops it.
Morning until the evening,
it makes only its duty to clean the alleys and to dig the small garden
THE GARDEN OF FLOWERS BY MCL
That it is beautiful this garden in spring
When it covers white lilac
And the lawn is green
As of the first rains
The trees deploy their sheets while the flowers hatch,
Petals of roses exhale an exquisite odor close to the handing-over.
Gaston the gardener puts its apron.
Equipped with shears, it cuts the first flowers.
With its wheelbarrow
Not, nothing stops it.
Morning until the evening,
it makes only its duty to clean the alleys and to dig the small garden
MY CAT
I have an animal, it’s a cat. It’s called MISTIGRIS.
It’s coat is all grey with white stains.
Its eyes look like two real green billiard balls.
Its tail is striped.
Its ears are grey outside and pink inside.
With its tongue, it does its washing on its cushion
Every morning, it laps (up) milk.
In the afternoon, it dozes in its cane armchair.
In the garden, when it saws a butterfly,
it enjoys itself to catch up.
When it hears a noise, it springs at its prey.
When it has killed it, it takes the prey and it stays
In a corner of the square for eating.
It likes people at home.
When we caress it, it purrs. But it is frightened of dogs.
I like MISTIGRIS.
MCL (December 1st 1972)
Mon petit chat
J'ai un petit chat ,
Petit comme ça.
Je l'appelle Orange.
Je ne sais pas pourquoi
Jamais il ne mange
Ni souris ni rat.
C'est un chat étrange
Aimant le nougat
Et le chocolat.
Mais c'est pour cela ,
Dit tante Solange ,
Qu'il ne grandit pas !
Maurice Carême
That is pleasant to go for walks in the middle of the mountain
Pastures
Imposing circus
At the impressive top
With the miraculous sources
MCL
WATERLILY - SEAROSE
The pond is decorated with flowers by beautiful white water lilies. They go out of some water and raise themselves (draw up themselves) quite trembling.
In the perfumed air their stalk rocks.
We see them moving slowly and swimming.
THE COCK
The yard of Clos Joli
King of the farmyard
Push its cock-a-doodle-do
And pecks wisely at grains of wheat
Rose’s rose rose In the light of the day While the wind blows Round its flowers of the lightest rosé. Rose’s rose rose In a way Rose may When she grows As her rose Shows How it grows And by the end of the day When her rose’s flowers’d close And its head would sway In the wind, Rose would say: “My rose, as you rose In the light of the day Did you notice those, The sounds of your stay? Not only those of the day, But, too, the ones of the dark, rose, The ones of the dark and the moon in its pose. Did you notice those, rose? Did you notice those? ” And the rose would know What Rose would want to say And it would sleep With its flowers of the lightest rosé. Sarah Jay
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This morning the green fists of the peonies are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.
Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?
Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,
with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?
from New And Selected Poems by Mary Oliver
(c) Mary Oliver
Late august, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would rippen
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine
Summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue
And lust for picking
Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us our with milk-cans, pea-tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Blumen
Blumen sind uns nah befreundet,
Pflanzen unserm Blut verwandt,
Und sie werden angefeindet,
Und wir tun so unbekannt.
Unser Kopf lenkt sich zum Denken
Und die Blume nach dem Licht,
Und wenn Nacht und Tau einbricht
Sieht man sich die Blätter senken.
Wie der Mensch zum Schlaf' einnickt,
Schlummert sie in sich gebückt.
Schmetterlinge fahren nieder,
Summen hier und summen dort,
Summen ihre trägen Lieder,
Kommen her und schwirren fort.
Und wenn Morgenrot den Himmel säumt,
Wacht die Blum' und sagt, sie hat geträumt,
Weiß es nicht, dass voll von Schmetterlingen
Alle Blätter ihres Kopfes hingen.
Ludwig Tieck (1773-1853)
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