There is something otherwordly about the National Rifle Association sponsoring Postal Matches. Upon first seeing the link at the NRA website (don’t ask…) I thought it had something to do with post-office shootings.
Guess not.
Folks, I need someone to take my otherwise steady hand and lead me through the easiest way to create an RSS feed for this blog. Can anyone help?
A skywriter creates a Korean flag at the 2003 Korea Air Show
Photo from the Globe and Mail
I am struck by the notion of a Yin-Yang symbol suspended in air created at an airshow that exists mostly to sell military hardware.
A letter published in yesterday’s Globe and Mail, Canada’s national paper of record:
The Irving family doesn’t own the only exclusive fishing lodge in Canada. Someone should check with Red Green to determine how many freeloading ministers of the crown had free accomodations at Possum Lodge. Those found guilty should be duct-taped to a chair and forced to spend 24 hours in a small room with Stinky Peterson.
Anyone who thinks Canada doesn’t have a unique culture should try to explain those three sentences to an Austrian.
Srecko Kosovel 1904-1926
Picture from Carantha
Poets you’ve never heard of: Srecko Kosovel.
Sre�ko Kosovel is the Slovenian Rimbaud, the strongest and the strangest poetical energy of the Slovenian people, a visionary and a contemporary to every reader in every time. Born in 1904, he died in 1926 at the age of 22, but his work is strong, deep and finished as if he had written and lived for a long, long time. Each nation has a “miracle” in its literary history: Kosovel is definitely the most interesting Slovenian poetical icon.
Here is An Autumn Landscape by Srecko Kosovel from an excellent collection of Slovenian poetry translations online.
An Autumn Landscape
The sun is autumn calm
as though in mourning;
behind the slender cypress trees
behind the white wall of the graveyard. �
The grass all red in the sun. �
Do you wear the clogs of dogma?
A bicycle abandoned on an autumn road.
You ride through a dying landscape.
A staid man walks the field,
he is as cold as autumn,
he is as sad as autumn.
Faith in humanity.
To me it is a sacred thought.
A speechless silence is like sorrow.
I am no longer sad
for I do not think of myself.
Many more Kosovel poems at Poetry International Web.