I just happened to find this video on youtube and thought it important enough to share. Harry Belafonte has always represented dignity, gentleness and grace to me. I admit that I started listening to the video because I was a bit surprised at his baldness, but then his words, his beautiful ability to see deeply into our history captivated my attention:
An old man now, Belafonte does not come to this deep-sightedness as a sudden revelation, but rather from a long struggle and hard work in the civil rights movement. He was in the middle of it all in the 1960's and continued to advocate not only for equality among blacks and whites, but that all of us might reach our potential as whole people, as a whole nation.
Unafraid to speak out against the Bush Administration, Harry Belafonte engaged himself in debating the deterioration of all of our civil liberties. I grew up with this smooth, soft voice. In him I see a role model who can excel at his gift, be filled with laughter and joy, extend a hand to artists in other nations, live fully and yet find deliberation, meaning and depth in every step of the way. A beautiful man, I count myself blessed to have had him as one of my shining stars in the great night of life!
Last night I just happened to catch the movie "Dancer in the Dark" on cable. I missed the beginning, had never heard of it or of it's star, the famous Björk. Shows how in tune I am with what's going on in the world...
The story is about an immigrant woman who loves music and theater and is losing her sight. Set in 1946 Washington State, Selma (Björk), struggles with poverty and saves her pennies for a surgery which can save her son from the same fate she faces. A friend steals her money, she kills him and ends up convicted for murder. Tears flowed down my face at the end, when she is hung, one more testament to me, against the death penalty.
"Dancer in the Dark" and Björk both captured me with the sadness, gentleness and rhythm of the story, the music and the filming. I suppose it can be described as a musical as the plot takes periodic breaks for Björk's voice and accompanying choreography, wonderful rhythms of stomping and industrial noise. Here is a clip:
The movie is already eight years old, so it's old news to most out there. But, I liked it and after it finished, I wanted to find out more about Björk.
Ha! She's Icelandic! My Gislason roots got all warm and fuzzy. I watched a bunch of her songs on YouTube and read a bit about her. I ended up with mixed feelings about her work. Many of her videos had special effects that didn't do much for me. The photo below is shows a still from one of them where these wormy, inky blobs travel around her face, out of her eyes, into her nose, around and around.... The black ink from the aliens on X-Files were more convincing....
Many of the videos also had animation and techno stuff that didn't appeal to me at all. Maybe it's a generation gap. But, what drew me to her in the movie, that face that lit up, transforming plainness into beauty and sensuality, was replaced instead with images that spoke to me of self-annihilation and futility. I kept reading until I finally understood that Björk is the embodiment of the modern Viking. She destroys preconceptions, replacing them with potential transformations into the new.
Politically active, Björk speaks loudly for the environment, Tibetan independence and other social justice issues. Once the Vikings settled in Iceland, they quickly became one of the most democratic societies of their time. The harsh land could not support the population unless they worked under strict guidelines of cooperation. Months of cold darkness encouraged the development of crafts, literature and music. Icelanders also resisted Christianity for a long time, until they were finally forced to hide their runes and hide their pagan ways.
I don't know what Björk believes, but I now see her a nymph or a blank canvas that reflects both nature and humanity. Her Slavic features allow her to take on the guileless simplicity of innocence, of childhood, of the elf or imp. Or, she morphs into the vamp, the seductress, the praying mantis who will eat its mate. Björk's music seems to call to the soul, while her body becomes a canvas, one element within a larger picture of transformational art. She says on her website that she photographs herself so that a visual tone can help the viewer understand her music.
The photos in this post are all from Björk's website and give a small sampling of her many persona:
What an inspiration for fiber artists and costume designers! Each photo achieves a mood and message through the textures, colors and ornamentation by the costume. I ended my research feeling deep respect for this woman and look forward to her future evolutions.
I did find one video that I liked that seemed to represent Björk, Iceland and all this creative energy moving purposefully over a volcanic land. In "Who Is It?" Björk becomes an ornament, a timely performance for this Christmas season!
My name is Diana Bracy and I consider myself a Fabric Artist. Photo Fabric Art is what I call my Art for obvious reasons. It describes that I make Art from ordinary photographs and create it into Wall Art using small pieces of cotton fabric. When you stand close, you see lots of colors that sometimes look like Contemporary painting. When you step back about 5 feet it seems as though the image magically appears!
My artistic education started with how-to books on quilting. I have made numerous quilts from doll house size to extra large king over a 20 year period. When each quilt was completed, I realized that I wanted more color than the traditional quilt look. Soon, I wanted more artsy quilt with colors and that is how I began quilted photography. This method allowed me to take a photo, scan it, print a pattern, select my own colors, cut the fabric and sew it all together. The result was a clear design of a face! This method is called Mosaic Quilted Photography. I fell in love with these quilts and started teaching the classes.
My friend Tammie wrote the book on Quilted Photography and she taught me how to make my mosaic quilts look like a painting. My first one was a picture of my husband, Vincent. The art was so striking; I couldn’t believe that I did that! I also completed a self portrait.
That one is diffused because my picture was not very clear. Well, its 5 years later I cannot stop and I won’t. I have explained to others that I find the process of fusing the little pieces together takes time and patience. From the moment that I sit down to create my art, I get a feeling of tranquility that soothes my soul. Hours later, when I am finished for the day, I feel as though I have had a relaxing therapy session. As I look over my progress, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction. It’s therapeutic.
Once I finished with the Photo Art of my husband and me, I decided to make a group of Jazz Artists and then on to famous faces. Louis Armstrong, Bessie Smith and Billie Holiday started this grouping. I have selected fabrics for 10-15 more jazz artists just waiting to be made. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday was coming up, so I made his piece. He was followed by the Kennedy Brother’s because of his relationship with them. Barack Obama’s photo I just had to do. He could be included with the Kennedys and Dr. King as a political grouping.
Obama is a favorite piece:
I belong to a group called Fiber Artists for Obama and I have started collecting quilt blocks from these artists to make a quilt for him. Making a Photo Art piece from his image gave me the most gratifying experience of all. My belief is that we have been waiting a lifetime for him to lead this country in the right direction. He believes that we can all come together as neighbors, cities, counties, and states to help each other to communicate our concerns and tell him how we want to make a better America. It’s, as though, we now have a voice with someone to listen and get the job done. I may not live long enough to see equality for all people, however, I do believe that we are becoming stronger from listening to him and with our help, he can lead the way. Yes, we can have a better America!
So, to explain why my Photo Art can appear to look “raw”, “in your face” and even “dark”, while my Bio picture shows a sweet, happy and proud woman? My subjects are photos that I have collected to make themes or groupings. I tend to lean towards a photo that has impact, like Mick Jagger or action, such as Billie Holiday singing with her mouth open. Mike Tyson and Muhammed Ali’s photos are angled and I cropped them close up to show the power in the faces.
In selecting colors for Marilyn Monroe, I knew that I wanted her lips red and I started there.
When I got to her eyes, it looked gruesome, like her eyes were bleeding. I was not expecting this. My art is in shades and hues and the red was my “black” or darkest color. Her eyes and eyebrows were “dark”, hence my red. I was unsure for a day and loved it the next day! I have been described by my friends as a sweet, kind and proud woman; I believe that. Where does the dark side of me fit in?? Maybe it’s just emerging and showing up in my art!
Just wait until you see Alfred Hitchcock and a photo of the lady in the shower screaming her head off in Psycho!
Diana Bracy is a member of our Fiber Focus network. Visit her links below for more information on her and her work. Leave her a comment here and tell her what you think of her work. I'm very happy to have her as a guest artist and as a member of Fiber Focus!
How a ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to his own Country.
I.
It is an ancyent Marinere, And he stoppeth one of three: "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye "Now wherefore stoppest me?
The bridegroom's doors are open'd wide "And I am next of kin; "The Guests are met, the Feast is set,-- "May'st hear the merry din.
But still he holds the wedding-guest-- There was a Ship, quoth he-- "Nay, if thou'st got a laughsome tale, "Marinere! come with me."
He holds him with his skinny hand, Quoth he, there was a Ship-- "Now get thee hence, thou grey-beard Loon! "Or my Staff shall make thee skip.
He holds him with his glittering eye-- The wedding guest stood still And listens like a three year's child; The Marinere hath his will.
The wedding-guest sate on a stone, He cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent man, The bright-eyed Marinere.
The Ship was cheer'd, the Harbour clear'd-- Merrily did we drop Below the Kirk, below the Hill, Below the Light-house top.
The Sun came up upon the left, Out of the Sea came he: And he shone bright, and on the right Went down into the Sea.
Higher and Higher every day, Till over the mast at noon-- The wedding-guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath pac'd into the Hall, Red as a rose is she; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry Minstralsy.
The wedding-guest he beat his breast Yet he cannot chuse but hear: And thus spake on that ancyent Man, The bright-eyed Marinere.
Listen, Stranger! Storm and Wind, A Wind and Tempest strong! For days and weeks it play'd us freaks-- Like Chaff we drove along.
Listen, Stranger! Mist and Snow, And it grew wond'rous cauld: And Ice mast-high came floating by As green as Emerauld.
And thro' the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen; Ne shapes of men ne beasts we ken-- The Ice was all between.
The Ice was here, the Ice was there, The Ice was all around: It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd-- Like noises of a swound.
At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the Fog it came; And an it were a Christian Soul, We hail'd it in God's name.
The Marineres gave it biscuit-worms, And round and round it flew: The Ice did split with a thunder-fit; The Helmsman steer'd us thro'.
And a good south wind sprung up behind, The Albatross did follow; And every day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo!
In mist or cloud on mast or shroud It perch'd for vespers nine, Whiles all the night thro' [fog-smoke white] Glimmer'd the white moon-shine.
"God save thee, ancyent Marinere! "From the fiends that plague thee thus-- "Why look'st thou so?"--with my cross bow I shot the Albatross.
II.
The Sun came up upon the right, Out of the Sea came he; And broad as a weft upon the left Went down into the Sea.
And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet Bird did follow Ne any day for food or play Came to the Marinere's hollo!
And I had done an hellish thing And it would work 'em woe; For all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That made the Breeze to blow.
Ne dim ne red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist: Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the Bird That brought the fog and mist. T'was right, said they, such birds to slay That bring the fog and mist.
The breezes blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free: We were the first that ever burst Into that silent Sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the Sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be And we did speak only to break The silence of the Sea.
All in a hot and copper sky The bloody sun at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the moon.
Day after day, day after day, We stuck, ne breath ne motion, As idle as a painted Ship Upon a painted Ocean.
Water, water every where And all the boards did shrink; Water, water every where, Ne any drop to drink.
The very deeps did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy Sea.
About, about, in reel and rout The Death-fires danc'd at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green and blue and white.
And some in dreams assured were Of the Spirit that plagued us so: Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us From the Land of Mist and Snow.
And every tongue thro' utter drouth Was wither'd at the root; We could not speak no more than if We had been choked with soot.
Ah wel-a-day! what evil looks Had I from old and young; Instead of the Cross the Albatross About my neck was hung.
III.
I saw a something in the Sky No bigger than my fist; At first it seem'd a little speck And then it seem'd a mist: It mov'd and mov'd, and took at last A certain shape, I wist.
A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! And still it ner'd and ner'd; And, an it dodged a water-sprite, It plung'd and tack'd and veer'd.
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Ne could we laugh, ne wail: Then while thro' drouth all dumb they stood I bit my arm and suck'd the blood And cry'd, A sail! A sail!
With throat unslack'd, with black lips bak'd Agape they hear'd me call: Gramercy! they for joy did grin And all at once their breath drew in As they were drinking all.
She doth not tack from side to side-- Hither to work us weal Withouten wind, withouten tide She steddies with upright keel.
The western wave was all a flame, The day was well nigh done! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun.
And strait the Sun was fleck'd with bars (Heaven's mother send us grace) As if thro' a dungeon grate he peer'd With broad and burning face.
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she neres and neres! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun Like restless gossameres?
Are th[e]se her naked ribs, which fleck'd The sun that did behind them peer? And are th[e]se two all, all the crew, That woman and her fleshless Pheere?
His bones were black with many a crack, All black and bare, I ween; Jet-black and bare, save where with rust Of mouldy damps and charnel crust They're patch'd with purple and green.
Her lips are red, her looks are free, Her locks are yellow as gold: Her skin is white as leprosy, And she is far liker Death than he; Her flesh makes the still air cold.
The naked Hulk alongside came And the Twain were playing dice; "The Game is done! I've won, I've won!" Quoth she, and whistled thrice.
A gust of wind sterte up behind And whistled thro' his bones; Thro' the holes of his eyes and the hole of his mouth Half-whistles and half-groans.
With never a whisper in the Sea Oft darts the Spectre-ship; While clombe above the Eastern bar The Horned Moon, with one bright Star Almost atween the tips.
One after one by the horned Moon (Listen!, O Stranger! to me) Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang And curs'd me with his ee.
Four times fifty living men, With never a sigh or groan. With heavy thump, a lifeless lump They dropp'd down one by one.
Their souls did from their bodies fly,-- They fled to bliss or woe; And every soul it pass'd me by, Like the whiz of my Cross-bow.
IV.
I fear thee, ancyent Marinere! "I fear thy skinny hand; "And thou art long and lank and brown "As is the ribb'd Sea-sand.
"I fear thee and thy glittering eye "And thy skinny hand so brown-- Fear not, fear not, thou wedding guest! This body dropt not down.
Alone, alone, all all alone Alone on the wide wide Sea; And Christ would take no pity on My soul in agony.
The many men so beautiful And they all dead did lie! And a million million slimy things Liv'd on--and so did I.
I look'd upon the rotting Sea, And drew my eyes away; I look'd upon the eldritch deck And there the dead men lay.
I look'd to Heaven, and try'd to pray; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came and made My heart as dry as dust.
I clos'd my lids and kept them close, Till the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.
The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Ne rot, ne reek did they; The look with which they look'd on me, Had never pass'd away.
An orphan's curse would drag to Hell A spirit from on high: But O! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.
The moving Moon went up the sky And no where did abide: Softly she was going up And a star or two beside--
Her beams bemock'd the sultry main Like morning frosts yspread; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red.
Beyond the shadow of the ship I watch'd the water-snakes: They mov'd in tracks of shining white; And when they rear'd, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes.
Within the shadow of the ship I watch'd their rich attire: Blue, glossy green, and velvet black They coil'd and swam; and every track Was a flash of golden fire.
O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gusht from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware! Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I bless'd them unaware.
The self-same moment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.
V.
O sleep, it is a gentle thing Belov'd from pole to pole! To Mary-queen the praise be yeven She sent the gentle sleep from heaven That slid into my soul.
The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remain'd, I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew And when I awoke it rain'd.
My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank; Sure I had drunken in my dreams And still my body drank.
I mov'd and could not feel my limbs, I was so light, almost I thought that I had died in sleep, And was a blessed Ghost.
The roaring wind! it roar'd far off, It did not come anear; But with its sound it shook the sails That were so thin and sere.
The upper air bursts into life, And a hundred fire-flags sheen To and fro are hurried about; And to and fro, and in and out The stars dance on between.
The coming wind doth roar more loud; The sails do sigh like sedge: The rain pours down from one black cloud And the Moon is at its edge.
Hark! hark! the thick black cloud is cleft, And the Moon is at its side: Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning falls with never a jag A river steep and wide.
The strong wind reach'd the ship: it roar'd And dropp'd down, like a stone! Beneath the lightning and the moon The dead men gave a groan.
They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, Ne spake, ne mov'd their eyes: It had been strange, even in a dream To have seen those dead men rise.
The helmsman steer'd, the ship mov'd on; Yet never a breeze up-blew; The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes Where they were wont to do: They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools-- We were a ghastly crew.
The body of my brother's son Stood by me knee to knee: The body and I pull'd at one rope, But he said nought to me-- And I quak'd to think of my own voice How frightful it would be!
The day-light dawn'd--they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast: Sweet sounds rose slowly thro' their mouths And from their bodies pass'd.
Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the sun: Slowly the sounds came back again Now mix'd, now one by one.
Sometimes a dropping from the sky I heard the Lavrock sing; Sometimes all little birds that are How they seem'd to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning,
And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute; And now it is like an angel's song That makes the heavens be mute.
It ceas'd: yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune.
Listen, O listen, thou Wedding-guest! "Marinere! thou hast thy will: "For that, which comes out of thine eye, doth make "My body and soul to be still."
Never sadder tale was told To a man of woman born: Sadder and wiser thou wedding-guest! Thou'lt rise to morrow morn.
Never sadder tale was heard By a man of woman born: The Marineres all return'd to work As silent as beforne.
The Marineres all 'gan pull the ropes, But look at me they n'old: Thought I, I am as thin as air-- They cannot me behold.
Till noon we silently sail'd on Yet never a breeze did breathe: Slowly and smoothly went the ship Mov'd onward from beneath.
Under the keel nine fathom deep From the land of mist and snow The spirit slid: and it was He That made the Ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune And the Ship stood still also.
The sun right up above the mast Had fix'd her to the ocean: But in a minute she 'gan stir With a short uneasy motion-- Backwards and forwards half her length With a short uneasy motion.
Then, like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound: It flung the blood into my head, And I fell into a swound.
How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare; But ere my living life return'd, I heard and in my soul discern'd Two voices in the air,
"Is it he? quoth one, "Is this the man? "By him who died on cross, "With his cruel bow he lay'd full low "The harmless Albatross.
"The spirit who 'bideth by himself "In the land of mist and snow, "He lov'd the bird that lov'd the man "Who shot him with his bow."
The other was a softer voice As soft as honey-dew: Quoth he the man hath penance done, And penance more will do.
VI.
FIRST VOICE.
"But tell me, tell me! speak again, "Thy soft response renewing-- "What makes that ship drive on so fast? "What is the Ocean doing?
SECOND VOICE.
"Still as a Slave before his Lord, "The Ocean hath no blast: "His great bright eye most silently "Up to the moon is cast--
"If he may know which way to go, "For she guides him smooth or grim. "See, brother, see! how graciously "She looketh down on him.
FIRST VOICE.
"But why drives on that ship so fast "Withouten wave or wind? Second Voice. "The air is cut away before, And closes from behind.
"Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high, "Or we shall be belated. "For slow and slow that ship will go, "When the Marinere's trance is abated.
I woke, and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather: Twas night, calm night, the moon was high; The dead men stood together.
All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter: All fix'd on me their stony eyes That in the moon did glitter.
The pang, the curse with which they died, Had never pass'd away: I could not draw my een from theirs Ne turn them up to pray.
And in its time the spell was snapt, And I could move my een: I look'd far-forth, but little saw Of what might else be seen.
Like one, that on a lonely road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd round, walks on And turns no more his head: Because he knows, a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread.
But soon there breath'd a wind on me, Ne sound ne motion made: Its path was not upon the sea In ripple or in shade.
It rais'd my hair, it fann'd my cheek, Like a meadow-gale of spring-- It mingled strangely with my fears, Yet it felt like a welcoming.
Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sail'd softly too: Sweetly, sweetly, blew the breeze-- On me alone it blew.
We drifted o'er the Harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray-- "O let me be awake, my God! "Or let me sleep alway!"
The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn! And on the bay the moon light lay, And the shadow of the moon.
The moonlight bay was white all o'er, Till rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, Like as of torches came.
A little distance from the prow Those dark-red shadows were; But soon I saw that my own flesh Was red as in a glare.
I turn'd my head in fear and dread, And by the holy rood, The bodies had advanc'd, and now Before the mast they stood.
They lifted up their stiff right arms, They held them strait and tight; And each right-arm burnt like a torch, A torch that's borne upright. Their stony eye-balls glitter'd on In the red and smoky light.
I pray'd and turn'd my head away Forth looking as before. There was no breeze upon the bay, No wave against the shore.
The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock: The moonlight steep'd in silentness The steady weathercock.
And the bay was white with silent light, Till rising from the same Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came.
A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were: I turn'd my eyes upon the deck-- O Christ! what saw I there?
Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat; And by the Holy rood A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood.
This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight: They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light:
This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart-- No voice; but O! the silence sank, Like music on my heart.
Eftsones I heard the dash of oars, I heard the pilot's cheer: My head was turn'd perforce away And I saw a boat appear.
Then vanish'd all the lovely lights; The bodies rose anew: With silent pace, each to his place, Came back the ghastly crew. The wind, that shade nor motion made, On me alone it blew.
The pilot, and the pilot's boy I heard them coming fast: Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy The dead men could not blast.
I saw a third--I heard his voice: It is the Hermit good! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood.
He kneels at morn and noon and eve-- He hath a cushion plump: It is the moss, that wholly hides The rotted old Oak-stump.
The Skiff-boat ne'rd: I heard them talk, "Why, this is strange, I trow! "Where are those lights so many and fair "That signals made but now?
"Strange, by my faith! the Hermit said-- "And they answer'd not our cheer. "The planks look warp'd, and see those sails "How thin they are and sere! "I never saw aught like to them "Unless perchance it were
"The skeletons of leaves that lag "My forest brook along: "When the Ivy-tod is heavy with snow, "And the Owlet whoops to the wolf below "That eats the she-wolf's young.
"Dear Lord! it has a fiendish look-- (The Pilot made reply) "I am afear'd.--"Push on, push on! "Said the Hermit cheerily.
The Boat came closer to the Ship, But I ne spake ne stirred! The Boat came close beneath the Ship, And strait a sound was heard!
Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread: It reach'd the Ship, it split the bay; The Ship went down like lead.
Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote: Like one that hath been seven days drown'd My body lay afloat: But, swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat.
Upon the whirl, where sank the Ship, The boat spun round and round: And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound.
I mov'd my lips: the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit. The Holy Hermit rais'd his eyes And pray'd where he did sit.
I took the oars: the Pilot's boy, Who now doth crazy go, Laugh'd loud and long, and all the while His eyes went to and fro, "Ha! ha!" quoth he--"full plain I see, "The devil knows how to row."
And now all in my own Countree I stood on the firm land! The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand.
"O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy Man! The Hermit cross'd his brow-- "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say "What manner of man art thou?
Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woeful agony, Which forc'd me to begin my tale And then it left me free.
Since then at an uncertain hour Now oftimes and now fewer, That anguish comes and makes me tell My ghastly aventure.
I pass, like night, from land to land; I have strange power of speech; The moment that his face I see I know the man that must hear me; To him my tale I teach.
What loud uproar bursts from that door! The Wedding-guests are there; But in the Garden-bower the Bride And Bride-maids singing are: And hark the little Vesper-bell Which biddeth me to prayer.
O Wedding-guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: So lonely 'twas, that God himself Scarce seemed there to be.
O sweeter than the Marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me To walk together to the Kirk With a goodly company.
To walk together to the Kirk And all together pray, While each to his great father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And Youths, and Maidens gay.
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell To thee, thou wedding-guest! He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best who loveth best, All things both great and small: For the dear God, who loveth us, He made and loveth all.
The Marinere, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone; and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door.
He went, like one that hath been stunn'd And is of sense forlorn: A sadder and a wiser man He rose the morrow morn.
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Ha! I posted the whole thing to show impressive it is to know all of that by heart! Funny thing is, I don't know how many times I've heard this over the years, but I never really paid attention to the story, just to Dad- his voices, funny faces, and all the guys that get eaten up at the end. Now, that I look at it, it's a pretty interesting story!
Dad also collects old vinyl records. He's got thousands of them. It distresses Mom a bit, but she shrugs and says, "Well, at least he doesn't drink and smoke...." Dad also just got dsl, so now he can look at fun stuff online. So, here's to you, Dad! Happy Father's Day! Do you have this album? It's in two parts because it is, uh, long..............
Weird to think that my Dad and Iron Maiden have that in common... But, the images in these two videos seem appropriate for Father's Day and for the inspiration my father has given me to pursue art and literature in life. The gothic darkness were there also in the authors we read (Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Camus) and Bible stories. Light and hope have also always been there. Dad sees the schism we all experience as humans and his faith has been a light for me, too. We don't agree on everything, but we do have plenty of common ground to wrestle on, especially in the creative world.
My skills with the needle actually began with one of these schismatic moments. I don't remember how old I was, probably around 13 or so, when Dad set up embroidery classes for me with a woman who seemed pretty ancient to me then. She must have only been in her late 30's, but she was cross and rather bitter about life. She was also a Spiritist which made me deathly afraid of her and of our sessions. Her son was one of my Dad's prodigies, so maybe he saw at as an even trade. I dutifully went to her house and learned gorgeous Portuguese techniques, much too pretty for my taste now, but I became adept with the needle because of her.
Well, that's my little story for today. To all the fathers out there, maybe your daughters won't honor you with some rock and roll, songs of dead birds and people eating each other, but hopefully, they will remember your words and thank you for the experiences you gave them when they were still young.
Me, with Dad, Summer 2007, trying to be a silly chip off the old block!
My Dad Knows the Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner by Heart!
Many of the videos also had animation and techno stuff that didn't appeal to me at all. Maybe it's a generation gap. But, what drew me to her in the movie, that face that lit up, transforming plainness into beauty and sensuality, was replaced instead with images that spoke to me of self-annihilation and futility. I kept reading until I finally understood that Björk is the embodiment of the modern Viking. She destroys preconceptions, replacing them with potential transformations into the new. 
I don't know what Björk believes, but I now see her a nymph or a blank canvas that reflects both nature and humanity. Her Slavic features allow her to take on the guileless simplicity of innocence, of childhood, of the elf or imp. Or, she morphs into the vamp, the seductress, the praying mantis who will eat its mate. Björk's music seems to call to the soul, while her body becomes a canvas, one element within a larger picture of transformational art. She says on her website that she photographs herself so that a visual tone can help the viewer understand her music.
