Obama Has A Strange Name They Say

Obama Has A Strange Name They Say

Obama has a strange name they say

But then so do I

Strange for here but not for there

Stranger and stranger as the world becomes

Freer and freer, no frontiers

Depending for whom

Depending for where.

Travellers we are all: nomads in this world

That keeps contracting and still

Strangers remain strangers and worse

Foreignors remain strangers on

Shores that remain devoid of warmth.

What is foreign? Coming from which shores

And arriving where? Are foreignors strange because

They have strange names

Or do they act strange? A strange kind of modernity dictates

That everyone looks and speaks alike

Devoid of accent, devoid of strange words

That's how it is and now Obama with his strange name

And me with mine: we have associations to the past

To some far-off land; stranger I am still

My hair, like Obama's, says where I come from.

My eyes, like Obama's, say where I come from.

My skin, like Obama's speaks louder than words.

I am the sum of all that came before.

My strangeness is just that:

I brought a slice of the world with me when I came.

Copyright: 2008 Rani Turton

Cat In A Hurry

Kitty on an inspection tour...
















Why not a cuddle while we're about it?















oh! I have an appointment! Must run or I'll be late!

Life As We Know It : poem by Jeff Baker

Life As We Know It...

life as we know it is good
our earth runs just as it should
we can help it along
by joining her song
and not chopping all of her wood
see forests are very much needed
so our oxygen won't be depleted
not to mention the rain
and the carbon exchange
helps keep her from getting too heated
if you think i am being dramatic
the earth could run on automatic
but we were given the chance
to share in god's plans
which i think is quite democratic
life as we know it is good
free will says i will chop her wood
but free will is free
not so for a tree
but then trees wouldn't do what we would


-- jb / copyright: jeff baker


http://jeffbakertalks.blogspot.com/

When I read this very inspiring poem by Jeff, I was struck by it's aspirations and poetic melody. The last four lines sum up the beauty of this poem. Thank you, Jeff, for allowing me to use this poem in this blog.

Majestic Cat

This lovely cat was wondering what I was doing near her gate. Was I passing by, or going to visit? Notice the intent look, the regal pose. Yes, Kitty, you are definitely the queen of all you survey.

The Setting Sun

Someday we will all learn to live together in peace and harmony

Sixty Hours

Sixty Hours

Smoke, blasts, billowing clouds Billowing curtains from carved windows The railway station now also has it's widows. The city, in a daze, unable to grasp Daily life has stopped; now suddenly Mumbai, in a stupor tries to awake from This nightmare without an end. One dawn, many down. Second dawn, many down Third dawn, day has come What will this city become? Sixty hours of tears, fears and passion Sixty hours of waiting, hoping for compassion The rat-tat-tat carries on, carries on The loved ones have go on to become Victims, heroes, or statistics When the day is finally, Finally and irrevoccably done. Cry, city, cry Shed your lonely tears on the beach Sixty hours, and your loved ones Are far beyond your reach. In this dying we are all one In tragedy we are all one. Now our day is finally, with sad finality, done. Copyright: Rani Turton 26, 27, 28 November 2008 Dedicated in hommage to the victims and those who who gave their lives to protect the city.

Tears: Mumbai

Tears: Mumbai

Third day running So many people down Never going to go home Never going to go home. Tears in this crowded town Silence broken by gunshots Tears in this crowded town Lives laying themselves down. At the end of it all Nothing much to tell God must be wondering why We seem to revel in Hell. Copyright: Rani Turton 26th November 2008

This Point In Time

This Point In Time

Then come to me with the breeze ruffling your hair The setting sun in your eyes The same blue as the sea and the skies Then the whisper of your presence will tell me You are not far Strange thoughts will come to mind That the sea is smooth tonight That the harbour is full of light That the cafés overlook the piers That the rain will fall softly on already wet cheeks And gentle waves slurp into the creeks That waiting here is a fallacy That I should be somewhere else at this point in time That I should be somewhere else at this point in time. copyright: Rani Turton

Chrissy's Cat

CAT AT THE BOTTOM OF A GARDEN....AND VOILA A WORK OF ART!














"I started to paint again after many years of not doing anything. I wanted a nice flower and couldn't find a good image for my cards so I painted one. Then I started to paint fairies and elves for myself. This one was from photograph taken by Andy, I love this Kitty. She isn't ours but she appears at the bottom of our garden for all the world like a little fairy. She is very petite and pretty. I have kept this painting for myself. I mounted it nicely and put it in the kitchen, I always said it made it a little like a french cafe, she has the french "something" indefinable ... and I love France and the people. If anyone is reading from the bar a few streets down from the Sacre Coeur with the collie dog that hates motor cycles, hello from me again ":-D

http://chrissymaries.blogspot.com/

http://chrissys-oil-paintings.blogspot.com/

Chrissy was kind enough to transmit this fabulous painting of this lovely cat (worked in water-colours and gouache) an allow me to use it in this blog. Going through Chrissy's blog is an eye-opener. Luckily for us, she loves France so who knows? she might visit! In the meantime go through her work, it is really lovely.

Copyright: Painting of the cat: Chrissy Stone

By the permission of Chrissy

The Depth of Longing

The Depth of Longing

On this steep slope that leads to a far-off frontier

There is nothing, not even a guide.

Intention, detention and retention

Freedom lies in blue skies

Where lies my destiny?

A thread unravlled here and there

And a restless, weary spirit travelling

Never resting, never unravelling

The skeins of that silken yarn

To match the depths of the longing

The longing of the single solitary star

Skimming is cosmic spaces, brilliant and bold

The long-lost memory of belonging

For a single instant to somebody somewhere sometime

In an epoch that vaunts the lack of belonging

To the depths of this longing.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Chez Betty

We stopped for a quick sandwich chez Betty during a visit at Provins. The cadre was lovely, the street outside, the walk almost anywhere around the marvellous buildings in this medevial town called Provins. The street is, as befits a medevial town, fittingly cobbled. Betty kindly agreed to let me take this photograph of her and her universe.

(With the permission of Betty).


Aux Delices de Betty

45 Rue du Val

77160 Provins.

MAMAN by Indrani

MAMAN by Indrani, at 7 years.

I have often been amazed by the beauty of children's art. What is that enables children to cut out the details and get down to the essentials? I don't know if I have the heart-shaped face and lovely pouting red mouth of this dream lady, or the dreamy eyes, which I doubt, but that is the vision that somebody had of me!

Forgetting, But Not Forgotten

Forgetting But Not Forgotten

Trite phrases galore Memory plays tricks with time Mirages that with the years Made believe what was unreal. If I had thought I would have lived so long Or come to this sad sorry pass I guess I would have said-pass But time trickled on Like sand in the hourglass There's a perpetual reason to go through the years Amazing as it may well seem Some think its destiny And others a form of being free And here in the midst of modernity What is the belief that keeps people scurrying Jumping running sprinting panting Living lives that build and build Mushroom clouds, and you and me and them And women free and unfree Walls that are higher and higher Time, pass me by please Leave me against this old stone wall Just leave me be. Copyright Rani Turton 2008

Auberge Saint Martin, Surville

We happened to pass at the right place at the right time, which is to say, lunchtime.

The reception being warm and courteous, we decided to tuck in. The menu at 11 euros exceeded our expectations. Entrée, plat and dessert. Quantities being copious and the produce fresh and frankly delicious.

During this blog, I have written about people who have been met by hazard and who have, by the charm of their personality, have confirmed my decision to give them space in this blog. The Auberge St Martin is one of these charming places that in France one happens upon by accident or destiny and always plans to return to when one is in the region. Normandy is known for the simplest meal being a gourmet's delight, due to the quality of the region's produce. Butter, cider, liqueurs being just a few of the products that contribute to the high quality of the cuisine.

The pictures show the outside, the restaurant and the owner of the restaurant, Mrs Torres, a charming and courteous lady. The link to the Auberge will give you all the details.

Auberge St. Martin

Route Rouen

14130 Surville


Nous passions au bon endroit et au bon moment, c'est à dire à l'heure du déjeuner.

L'accueil étant chaleureux et courtois, nous avons aussitôt de prendre place. Le menu à 11 euros a dépassé toutes nos attentes. Entrée, plat et dessert. Un repas copieux, des produits frais et franchement délicieux.

Dans ce blog, j'évoque les gens rencontrés par hasard et qui, par le charme de leur personnalité, méritent que d'autres s'intéressent à eux. L'auberge Saint Martin est l'un de ces endroits de charme que l'on trouve d'abord par hasard et que l'on se promet de revoir impérativement si l'on repasse dans la région. En Normandie, les plats les plus simples contentent les gourmets, en raison de la qualité des produits de la région. Beurre, cidre et liqueurs contribuent également à la qualité de la table.

Les photo représentent l'extérieur de l'auberge et l'intérieur, sans oublier Madame TORRES, à qui nous devons cet accueil à la fois chaleureux et courtois. Pour d'autres renseignemenst, voir les liens.

Auberge St-Martin

Route Rouen

14130 Surville

www.aubergesaintmartin.com

The Waiting

The Waiting

I had been waiting
Night after night
Until my tears had
Almost dimmed my sight

I had been waiting
And wondering for long
If life was only this
Dreary long song

I was then thinking
I should strive and grow
And even let this secret,
This love of mine show

This then is destiny
A road chalked out alone
Written in tears
In blood and in bone

Mine then is this journey
An uncertain end
To never know if you'll be waiting
Around the next winding bend.

Copyright: 2007 Rani Turton

A Bat at the balcony

This fabulous creature propping up a balcony was taken on a house about 40 km from Paris. The details are quite simply amazing. There are two balconies that have these carvings.

Cette créature fabuleuse soutenant un balcon nous a surpris à une quarantaine de km de Paris. Les détails sont extraordinaires. La maison présente deux balcons superposés et chacun a ainsi son génie propre.

This is another detail of a figure on another floor.

Cette créatutre soutient le balcon du 2ème étage.

Wordsmiths

WORDSMITHS

Prose writers write pages,

Paint pictures with stories.
Some make you laugh.
Some make you cry.
Some make you think.

Poets speak volumes
in a few short lines.

Politicians talk for hours
and usually say nothing.

Copyright: Ron Flowers

I liked the ideas expressed so fluently in this poem. Ron Flowers kindly gave me the honour of allowing me to put it in this blog. Thank you, Ron, you are always welcome here.

Ideas, Ideals and Delusions

Ideas, Ideals and Delusions

I have some notions of nothingness
I have some ideals of illusions
Into the abyss then with these thoughts
My ideas, ideals and delusions.

I can sweep away those cob-webbed dreams
Wipe clean every troublesome image
But nothing, nothing ever again
Can help me really turn the page

There are persistant and resistant matters
That will come back like a boomerang
Like a half-latched door in a tempest
That will continue to maddeningly bang

Away then and into the vast starry night
I will somehow continue to live;
My ideals of illusions, my dreams of delusions
Can also help to make me survive.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Icon

This lovely icon is to be found in the Cathedral of Auxerre.

Old edifices dating back to the 4th and 8th centuries existed, but the cathedrale was begun around 1215. Stained glass windows dating back to the 13th and 16 centuries are remarkable. The wall paintings date from the 11th to 16 centuries, and the wooden paintings from the 16th. Centuries of faith and beauty stand there contemplating you, rather than the inverse. Man is transient, after all.

La Maison de l'Icone

La Maison de l'Icone (The House of the Icon) is situated to the left of the Basilique of Vezelay. It is just next door to the other artist that is featured in these pages, Denis Canut.

We were welcomed with great warmth and humour to this atelier. Anne Marie and her husband are profound, in-depth people. I guess to paint icons you need to be like that. The icons are a marvel by themselves, and Anne-Marie has been practising this art since 1988. An interesting point to note is that she can form you in this art, and courses are thus proposed. The details can be found on the website.

Another link is http://pagesperso-orange.fr/maison.icone.


La Maison de l'Icone se trouve à gauche de la Basilique de Vézelay. Ceux qui ont goûté mes quelques lignes sur un autre artiste, Denis Canut, seront contents de savoir qu'il s'agit de la porte d'à côté.

Nous avons été accueillis avec chaleur et humour dans cet atelier. Anne-Marie et son mari sont des personnages profonds. Je suppose qu'il faut être ainsi pour peindre des icônes. Les icônes sont des merveilles par elles-mêmes, et Anne-Marie en pratique l'art depuis 1988. Il est intéressant de savoir qu'elle peut vous former à cet art et qu'elle dispense des cours. Pour plus de détails, voyez son site:

http://la.maison.de.l.icone.monsite.orange.fr/

Autre lien possible:

http://pagesperso-orange.fr/maison.icone/bonhomme4@wanadoo.fr

Artisan of Words

I am an artisan of words Which I sculpt, chisel and fashion the way I can I am a creator of worlds; I pour my emotion into the poems I write. I breathe life into them, blow them skywards And finish them only when they sound right. These remnants of thought without reason Will remain on pages season after season Long after I'm gone; when my task is done The love, the longing, the pain Will be evoked then by somebody else Who in turn will remember and write again To create another slow soft song That people can read and draw into their hearts Then pillowed by words, cushioned by dreams My poems will ride high the moonbeams. copyright 2007

Jérome Iber, guitarist met at Auxerre

Sometimes, by hazard, we happen to meet wonderfully sympathetic people really by chance. This gifted musician was playing and working his way from town to town. Hopefully our paths will cross again one day! Jérome was waiting for his friend who had been delayed by unforeseen circumstances and later on in the day we saw a young man with a guitar case...guess who it must have been?

Quelquefois, par un heureux hasard, il nous arrive de faire des rencontres merveilleusement sympathiques. Ce musicien doué joue de ville en ville. Avec un peu de chance, nos chemins se recroiseront donc un jour ! Jérôme attendait là un ami en retard et, un peu plus tard, un peu plus loin, nous avons croisé un jeune homme marchant une guitare à la main... Devinez qui ce devait être ?

Poem by Arash

Forgery

when the artist sits down to create
his thoughts hover six feet above the ground

his restless mind attempts to (re)capture
the malleable experiences of the day
in beautiful and enduring shapes and forms

he longs for meters of verse that spark and glow
like hot branding iron smoldering in the dark.

he shall brandish his posthumous mark
on the pale blank sheets
and the fire that burns eternally
is the anguish uniquely felt

the artist knows no repose
for his mind itches like a flea-infested dog
and no remedy can be found
unless this heavenly itch
pours forth
in marvelous words
written in fleeting ink.

ARASH FARZANEH
Copyright

Rani's Note: I was deeply honoured to feature this poem of the artist and artisan expressed so beautifully by Arash, who kindly consented to let me feature it in this blog. I'm looking forward to some more of his contributions if he is willing.

http://arashworld.blogspot.com/

speckled cats

Don't these cats look as though drops of liquid sunshine have been splashed upon them?

Denis Canut

The gallery of Denis Canut

The Silent Lane

My eyes on that door the silent lane beckons
My fingers scrape that door
Nobody opens it any more

My eyes brimming the silent lane beckons
Memories flow; how many have walked these old streets
And how many do not any more?

From the inner world of my own inner world
Comes the answers of despair
Comes the images of you there

Sunlight and silence, people pass me by
In the cavern of the past some of this will remain
The present is now free from pain.

Copyright 2008

The Night, Glorious, Unbending

The night, glorious, unbending,
Takes and gives nothing away
The night, silent, refuses the alms offered by day

Day, loquacious, has questions and answers
But the night doesn't even ponder
Looks far ahead, yonder
Night silently turns away

Day is curious about these silences
That stretch into infinity: silences that stretch
Until the pale dawn arises
Silences that from ages past and ages to come
Are the very inscrutable embodiment
Of what the night has become.

Copyright 2008

Reliure à Orléans

Il peut nous arriver d'avoir de temps à autre besoin de faire relier nos livres pour leur insuffler une seconde vie, ou pour les embellir. M.François Ferrière est l'une de ces personnes à qui confier un livre est toujours un plaisir, car l'on sait qu'il l'embellira avec soin. Il est patient et a du savoir faire.

Son atelier est situé dans l'un de ces lieux de rêve si abondants en France, à quelques pas de la Cathédrale Sainte-Croix d'Orléans. En fait, il suffit de sortir de son échoppe pour bénéficier d'une vue magnifique sur l'édifice. De plus, sa devanture fait face à un autre édifice remarquable, la Salle des Thèses de l'Univertité, construite en 1411, c'et à dire il ya près de 600 ans.

Mais, pour en revenir à la reliure, M.Ferrière peut être joint au:

9, Rue Pothier

45000 Orléans

Tel./Fax 02 38 62 75 47
http://www.reliure-ferriere.fr/

Sur ce site, des centaines de modèles sont proposés.

Il va sans dire qu'Orléans est une ville de dimension historique, mais nous reparlerons dans un autre article.

Meeting with Mr Ferrière, bookbinder at Orléans

It happens from time to time that we need to get our books bound to give them a second life or to embellish them. Mr François Ferrière is one of those persons it is always a pleasure to give books to, knowing that they will be embellished with care. He is patient and knowledgeable.
His workshop is in one of those dream locations that France abounds in, a few steps from the Cathédrale Sainte Croix of Orléans. In fact, just stepping out of the shop gives you a wonderful view of that magnificant edifice. Moreover, right in front of the workshop on the other side of the street is another remarkable edifice, the Salle des Thèses, built in 1411 (the Thesis Hall) of the University of Orléans, almost 600 years.
But coming back to bookbinding, Mr Ferrière can be located at:

9, Rue Pothier
45000 Orléans
Tel./Fax 02 38 62 75 47

www.reliure-ferriere.fr

The site has hundreds of designs and formats.

Needless to say Orléans is a city of historical dimensions but will deal with that in another post.

Smoke, Mist and Nebulous Things

Tell me then your perceptions of the past

Tell me why hard facts are hard today

Facts tomorrow, then gone away

Do facts, then, rarely last?

Watching the march of time, the artefacts

The ruins they continue to dig up day by day

What remains of those wonderful beings

Who peopled our fables and myths

Smoke, mist and other nebulous things

Spirited them away

Tiptoe in history’s corridors

Crowns, coins and chariots

People, peasants, and simple folk

Just spirited clean away

Where do they lie now?

Unknowns jostling in history’s corridors.

Queens, courtesans, mothers of kings

Toys and things, necklaces and dreams

Smoke, mist and other nebulous things

Spirited them away

Tiptoe in history’s corridors

The modified history of the world

Domination, nomination, abomination

Smoke and mist and nebulous things

Have spirited everyone away

copyright 2008

Shah Jahan's Dagger

This, the Emperor's personal dagger
A wonder in itself,
Made for him in his 39th year
Sold for gold
But worth much much more
This khanjar has travelled far
From the Yamuna and all that it holds
The splendor of that tomb
A poem in stone
Where the Emperor's was added
Almost like an afterthought.

Prince Khurram, if you have any tears left,
Weep.


This historical gold-encrusted dagger was sold for 1.7 million pounds on the 10th April,2008. It had already left India decades back. Shah Jahan was the Mughal Emperor who built the Taj Mahal in 1632 as a tomb for his beloved wife, Mumtaz Mahal.

Copyright 2008

CLOSING YEARS

In these closing years of your life

Each time I see your white hair that was once so black

Your body bent that once walked so straight

I remember you throwing me up in your arms

And waiting for you impatiently at the gate

Let time quietly glide away

And grace touch every moment that is left

Never to know distress, worry, stress

And when you close your eyes to rest one day

It might be to the sound of familiar footsteps I guess

That you can follow without any fear in your heart;

And to the sound of soft beloved voices,

Maybe that is the way loved ones depart.

copyright 2007

Artisan of Words: The Eiffel Tower Gets The Blues

For some professional pictures which show this better than the photograph I took quickly (we are not allowed to park in the vicinty) you can try this link:

http://www.hotels-paris-rive-gauche.com/blog/index.php/2008/07/02/2443-eiffel-tower-goes-blue-europe

This sites gives you professional photos and even a video showing the scintillating lights from top to toe that last about 15 minutes when it lights up.

The Eiffel Tower Gets The Blues

When I came to know that the lighting of the Eiffel Tower was going to turn blue to celebrate France's presidency of the European Union I was all agog to see it. So we went dashing off one evening to see this seasonal summer wonder. (July and August only). At 10 p.m it started off with a pale blue glow, and then for 15 minutes there were sparkling lights travelling all over the Tower. Then the blue settled down as elegantly like a lady setttling her gown and everyone was just staring at it. It was simply amazing. In fact it was splendid. Forget about mean people say about cost, light pollution, Martians being to able to see our overlighted earth. The Iron Lady was fabulous in her blue sequinned evening gown.

A Wooden Door, A Metal Key

A Wooden Door, A Metal Key

A plain wooden door, nerve-ridden

A carved metal key, in my pocket hidden

And secrets that lie behind that blank facade

A building, some windows, my dreams

I wandered on those blind Parisian streets

Nobody knew my name

Nobody knew where I came from

I was different, yet still the same

A wooden door like corpus callopsum

Holds my two worlds together

I enter now, I walk out at midnight I flee

The buzzing and the hum

copyright 2007

TAKE THIS DAY AS YOUR OWN: Poem

Take This Day As Your Own

Take this day as your own
Trouble and pain loom large
The night brings no comfort
The dawn in silence turns mutely away.

Take this day, no questions asked
Reflecting, analysing and rehearsing
Won't bring you what you most desire

Peace, utter and absolute tranquillity.

Sunrise and rain
Tears and pain
Take this new day as your own
Believe, don't grieve
The seeds have been sown

All will be well
All will be well, my friend.

Copyright : Rani Turton