For the immortal spirit of Marija Gimbutas - "Old Europe" by Cyndi Dawson

Old Europe by Cyndi Dawson

I dreamed of an earth quake
That opened the ground
Unearthed a civilization
Laid bare before our eyes
Illustrious statues of fertile
Untouched
Completely preserved
Soft rains rinsing ash
Revealed
From the closing
Of the last eyes
To mine opening…
I dreamed
The pregnant spring
Sustaining a life of
Peace & prosperity
I dreamed the altar
A – flame
I saw their faces
A – glow
I felt their art
I felt their heart
What drove us to abandon our Selves?
To the call of unequal Gods and war?
Surrendering the rich soil
To the burial of bones & artefacts
To springs of dying crops
To fields of crosses scattered
Like black crows pecking at rotted flesh?
What drove us to abandon our potential?
For this turning history of man?
There was a fertile spring once
I dreamed mounds of clay that drenched primitive hands
Rose up from the crevice formed
Revealed itself in iconic pottery & relics
Revealed itself symbolically
Read openly to those who would care to listen closely
Who understood the handing down
There was a Civilization etched upon mind’s eye
We lived in peace
We lived in peace



An animation of the words of "Old Europe" - an epic poem by Cyndi Dawson. Her poem was in turn inspired by the documentary "Signs Out of Time" which was based on the life and work of Marija Gimbutas.



Music by Jair-Rohm Parker Wells and Tommy Aboussleman
Guitar: Tommy Aboussleman
Words/Vocals: Cyndi Dawson - "Nor' Easter"

Motherless City (By Cyndi Dawson)

Whip smart aren't we all at eighteen
Right out of school the only rule is free to be
No house to sneak back to no mother to fight with
Bodies to dance with friends to get high with
Turn the corner, here we are
Rent split four ways and four bodies in
Three beds who ate my friggin rice cakes,
Borrowed my leg warmers without asking...
I'm an angry girl, angry angry angry
Watch me peel my way past the big muscled
Bouncers watch me lead the way to the stage
Watch my body undulate it is the biggest weapon
I have watch me drink for free boys are so stupid
Boys are so beautiful watch me watch the boys
Whip smart aren't we all clutching our pillows,
Drowning out noise of a cavernous loft where a
Guitar sits against the wall, tired after seduction.
If I rise out of this self claimed spot in this
Lumpy bed I will have to walk past the spot where
You are holding a strange girl in your arms.
I miss my mothers house. One I left at fifteen.
I knew it all, then, as well. I knew it all. I needed no one.
I needed nothing. The umbilical cord officially severed.
Angry girl packs her bag and off she goes seeks fame and
Fortune, maybe cappuchinos. cappuchinos are cool, cool
Is essential in this city with no mother.
This is a motherless frenetic machine that spits the weak
Onto streets and I'm too angry for streets. Don't even try.
Watch me double dutch my strut watch me, watch me
There is nothing I need there is nothing I want that I cannot
Get for myself. I need no one. Watch me press the boy
Against the wall, slam shazaam watch me flip his
Switch look whose got the moves whip smart stupid girl
Girls are so stupid. Girls are so beautiful. I don't
Need no one or nothing. I just want to be eighteen and left the
Hell alone.
This is a motherless city.

Signs out of time is based on the life and work of archeologist Marija Gimbutas

A documentary on archeologist Marija Gimbutas, who found that Europe's origins lay in a cooperative, peaceful, neolitihic Goddess culture. Her theories challenge conventional archaeology, spirituality, theology, and religious studies, while inspiring artists, feminists, environmentalists and activists. Watch and become inspired. But you have to be patient!!!

I still have a dream... Martin Luther King 1963

The March on Washington August 28, 1963. Listen to the full version of Martin Luther King's famous "I have a dream" speech.



Martin Luther King's last speech. Prophetic words. He was assassinated the next day!

Women in art

A collection of some of the most beautiful women and romantic art through history. Music by Jimmy Gelhaar.





Music:

Beethoven: "Moonlight Sonata"
Bach: "Air On The G String"
Debussy: "Clair de Lune"
Dvorak: "The New World" [from Symphony number 9]

Vladimir Semyonovich Vysotskij Tribute (1938 - 1980)

VARGJAKTEN oversatt til svensk av Ola og Carsten Palmær

Strupen brinner. Jag springer, springer
men idag är allt som igår.
De har oss i fällan, de har oss i fällan.
Vi springer i cirkel, i blodiga spår.

De lyfter bössorna, de skrattar och siktar
och luften stinker av blod och bly.
Vargarna snavar. Vargarna stupar.
Vi kan inte hugga. Vi kan inte fly.

De skjuter vargar, ohoj, de skjuter vargar!
Nu ropar jägarna, nu ylar hundarna,
de skjuter honorna, de skjuter ungarna,
och snön är röd som deras flaggor av vårt blod.

Kampen är ojämn. De skjuter ur bakhåll
och ingen darrar på handen idag.
De stänger vår frihet med röda flaggor
de känner vargarna och vargarnas lag

de vet att vi alltid följer flocken
att när vi var ungar och mor gav oss di
så fick vi i oss med modersmjölken
att röda flaggor går ingen förbi!

De skjuter vargar, ohoj, de skjuter vargar!
Nu ropar jägarna, nu ylar hundarna,
de skjuter honorna, de skjuter ungarna
och snön är röd som deras flaggor av vårt blod.

Våra ben är snabba. Och käftarna starka
så svara mig, ledarvarg, svara mig du,
varför låter vi oss hetsas och slaktas
varför lyder vi flockens tabu?

Vi kan inte, får inte bryta mot lagen.
Min stund är inne. Jag blundar
när han som ska bli mitt öde
ler och lyfter sitt blanka gevär.

De skjuter vargar, ohoj, de skjuter vargar!
Nu ropar jägarna, nu ylar hundarna,
de skjuter honorna, de skjuter ungarna
och snön är röd som deras flaggor av vårt blod.

Jag vägrade lyda. Jag sprang igenom.
Jag trotsade flaggorna och bröt mig ut.
Min livstörst var starkare än flockens lagar,
nu hör jag jägarns förvånade tjut

och strupen brinner, jag springer, jag springer
men allt är inte idag som igår
I jag var i fällan, men bröt mig ur den
och utan byte får jägarna stå.

De skjuter vargar, ohoj, de skjuter vargar!
Nu ropar jägarna, nu ylar hundarna,
de skjuter honorna, de skjuter ungarna
och snön är röd som deras flaggor av vårt blod.


WOLF HUNT by Kathryn and Bruce Hamilton

In my flight, sinews bursting, I hurtle,
But as yesterday - so now today,
They've cornered me! Driven me, encircled,
Towards the huntsmen that wait for their prey!
From the fir-trees the rifle-shots quicken -
In the shadows the huntsmen lie low.
As they fire, the wives somersault, stricken,
Living targets brought down on the snow.

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

In the fight heavy odds have opposed us,
But the merciless huntsmen keep ranks.
With the flags on their ropes they've enclosed us.
They take aim and they fire at point blank.
For a wolf cannot break with tradition.
With milk sucked from the she-wolfs dugs
The blind cubs learn the stern prohibition
Never, never to cross the red flags!

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

We are swift and our jaws are rapacious.
Why then, chief, like a tribe that's oppressed,
Must we rush towards the weapons that face us
And that precept be never transgressed?
For a wolf cannot change the old story
The end looms and my time's, almost done.
Now the huntsman who's made me his quarry
Gives a smile as he raises his gun.

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.

But revolt and the life-force are stronger
Than the fear that the red flags instil
From behind come dismayed cries of anger
As I cheat them, with joy, of their kill.
In my flight, sinews bursting I hurtle,
But the outcome is different today!
I was cornered! They trapped me encircled!
But the huntsmen were foiled of their prey!

They're hunting wolves! The hunt is on, pursuing
The wily predators, the she-wolf and her brood.
The beaters shout, the dogs bay, almost spewing.
The flags on the snow are red, as red as the blood.


A HUNT ON WOLVES by Nellie Tkach

I strain myself out of all my might and sinew,
But today, just like yesterday,
I am close rounded.
They've cornered me, for God's sake!
They are keeping after, joyfully driving me at all speeds!

The rifles behind the fir-trees are keeping themselves busy -
There, the hunters hide in the shadows -
The wolves are frolicking on the snow,
Turned into a live target.

The hunt is on! The hunt on wolves,
On gray beasts, full-grown and puppies!
The beaters shout and the hounds bark until they're retching,
There is blood on snow and red spots of flags.

It's not a fair game they are playing,
But no hand trembles, -
Our freedom blocked by flags,
They strike safely, for sure!

A wolf can't fail his customs, -
Long time ago-blind puppies,
We, little ones, sucked our mother,
And sucked in: don't go outside of flags!

The hunt is on! The hunt on wolves,
On gray beasts, full-grown and puppies!
The beaters shout and the hounds bark until they're retching,
There is blood on snow and red spots of flags.

Our feet and jaws are swift,
Tell us, our leader, - why do we then
Rush onward, into the shots,
And not through the restraint?!

A wolf can not, must not do otherwise.
Now my time has ended:
The one I am intended for,
Smiled and raised his rifle.

The hunt is on! The hunt on wolves,
On gray beasts, full-grown and puppies!
The beaters shout and the hounds bark until they're retching,
There is blood on snow and red spots of flags.

I came out of the obedience trance -
Beyond the flags - my thirst for life is stronger,
Behind me I heard triumphantly
Their bewildered cries.

I strain myself out of all my might and sinew,
But today, not like yesterday,
I was close rounded.
They've cornered me, for God's sake!
But the hunters were left with nothing!

The hunt is on! The hunt on wolves,
On gray beasts, full-grown and puppies!
The beaters shout and the hounds bark until they're retching,
There is blood on snow and red spots of flags.



Here is a song "Chuzhoj Dom" - "The Foreign House", typical of the style of the great Russian singer and poet Vladimir Vysotskij. Vladimir Semyonovich Vysotskij, in Russian Влади́мир Семёнович Высо́цкий (1938 - 1980), was perhaps the brightest artistic mind in the former Soviet Union. A highly anti-establishemnt song-writer and singer, and became somewhat of a folk hero. His main occupation was as a lead actor at the Taganka Theatre in Moscow, where he became particularly famous for playing Hamlet in an off-stream performance of Shakespeare's play. Vysotskij appeared in several movies. He also wrote songs and soundracks for many movies and often sang them himself. Being in a constant conflict with Soviet authorities resulted in periodic bans of his songs. He became known for his unique singing style and for his lyrics, which incorporated social and political commentary into often humorous street vocabulary. His lyrics resonated with millions of Soviet people in every corner of the country; his songs were sung at house parties and amateur concerts. He died at age 42 in a hospital in Moscow during the 1980 Olympic Games. It was estimated that over one million people attended Vysotskij's funeral, almost as many as that of Pope John Paul II in 2005. Soon after his death an asteroid was named Vladvysotskij in his honor. Cosmonauts took his music on tape cassette into orbit. Vysotskij was married to the French actress (of Russian descent) Marina Vlady. Vysotskij's impact in Russia is often compared to that of Bob Dylan in America. In his last years, he managed to perform outside the USSR and held concerts in Paris, Toronto and New York City. Vysotskij composed his songs and played them exclusively on the Russian seven string guitar.
Listen to his intense voice and enjoy!



Video of Vladimir Vysotsky performing Cupola. It is his last recorded performance before his death.

I recommend:

- "Sånger av Vysotskij" by Dan Fägerquist & eldsjäl
- "Fägerquist sjunger sånger av Vysotskij live på mosebacke"
- www.myspace.com/fagerquist
- "Bortom Vett och Förnuft". Jon Denman from Sweden singing Vladimir Vysotskij.
- "Den sentimentale bokser - Vysotskij på dansk (1999)". Per Warming from Denmark.
- "Russlands Hus - Vladimir Vysotskij (1996)" by Jørn Simen Øverli from Norway
- " Vysotskij, Vladimir: Vargjakten. 48 sånger i tolkning av Carsten och Ola Palmær"

A tribute to Vincent van Gogh (1853 - 1890)

Self Portraits Van Gogh (1853 - 1890)



The song "Vincent" (Starry, Starry Night) by Don McLean is a tribute to Vincent van Gogh, famous Painter from Holland who was only recognized as a genius after his death.

Please forgive them Vincent... They would not listen - They're not listening still - Perhaps they never will. Rest in peace!

Vincent - Don McLean

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflecting Vincent's eyes of China blue
Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant for one as
beautiful as you

Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
A silver thorn on a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free
They would not listen they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will