Open Thread WE 26 JAN 22 ~
Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.
-- Albert Camus
I prefer the mystic clouds of nostalgia to the real thing, to be honest.
-- Robert Wyatt
It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice. There are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia.
-- Frank Zappa
An Obsessive Tune
Night passed and the morning came,
though, tossing and turning, I got nowhere.
A journey, dear friend, to wrong places.
If you want to lose the way, we
will go together, on condition
that first you forget your name.
No one wants to be forgotten, it is true,
but may they, life after life,
be reminded of their absence.
When will dreams be recognized, and truth?
Even after waking, how can we know the truth
when everyone around is sleeping
the sleep of memory;
An obsessive tune fills my mind.
By Mohan Rana translated from the original Hindi
From Ret ka Pul (Bridge of Sand, 2012)
Hello folks. The inspiration for this theme comes from a passage in a novel in which a character reflects on the life of an old friend. He breaks down the origins of the word nostalgia.. from the Greek nostos "a return home", and algos, "pain".
Pain of the return home. A very accurate description; despite their blurs, words could sometimes be so exact. It was a paradox until how the brain worked, then it became less surprising. A model of the mind's interaction with physical reality, blurred at the edges.
From Blue Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson
I am in love with a tower
I am one of the fluorescent white seagulls
spinning like magnets
round its axis by night
We squeezed into a black and white shot
It was an extended autumn, cool and light
My beloved was majestic
A story older than stone and roots, at the end
of the last chapter I was always there
It became a habit, I would lift up my head on the ferry
to look for the tower, check it was still there
I would pay homage
Of course it was a challenge to stay in one piece
in this city, not to be pounded, what did you expect?
Out of its time, the tower was the only thing left standing
when everything else came crashing down
And as I gazed at it, I asked myself
why my heart was always so naïve
a fool, to be blunt, as we’d call it between ourselves
till our eyes swam with tears
and we were laughing
I would call it the tower of the wind
The person at the summit, neighbour to the clouds
Istanbul would spin round it in devoted circles
The stones of past centuries would slip
with today’s rain
‘Shall we lower the sky to Galata
and live forever?’
said a snatch of graffiti
and I wanted its author to ask me
every time I walked past
I opened my arms to embrace it
My stone beloved grew warm between my palms
By Karin Karakaslı from the original Turkish
This is an open thread so reminisce on anything.
Covid comments can go into The Dose thread.