Hey Friends,
Just a quick one. Be sure to check out The Daily Art!!
Yuri’s Night!
So, tonight is Yuri’s Night. I raised a toast tonight with my son Rowan and his beautiful lady Suzanne to Yuri’s bravery, and adventure… Being the first human in space, pushing the evolutionary bubble further and beyond any place that to that point any known human had gone. I cannot imagine what it was like, but heavens, what a feat. This is a celebration of the spirit encapsulated in one man of what we are capable of doing as a species. I don’t care if he was Soviet, Russian, whatever.
Here is to you Yuri, thank you, thank you, thank you for leading the way. Raise a glass to him if you will, step outside, look up to the stars. We are at home in the Multiverse.
Bright Blessings,
Gwyllm
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On The Menu:
The Links
Laika – Uneasy
Yuri Poetry!
Laika – Almost Sleepy
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The Links:
Celebrating Yuri!
The Artist Brain!
The Plan For Mars
Kitteh Be Aware? (of course!)
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Laika – Uneasy
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Yuri Poems!
Yuri Gagarin
I dreamed of Yuri Gagarin straddling an atomic bomb,
I dreamed of grace and annihilation weightless and atmospheric
I dreamed of gravity as the tyranny of man
I dreamed of a view of this world from the sun, ashes in a cosmic crematorium
I dreamed of ice and fire, winter and war
I dreamed of mutually assured destruction, eyes watching the sky
I dreamed of watching from on high, all glory hallelujah and twinkling giants
I dreamed of falling back down, arms spread in unbreakable faith
I dreamed of Yuri Gagarin, alone among the stars, saint of that
great abyss, smiling as he met God, and asking him in a calm and
reassuring tone, where he’s been all this time
– Tyler King
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Yuri Gagarin Was a Great Russian Poet
Yuri Gagarin was a great Russian poet;
Russia shoved him out of herself into the sky,
as if into exile,
as if to the Caucasus,
and he boarded a carriage, that is, a rocket –
for the path of rockets, that’s the path of poets – said: Let’s go!
and smiled his Gagarin smile.
And in that smile was the whole Earth,
the very best that’s here,
Earth in blue radiance,
news to the sky from humanity –
because the poet’s the one who speaks with the sky,
overcoming gravity
as if it were the language barrier.
– Inna Kabysh
The poem was read by Natalia Romanova
Translated from the Russian by Katherine E. Young
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Ballad for the death of Gagarin
Look at Gagarin, strong
His life
is not a submerged rose
he becomes neither mud nor moss
In the blast of the fall
no one heard the flood of death.
The world cries. But why? The life
of the hero is suspended in a star
Oh, world! He can see you
and offers you a flowered branch
In the blast of the fall
no one heard the wind of death.
His face is stopped, lies unmoving,
but his voice echoes and spreads
from life in life, and life in life.
Look at Gagarin, strong
In the blast of the fall
no one heard the thunder of death.
He left on a flight with no boundaries.
His blue light floods the night
and every star blazes.
Look at Gagarin, strong.
In the blast of the fall
he passed and smiled over death.
– Nicolás Guillén, (at one time the national poet of Cuba)
…
Balada por la muerte de Gagarin
Miradlo a Gagarin fuerte
Su vida
no es una rosa sumergida
ni en lodo y musgo se convierte.
En el fragor de la caída
nadie oyó el agua de la muerte.
El mundo llora. Mas ¿por que? La vida
del héroe está en un astro suspendida.
¡Oh mundo! El puede verte
y brindarte una rama florecida.
El el fragor de la caida
nadie oyó el viento de la muerte.
Su rostro se detuvo, yace inerte,
mas su gran voz resuena repartida
de vida en vida y vida en vida.
Miradlo a Gagarin fuerte.
En el fragor de la caída
nadie oyó el trueno de la muerte.
Partió en un vuelo sin medida.
Su luz azul la noche vierte
Y cada estrella está encendida.
Miradlo a Gagarin fuerte.
En el fragor de la caída
pasó y sonrió sobre la muerte.
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Gagarin In Space
Up here, being enclosed in the spaceship ‘Vostok’,
I feel like a fetus penetrating into another world,
as the soul of Orkath in the painting of El Greco.
From the porthole I see the earth in pale blue,
while outside, by my side, exquisite colors spread,
from the palette of the sky on the canvas of my eyes.
As I get back I’ll speak in Cyprus and everywhere,
that from that height I saw the Nazi tyrant as an ant,
I saw the World Bank and other Pharisees like dice
thrown by Heraclitus and the children of Ephesus.
I was terrified seeing the Finance as a house of sins,
I saw muddy waters swallowing limousines avidly,
tsunamis, hurricanes eating carnivals and casinos,
I saw the Colosseum cracked, letting lions to rush out.
I cried watching the forests and glaciers to fall dead,
I saw torn land, the migrating birds blown out on air.
However I see the young man finding gold veins
with a value that is gained but not be donated.
He is the buried seed, now resurrected as a tree.
Here there is light, not coin, product of the verb ‘think’,
I have learned to paint the truth of Greatness,
doves of peace flied over here to be my companion.
Here is the high art, where the light works inside us.
– Joseph S. Josephides
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Laika – Almost Sleepy
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