My life is not gentle, it is black and hopeful,
Anything can astonish a citizen;
The mischief lies in getting the wrong ones.
It seems a splendid day, I believe in crops.
Does it proclaim satisfy a woman, I was not
Certain of my mother. I do not. I saw her in a
Doorway, leaving; there is a cloth where I have
Water; I do not determine selfishness.
She had deep set trustworthy eyes, once, dark
Like her hair; light flesh colored life: my father
Wondered about islands. He did not forget a war.
They called it the great one, before they knew to
Number them. He missed that clarity. I begged not
To. I prayed for him. I believed and so he was. What
Is a death. I cannot see what I shall a bit in a field, So that always I can always I do mean to get…
It is a really interesting question; I’d answer: Yes!
As we might know and history would show us, it is so and it has been all the time. We are all involved with the social fact as we are living in the mass of public!
…The cause of human-being coming to exist, however, is not clear. The only clearness is that this form of existence seems not to be what was required to be. This would be a case to discuss about, if we made a general consideration of human behavior and the path of indulgence and trespass that he has gone through his chronicle, in a serious way. To make it possible, the undeniable hostility between mankind and nature in general (in the order that one’s life means the other’s death), seems to be a proper clue for getting into a process which began when the first ape, if ever, in quest for meat climbed down his home-tree, and while missing his body hair and the other animal means, his mutation began. But this, either because of his mental disability or gradual lack of all necessary outfits (strong instinct and proper quality of senses, claws, teeth and body-cover) should have gone as a chaotic beginning, where our poor descending predecessor had no way but to somehow regain his missing necessary strength for survival. And since there was no natural way remained for this recovery process, he began to manipulate as well as to imitate nature, or in other words, he commenced to run for an unnatural life. It is simple to conceive that an abrupt fear took the new creature totally up, so that he felt himself defenseless and naked in confrontation with his apparently brutal and cruel environment. This is most likely that another result could or even had to be obtained if this misfortune in Man’s initial touch with nature had not obstructed the process. And this is also possible that a project had once been planned to create a special and extraordinary species to be able to engender an intellectual kind of harmony among the natural parts and elements on this planet.
This is a part of a roman “The Season of Limbo” which, my brother Al wrote in the 90’s.
Of course, it isn’t the whole of the article but, as you should mention it; it is something social therefore political. I mean; as we all once decided to live safety together as a social community on this almost unfamiliar terrain, we have chosen the communion way of life and as the art in us, is the communion way of our expression only as an idea to make it better!
As I lived in Iran, the great Political Idols for me were the artists in countries like: In the south Americas, or and so on!
finally; long talk short sense, I think the artists are growing up in the very society as they live, therefore, their arts come from their soul and I think that is the main point; Creation by one’s soul.
truly, I found this article and the memories of those days in which we were fighting against the dictatorship of the Shah’s regime (it wasn’t so fur worst as it is now!) and these activities like; Neruda, Garcia Marques, Milan Kundera, Ernest Hemingway, even Shakespeare were all the political activist. We all are Artists, who are trying to make a reason for our beings.
Does politics belong in art? The question arouses heated debate about creative freedom and moral responsibility. Assumptions include the idea that politics cheapens film, music, or literature, or that political art should abandon traditional ideas about beauty and technique. As engaging as such discussions might be in the abstract, they mean little to nothing if they don’t account for artists who show us that choosing between politics and art can be as much a false dilemma as choosing between art and love.
In the work of writers as varied as William Blake, Muriel Rukeyser, James Baldwin, and James Joyce, for example, themes of protest, power, privilege, and poverty are inseparable from the sublimely erotic—all of them essential aspects of human experience, and hence, of literature. Foremost among such political artists stands Chilean poet Pablo Neruda, who—as the TED-Ed video above from Ilan Stavans informs us—was a romantic stylist, and also a fearless political activist and revolutionary.
Neruda won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971, and, among his many other literary accomplishments, he “rescued 2,000 refugees, spent three years in political exile, and ran for president of Chile.” Neruda used “straightforward language and everyday experience to create lasting impact.” He began his career writing odes and love poems filled with candid sexuality and sensuous description that resonated with readers around the world.
Neruda’s international fame led to a series of diplomatic posts, and he eventually landed in Spain, where he served as consul in the mid-1930s during the Spanish Civil War. He became a committed communist, and helped relocate hundreds of fleeing Spaniards to Chile. Neruda came to believe that “the work of art” is “inseparable from historical and political context,” writes author Salvatore Bizzarro, and he “felt that the belief that one could write solely for eternity was romantic posturing.”
Yet his lifelong devotion to “revolutionary ideals,” as Stavans says, did not undermine his devotion to poetry, nor did it blinker his writing with what we might call political correctness. Instead, Neruda became more expansive, taking on such subjects as the “entire history of Latin America” in his 1950 epic Canto General.
Neruda died of cancer just weeks after fascist dictator Augusto Pinochet seized power from elected president Salvador Allende in 1973. Today, he remains a beloved figure for activists, his lines “recited at protests and marches worldwide.” And he remains a literary giant, respected, admired, and adored worldwide for work in which he engaged the struggles of the people with the same passionate intensity and imaginative breadth he brought to personal poems of love, loss, and desire.
By playing on the colours of the colour chart, we could also ask ourselves the same question for the Black Sea, the White Sea, the Yellow Sea, the Vermeille Sea … Limit ourselves to the one that bathes the stations of Hurghada, Sharm El- Sheikh, Quseir, Marsa Alam. The question does not date from today, and the consensus for a possible answer seems to be the responsibility of both historians and specialists in submarine observation. An overview of a few attempts at explanation over the centuries makes it possible to set the scene and juxtapose various opinions. The “Journal des sçavants” (sic) published in 1667 begins strongly in the paradox. It reads: “The waters of the White Sea appear black; those of the Black Sea appear white, and those of the Red Sea and the Vermeille Sea do not have these colours in themselves. But the Pont-Euxine has been called the Black Sea because navigation is very dangerous; on the contrary, the Archipelago has been called the White Sea because it is a very safe sea; and for the Red Sea and the Vermeille Sea, they have been so named because of the colour of their sand. “ That to say! Here at the outset, however, a great imbroglio that the “Encyclopédie or Dictionnaire reasoned science, arts and crafts “, ” in 1780, will have some difficulty in disentangling: “It is difficult to know, read- In this publication, where does this name of the Red Sea come from? Pliny, Strabo, and Quinte-Curse advance, without any proof, that this Red Sea, in Greek ‘Erythrea’, was named after a certain king Erythros, who reigned in Arabia. The moderns have in their turn sought several etymologies of this name, the most learned of which are apparently the least true. It is with this sea as with the White Sea, the Blue Sea, the Black Sea, the Vermeille Sea, the Green Sea, etc., chance, fantasy, or some particular event, has produced these bizarre names, which have then provided material for scholarly criticism. It is more important to note that the name of the Red Sea has sometimes been extended to the Persian Gulf and the Indian Sea; In the absence of this attention, the interpreters have resumed very badly about several places of the old authors whom they did not hear.
While partially adopting the previous opinions, the French zoologist and paleontologist Georges Frederic Cuvier (1773-1838), in his “Dictionary of Natural Sciences” (1825), brings some new elements of answer: “The consecrated denominations of Black Sea, sea Blanche, Vermeille Sea, Red Sea, Yellow Sea, etc., do not indicate, as one might think, that the regions of the Ocean which have received these significant names, always present particular colours. Several of these epithets have been given by motives foreign to the colour of the waters, and others because of certain bodies which are seen in a transient manner, either on the surface of the sea or within it. The Black Sea, for example, appears to have been so-called only because its navigation is dangerous, and it is in opposition that the Orientals have designated the sea of the Archipelago as the White Sea.
According to many others, the name of the Red Sea is only the translation of the Edom Sea or the Edumits, which the Hebrews gave him, ‘Edom’ meaning red in the language of the latter; although the naturalists are more inclined to believe, despite this etymology, that the Red Sea owes its name, as Don Jean de Castro said, to a species of pipe polyp (the ‘tubipora musica’ which covers its rocks and which, as we know, is of a very bright crimson red, or still, as Coock and Marchant think, to myriads of small microscopic crustaceans of a beautiful red, of which they have seen this sea covered during spaces of several leagues.
“In his essay “On the origin of the names Red Sea, White Sea, etc.”, published in 1854 by the Paris Academy of Sciences, the French engineer Charles-Hippolyte de Paravey (1787-1871) sheds new light which will be resumed later by other researchers, including Leopold de Saussure in his article “The origin of the names of Red Sea, the White Sea and the Black Sea”, published by “The Globe. Geneva Geography Magazine “in 1924. This new approach is based on the” geo-chromatic code “inspired by the traditions of distant Asia:” The Academy of alleged causes has been maintained several times, and some seas have been given the name the Red Sea, Yellow Sea, Vermeille Sea, and there are microscopic algae, either red or yellow. I do not deny the existence of these local phenomena, but I come to deny highly that it is because of these momentary phenomena and very little extended, that the various seas have been denominated by the colours yellow, or red, or others. (…) The Yue-ling calendar, composed towards the times of Alexander, and preserved in China, a combined calendar in Assyria, a central country, and not in China, assigns to the north the black colour; in the east, the color green; to the south, the color red; in the west, the color white; and, in the center, the yellow or orange color. (…) If one places oneself towards Palmyra, as centre, and in Syria, central and yellow country, essential meaning of the name of Syria, and which made name the Jaxarte Sir-Daria, or Yellow river, color of wax, at home; then we have, in the north, the Pont-Euxine, hence Black; in the south, the Arabian Gulf, from there Red says; on the east, the Gulf of Persia, named Green Sea, among Orientals; to the west, the Mediterranean, called the White Sea (ac-Thalassa), by all the Orientals. “
This combination of colours with the cardinal regions, complete Leopold de Saussure, was not considered by the Chinese as arbitrary, but as the expression of the physical laws of nature. Boreal Sea or the Black Sea was (…) for them equivalent terms, as well as Southern Sea and the Red Sea, since black is the colour of the north and darkness as the red is that of the south and the fire (. ..) direct confirmation when I read, in Herodotus, that the Persians call the Red Sea the Southern Sea and that the Tigris and the Euphrates “throw themselves into the Red Sea”. The red colour, as we have seen, is in China the attribute of the south. “
In summary, two main “theses” meet face-to-face, while perhaps complementary, to solve the enigma of the colour attributed to the Red Sea: that of naturalists and that, probably more likely, the Geo-chromatic code. Only variable to bring: the nature of the algae which, according to their evolution, take a reddish or brown colour, because of the presence of a red internal pigment, phycoerythrin. “The red pigments reads in an article of” Futura Planète “(unsigned or dated article), can also have a biological origin.
In the case of the Red Sea, for example, two cyanobacteria [photosynthetic bacteria] are involved: ‘Trichodesmium Erythraeum’ and ‘Oscillatoria Erythraeum’. The first takes a reddish-brown colour when it dies, and the second contains a red-brown pigment. During an efflorescence (bloom), the concentration of these micro-algae becomes sufficient to dye the sea in red. Other plank-tonic algae can create red tides phenomena in a marine or lacustrine environment, according to the same principle. Some of these algae can be toxic, while others are harmless. It also happens that some bacteria, such as Ferro bacteria, use iron instead of oxygen to ‘breathe’. These microorganisms thus use iron, dissolved or solid, as the electron acceptor. This biological oxidation reaction creates mineral pigments which then colour the water red. “
Whatever the case may be, the Red Sea is renowned, among all diving enthusiasts, for the shimmering colours of its translucent waters with incomparable underwater architecture, including rich coral formations. unparalleled and a very diversified aquatic fauna. Ludivine Bourgeois regularly practices diving in Hurghada, where she graduated “Prevention and Rescue Diver”: “The divers,” she says, “call this underwater universe the world of silence. It is a soothing place, reassuring, of beauty. A world where you feel well. A world that brings me the serenity I need and where I feel free!” Marc Chartier
The dream is a little hidden door in the innermost and most secret recesses of the soul, opening into that cosmic night which was psyche long before there was any ego-consciousness, and which will remain psyche no matter how far our ego-consciousness extends.
“In October , while I was alone on a journey, I was suddenly seized by an overpowering vision: I saw a monstrous flood covering all the northern and low-lying lands between the North Sea and the Alps. When it came up to Switzerland I saw that the mountains grew higher and higher to protect our country. I realized that a frightful catastrophe was in progress. I saw the mighty yellow waves, the floating rubble of civilization, and the drowned bodies of uncounted thousands. Then the whole sea turned to blood. This vision last about one hour. I was perplexed and nauseated, and ashamed of my weakness.”
C.G. Jung, Memories, Dreams, Reflections
“The Grindelwald Glacier” by Ferdinand Hodler (1912)
Murder of the Hero – chapter VII of The Red Book (Liber Primus) – deals with a crucial dream/vision of Jung, which he had in 1913:
Thanks to Dan Antion and for letting me use some of his photos.
I realize it’s difficult to keep up with serials. Since I didn’t do a chapter of The Delta Pearl last week, I’m writing an extensive recap today. It makes for a long post, so feel free to skip the recap.
After you left I ran along the shoreline past the jetties and scattered surfers hoping to catch the last waves. A haze veiled the shore and vanished in the rain. Fat globules of salt encrusted my eyelids and each breath ripped upward through my belly tearing through my lungs. I sank down on the damp sand behind the old seafood restaurant. Guttural sounds mutating to unearthly howls carried out across the waves. I waited there until they dissolved into the sea.
The sky is always blue and the ocean is frothy meringue not a murky sea where in heavy boots you wade past that place where you lose your grip. Your eyes and throat sting with the rush of saltwater, screams fill your brain but not the air. Sea gulls swoop and squawk, perfect black angles against the sunlight. I open my book by Tennessee Williams whose writing I abhor…