On Canovals' Blog you will encounter Croatian and other music that I like, along with the Psalms, some Croatian Bajka, and fairytales from other lands. I also write about other topics that intrigue me and I hope will interest you too. Dobrodosli! Welcome! Enjoy! Uživati!
I was going to make the title "Plans for 2013" and found myself typing "Plans for 1993." Perhaps that tells everyone something about how far behind I am in my plans. I am behind. Far behind. I'm not sure I'm going to catch up right way. My apologies.
By way of explanation - my right arm is in a brace most of the time. I think that is what you call this device. It is an elastic thing-a-ma-jig which comes up my arm a ways. Inside of it is a metal piece to keep my wrist straight. It has something to do with stress, a back injury a few years back, repetitive motion disease from too much time at the keyboard, and a nerve somewhere in the small of my back that takes signals from down my right leg and up my right arm. The doctor isn't sure but it might have something to do with polio that I had when I was a baby. Hey, I survived when most kids who had polio in those years died a long time ago so a little pain is a small price to pay for being alive. I like being alive.
It hasn't been all bad. Sometimes I have had amusing adventures with this nerve thing. A long time ago I was in Tennessee when an outbreak of some fever carried by ticks was rampant. A fellow wanted me to see something he had back in the woods and I wasn't in a position to deny his request. A tick found me and buried her head in the square middle of the side of my posterior. All the symptoms that the magazines warned you about developed - a slight fever and a reddening about the size of a half dollar around the site of the bite. So, off to the doctor I went.
The doctor schlepped me off to her Physician's - Assistant who put me in a room. "Shuck your clothes and put on this paper gown and lay on your side on the table." So I did that. A young nurse type person is there with the Physician's - Assistant lady. The Physician's Assistant lifts the bottom of my paper gown which wouldn't cover much of a small person and I'm not small, never was, So there I am essentially naked laying there on the table feeling a bit vulnerable.
I suppose its a male thing to feel especially vulnerable naked in the hands a woman whose hands are anywhere in proximity of your you-knows. My feeling of vulnerability was momentarily quite intense.
She carefully placed the tick which she had extracted from my bottom into a vial which she sealed, labeled, and sent off to be tested for presence of the dreaded tick virus.
Some of my symptoms seemed consistent with the common symptoms of the tick virus so she proceeded to examine me rather thoroughly all over. As we discussed what I was experiencing I explained something of the nerve thing which I've had to some extent especially in my legs most of my life.
She was examining my arm when I could see some sort of light bulb come on in her eyes. For just a few seconds she held my hand with that certain far away look in her eyes which under other circumstances could make a man have hopeful sensations.
"I'll be right back," she said and left me alone, still essentially naked with the young nurse person who sat down near by and looked at me. So there we are, a naked man and a young woman. We can just look at each other, close our eyes and pretend the other person isn't there, or we can converse. We conversed. I was amused that her eyes were not always focused into mine.
About an hour later the Physician's - Assistant returns all bubbly.
"I've found the answer! I hope you are up for an adventure!" she exclaims as she pulls the gown up more exposing me further.
"I want to blindfold you so you can't see what I'm doing," she said, "Are you ok with that?"
The naked man on the table thought "What the heck, this adventure has gone this far, let's see what comes next!" and answered aloud "Sure!"
She rubbed the side of my bottom where the tick had been with alcohol and stuck it with a pin. "Did you feel that?"
This went on until I could feel the pin whereupon she began to map the field where the nerve spangled close to the surface across my bottom and down my leg towards the knee. All the while she was marking the edge of the area where I had feeling with a felt tip marker so that when she was satisfied there was a "map" of the damaged nerve marked in dashed lines on my body.
She wanted to make photographs of the map. I agreed, so I suppose somewhere in the files at that doctor's office there remain photos of at least my neither portions in all their glory. Sigh. Perhaps I had best not run for public office or those photos might surface. On second thought, I just might get the women's vote. Who knows?
Next she wanted to show off her map and have a class. At the same time she was asking my permission she had me by the arm and propelled me off the table onto my feet. The next thing I knew I was in the hallway and she was calling all the nurses and the doctor to come take a look.
So there I was in all my glory reacting normally to all the pretty young women eagerly looking at me while the Physician's Assistant lady was excitedly explaining to all of them what she had done and what she had discovered in my case.
Sigh, what one must endure for the sake of science.
A week later the test results came back negative for the presence of the dreaded tick virus. Next time we'll talk about my plans for 2013 but when you see I haven't answered your comments on my videos on Canovals or Canovals2 or that I haven't yet commented on some of yours, now you know my arm and my hand are having a bit of a problem. Don't feel sorry for me. It hasn't all been bad.
sljedeći put, blagoslov - until next time, blessings,
I failed to mention in my last post about THE RAVEN, that I am beginning a new series on my Canovals2 channel on YouTube entitled "u sumrak s Davidom." David - that's me: Canovals, Slavonac, David - all me. Come on (if you dare) , step into the twightlight with David for adventures of the heart. Edgar Allan Poe's Eleonora is the second in this series.
There's another series going also - David in the Dark. David in the Dark will appear only once each month - perhaps in the dark of the moon.
From now on, I hope to put the text of each presentation right on the video to make it easy for the listerner to follow along. ELEONORA is already produced and released so here is the text:
Sub conservatione formae specificae salva anima. Raymond Lully.
I AM come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and ardor of passion. Men have called me mad; but the question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not the loftiest intelligence—whether much that is glorious—whether all that is profound—does not spring from disease of thought—from moods of mind exalted at the expense of the general intellect. They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night. In their gray visions they obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awakening, to find that they have been upon the verge of the great secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wisdom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge which is of evil. They penetrate, however, rudderless or compassless into the vast ocean of the "light ineffable," and again, like the adventures of the Nubian geographer, "agressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo esset exploraturi."
We will say, then, that I am mad. I grant, at least, that there are two distinct conditions of my mental existence—the condition of a lucid reason, not to be disputed, and belonging to the memory of events forming the first epoch of my life—and a condition of shadow and doubt, appertaining to the present, and to the recollection of what constitutes the second great era of my being. Therefore, what I shall tell of the earlier period, believe; and to what I may relate of the later time, give only such credit as may seem due, or doubt it altogether, or, if doubt it ye cannot, then play unto its riddle the Oedipus.
She whom I loved in youth, and of whom I now pen calmly and distinctly these remembrances, was the sole daughter of the only sister of my mother long departed. Eleonora was the name of my cousin. We had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun, in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. No unguided footstep ever came upon that vale; for it lay away up among a range of giant hills that hung beetling around about it, shutting out the sunlight from its sweetest recesses. No path was trodden in its vicinity; and, to reach our happy home, there was need of putting back, with force, the foliage of many thousands of forest trees, and of crushing to death the glories of many millions of fragrant flowers. Thus it was that we lived all alone, knowing nothing of the world without the valley—I, and my cousin, and her mother.
From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued. We called it the "River of Silence"; for there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow. No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.
The margin of the river, and of the many dazzling rivulets that glided through devious ways into its channel, as well as the spaces that extended from the margins away down into the depths of the streams until they reached the bed of pebbles at the bottom,—these spots, not less than the whole surface of the valley, from the river to the mountains that girdled it in, were carpeted all by a soft green grass, thick, short, perfectly even, and vanilla-perfumed, but so besprinkled throughout with the yellow buttercup, the white daisy, the purple violet, and the ruby-red asphodel, that its exceeding beauty spoke to our hearts in loud tones, of the love and of the glory of God.
And, here and there, in groves about this grass, like wildernesses of dreams, sprang up fantastic trees, whose tall slender stems stood not upright, but slanted gracefully toward the light that peered at noon-day into the centre of the valley. Their mark was speckled with the vivid alternate splendor of ebony and silver, and was smoother than all save the cheeks of Eleonora; so that, but for the brilliant green of the huge leaves that spread from their summits in long, tremulous lines, dallying with the Zephyrs, one might have fancied them giant serpents of Syria doing homage to their sovereign the Sun.
Hand in hand about this valley, for fifteen years, roamed I with Eleonora before Love entered within our hearts. It was one evening at the close of the third lustrum of her life, and of the fourth of my own, that we sat, locked in each other's embrace, beneath the serpent-like trees, and looked down within the water of the River of Silence at our images therein. We spoke no words during the rest of that sweet day, and our words even upon the morrow were tremulous and few. We had drawn the God Eros from that wave, and now we felt that he had enkindled within us the fiery souls of our forefathers. The passions which had for centuries distinguished our race, came thronging with the fancies for which they had been equally noted, and together breathed a delirious bliss over the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. A change fell upon all things. Strange, brilliant flowers, star-shaped, burn out upon the trees where no flowers had been known before. The tints of the green carpet deepened; and when, one by one, the white daisies shrank away, there sprang up in place of them, ten by ten of the ruby-red asphodel. And life arose in our paths; for the tall flamingo, hitherto unseen, with all gay glowing birds, flaunted his scarlet plumage before us. The golden and silver fish haunted the river, out of the bosom of which issued, little by little, a murmur that swelled, at length, into a lulling melody more divine than that of the harp of Aeolus-sweeter than all save the voice of Eleonora. And now, too, a voluminous cloud, which we had long watched in the regions of Hesper, floated out thence, all gorgeous in crimson and gold, and settling in peace above us, sank, day by day, lower and lower, until its edges rested upon the tops of the mountains, turning all their dimness into magnificence, and shutting us up, as if forever, within a magic prison-house of grandeur and of glory.
The loveliness of Eleonora was that of the Seraphim; but she was a maiden artless and innocent as the brief life she had led among the flowers. No guile disguised the fervor of love which animated her heart, and she examined with me its inmost recesses as we walked together in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, and discoursed of the mighty changes which had lately taken place therein.
At length, having spoken one day, in tears, of the last sad change which must befall Humanity, she thenceforward dwelt only upon this one sorrowful theme, interweaving it into all our converse, as, in the songs of the bard of Schiraz, the same images are found occurring, again and again, in every impressive variation of phrase.
She had seen that the finger of Death was upon her bosom—that, like the ephemeron, she had been made perfect in loveliness only to die; but the terrors of the grave to her lay solely in a consideration which she revealed to me, one evening at twilight, by the banks of the River of Silence. She grieved to think that, having entombed her in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass, I would quit forever its happy recesses, transferring the love which now was so passionately her own to some maiden of the outer and everyday world. And, then and there, I threw myself hurriedly at the feet of Eleonora, and offered up a vow, to herself and to Heaven, that I would never bind myself in marriage to any daughter of Earth—that I would in no manner prove recreant to her dear memory, or to the memory of the devout affection with which she had blessed me. And I called the Mighty Ruler of the Universe to witness the pious solemnity of my vow. And the curse which I invoked of Him and of her, a saint in Helusion should I prove traitorous to that promise, involved a penalty the exceeding great horror of which will not permit me to make record of it here. And the bright eyes of Eleonora grew brighter at my words; and she sighed as if a deadly burthen had been taken from her breast; and she trembled and very bitterly wept; but she made acceptance of the vow, (for what was she but a child?) and it made easy to her the bed of her death. And she said to me, not many days afterward, tranquilly dying, that, because of what I had done for the comfort of her spirit she would watch over me in that spirit when departed, and, if so it were permitted her return to me visibly in the watches of the night; but, if this thing were, indeed, beyond the power of the souls in Paradise, that she would, at least, give me frequent indications of her presence, sighing upon me in the evening winds, or filling the air which I breathed with perfume from the censers of the angels. And, with these words upon her lips, she yielded up her innocent life, putting an end to the first epoch of my own.
Thus far I have faithfully said. But as I pass the barrier in Time's path, formed by the death of my beloved, and proceed with the second era of my existence, I feel that a shadow gathers over my brain, and I mistrust the perfect sanity of the record. But let me on.—Years dragged themselves along heavily, and still I dwelled within the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass; but a second change had come upon all things. The star-shaped flowers shrank into the stems of the trees, and appeared no more. The tints of the green carpet faded; and, one by one, the ruby-red asphodels withered away; and there sprang up, in place of them, ten by ten, dark, eye-like violets, that writhed uneasily and were ever encumbered with dew. And Life departed from our paths; for the tall flamingo flaunted no longer his scarlet plumage before us, but flew sadly from the vale into the hills, with all the gay glowing birds that had arrived in his company. And the golden and silver fish swam down through the gorge at the lower end of our domain and bedecked the sweet river never again. And the lulling melody that had been softer than the wind-harp of Aeolus, and more divine than all save the voice of Eleonora, it died little by little away, in murmurs growing lower and lower, until the stream returned, at length, utterly, into the solemnity of its original silence. And then, lastly, the voluminous cloud uprose, and, abandoning the tops of the mountains to the dimness of old, fell back into the regions of Hesper, and took away all its manifold golden and gorgeous glories from the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.
Yet the promises of Eleonora were not forgotten; for I heard the sounds of the swinging of the censers of the angels; and streams of a holy perfume floated ever and ever about the valley; and at lone hours, when my heart beat heavily, the winds that bathed my brow came unto me laden with soft sighs; and indistinct murmurs filled often the night air, and once—oh, but once only! I was awakened from a slumber, like the slumber of death, by the pressing of spiritual lips upon my own.
But the void within my heart refused, even thus, to be filled. I longed for the love which had before filled it to overflowing. At length the valley pained me through its memories of Eleonora, and I left it for ever for the vanities and the turbulent triumphs of the world.
I found myself within a strange city, where all things might have served to blot from recollection the sweet dreams I had dreamed so long in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. The pomps and pageantries of a stately court, and the mad clangor of arms, and the radiant loveliness of women, bewildered and intoxicated my brain. But as yet my soul had proved true to its vows, and the indications of the presence of Eleonora were still given me in the silent hours of the night. Suddenly these manifestations they ceased, and the world grew dark before mine eyes, and I stood aghast at the burning thoughts which possessed, at the terrible temptations which beset me; for there came from some far, far distant and unknown land, into the gay court of the king I served, a maiden to whose beauty my whole recreant heart yielded at once—at whose footstool I bowed down without a struggle, in the most ardent, in the most abject worship of love. What, indeed, was my passion for the young girl of the valley in comparison with the fervor, and the delirium, and the spirit-lifting ecstasy of adoration with which I poured out my whole soul in tears at the feet of the ethereal Ermengarde?—Oh, bright was the seraph Ermengarde! and in that knowledge I had room for none other.—Oh, divine was the angel Ermengarde! and as I looked down into the depths of her memorial eyes, I thought only of them—and of her.
I wedded;—nor dreaded the curse I had invoked; and its bitterness was not visited upon me. And once—but once again in the silence of the night; there came through my lattice the soft sighs which had forsaken me; and they modelled themselves into familiar and sweet voice, saying:
"Sleep in peace!—for the Spirit of Love reigneth and ruleth, and, in taking to thy passionate heart her who is Ermengarde, thou art absolved, for reasons which shall be made known to thee in Heaven, of thy vows unto Eleonora."
sljedeći put, blagoslov - until next time, blessings,
Edgar Allan Poe was an awesome story teller about whom an awesome number of words have been written. I cannot speak for the present time, because I am not of the present time but of a former time when schoolboys and schoolgirls were required to memorize "The Raven." That exercise left an impact on our lives. There was a standard of communication set before us. Lyrics and Prose rose at least toward this level or floundered and perished altogether.
That was an era when lyricists and singers still dared not "F..." your sister or "F..." your mother. There was a certain respect and elegance even in the lightest songs. This was not by any means a perfect time for in this time there were horrid wars and horrid events which swept over the earth on more than one occasion. Yet, where pockets of civilization remained - and there were many - the words of Edgar Allan Poe remained and served as inspiration and comfort to those who read them or who heard them. I have no doubt that "The Raven" served to spur Rade Šerbedžija forward to recite poetry in the fantastic and wonderful way that he has done for us.
Oh fiddlesticks!! You don't know who is Rade Šerbedžija? About a month and a half after I was born, Rade Šerbedžija was born in Bunić near Lika. Amerikanski know him from supporting roles in "CSI-Miami", "The Saint", "The Polish Wedding," and "Mighty Joe Young." We know him from "Crne ptice" (Black Birds), "Tamburaši", the "Tesla" TV series and "Majstori mraka" among many many others.
My recording "studio" is primitive by professional standards today and all my editing skills were learned from a radio station in McAllen where for several years I recorded "The Lutheran Minute." I managed to acquire some of those shows which appear now on SouthTexasSomething on YouTube as a portion of the series "Samo Riječ - Just a Word." In this an more readings yet to come, I have striven to rise to Šerbedžija's level of performance with the old master of darkness himself - Poe. Whether I have achieved my goal or not, you shall have to be the judge. Whether or not I have succeeded, I hope the listener will be somehow uplifted by my little effort.
So you can have them in front of you while you listen, the words of "The Raven":
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating "'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you "—here I opened wide the door;—— Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"— Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of "Never—nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplght gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore; Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting— "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!
sljedeći put, blagoslov - until next time, blessings,