Though why did I move to Cordova in the first place if I find the summers impossibly hot? Well, you can view my very first blog here for the reason; this also has lots of photos of the historic town and is actually the introduction to my book An English Lady in Cordova — the Alternative Guide(at present available from me).
Anyway, getting back to this morning’s photo — not only is the rich palette of colours inspiring, but you can also just spy the conical hill of Priego, La Tiñosa rising up from the plains that form part of the hilly Sierra Subbética. (The word Subbética has Roman origins and derives also from the Gualdalquivir River, which was then called the River Betis. The present Guadalquivir name is Arabic and harks back to the Moorish occupancy of the Iberian Peninsula, previously named Al-Andalus.) For more photos of the views from my home, you can visit the earlier blog of mine.
Though for now, I’d just like to end this blog with a quote from Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī’ (30 September 1207 – 17 December 1273), the Persian poet, theologian, scholar and mystic’s,
The Breeze at Dawn
The Breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you. Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open. Don’t go back to sleep.
(Perhaps meaning something like: we can break old habits and tendencies and become the present. We don’t need to fall back into the same old ways…)
That’s all for now folks! Once again, thanks for visiting — and do take care! xxx
Hi folks! Hope this finds you in good health and spirits…
I just wanted to share some dawn clouds with you because this is like sharing the hope and promise that the day might be a little cooler… but actually, this is not so, as the temperatures have been forecast to hit the 48° C (118.4° F mark by next week). Yikes!!!
But, how could I leave off without a poem honouring the clouds. This time, it’s Percy Bysshe Shelley:-
THE CLOUD — Percy Bysshe Shelley
I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother’s breast,
As she dances about the sun.
I wield the flail of the lashing hail,
And whiten the green plains under,
And then again I dissolve it in rain,
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night ‘tis my pillow white,
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers,
Lightning my pilot sits;
In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls at fits;
Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,
Lured by the love of the genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;
Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,
Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains;
And I all the while bask in Heaven’s blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.
The sanguine Sunrise, with his meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,
Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,
When the morning star shines dead;
As on the jag of a mountain crag,
Which an earthquake rocks and swings,
An eagle alit one moment may sit
In the light of its golden wings.
And when Sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath,
Its ardours of rest and of love,
And the crimson pall of eve may fall
From the depth of Heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine aëry nest,
As still as a brooding dove.
That orbèd maiden with white fire laden,
Whom mortals call the Moon,
Glides glimmering o’er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn;
And wherever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,
May have broken the woof of my tent’s thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;
And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,
When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till calm the rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.
I bind the Sun’s throne with a burning zone,
And the Moon’s with a girdle of pearl;
The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,
Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,
The mountains its columns be.
The triumphal arch through which I march
With hurricane, fire, and snow,
When the Powers of the air are chained to my chair,
Is the million-coloured bow;
The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove,
While the moist Earth was laughing below.
I am the daughter of Earth and Water,
And the nursling of the Sky;
I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.
For after the rain when with never a stain
The pavilion of Heaven is bare,
And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams
Build up the blue dome of air,
I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain,
Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb,
I arise and unbuild it again.
Percy Bysshe Shelley was an English romantic poet, dramatist, essayist and novelist. He was described by American literary critic, Harold Bloom as «a superb craftsman, a lyric poet without rival, and surely one of the most advanced sceptical intellects ever to write a poem.» For more on his biography, you can take a look at this Poetry Foundation link.
Last but not least — though bewarned, this has nothing to do with clouds and Shelley — I have been breaking up this monotony of heat by being frivolous and painting my nails! (See the photos below for proof!!!)
As prewarned, here are my frivolously painted nails (ha ha!) — not the most appropriate for rummaging about in my vegetable patch! However, due to the poor photography you can’t really appreciate them in their full glory, nor could I bear to go out in the heat again to take another photo!!!
I just wanted to share with you a photo of this morning’s sunrise (yes, yet another one!). So here it is…
The sunrise reminded me of one of Shakespeare’s verses — I had to read him for my English literature O-levels while studying at Gumley House Convent School for girls in Isleworth, London. Here are the first four lines of his Sonnet 33. (I haven’t included the following ten lines because it’s a little more depressing and saddens the tone of what was a lovely sunrise, but if you want to read the full sonnet, you can do so here!)
William Shakespeare (April 1564 — April 23, 1616)
Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy …
As you might already know, Shakespeare was an ‘English playwright, poet, and actor, widely regarded as the greatest writer in the English language and the world’s greatest dramatist.’ (Wiki) He was also known as England’s national poet or simply, the Bard of Avon. To read more of his biography you can take a look at this link.
Also, I couldn’t resist including one of Federico Lorca García’s poems, entitled Alba (Dawn). His full name was Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca. He was a Spanish poet, playwright, and theatre director. Tragically, he was killed by Nationalist forces at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. His remains have never been found.
(Below is the English translation.)
Federico García Lorca (June 5, 1898 — August 18, 1936)
My oppressed heart
Sits next to the dawn
The pain of its loves
And the dream of the distances
The light of the dawn brings
Seedbeds of nostalgias
And the sadness without eyes
Of the marrow of the soul.
The great tomb of the night
Its black veil rises
To conceal with the day
The immense starry summit.
What will I do about these fields
Picking nests and branches
Surrounded by dawn
And full of night in the soul!
What will I do if your eyes are
Dead to the clear light
And if my flesh will no longer feel
The heat of your gaze!
Why did I lose you forever
In that clear evening?
Today my chest is arid
Like a shut-off star.
And if you feel like practising your Spanish, here is the original version:
Federico García Lorca (junio 5, 1898 — agosto 18, 1936)
Mi corazón oprimido Siente junto a la alborada El dolor de sus amores Y el sueño de las distancias. La luz de la aurora lleva Semilleros de nostalgias Y la tristeza sin ojos De la médula del alma. La gran tumba de la noche Su negro velo levanta Para ocultar con el día La inmensa cumbre estrellada.
¡Qué haré yo sobre estos campos Cogiendo nidos y ramas Rodeado de la aurora Y llena de noche el alma! ¡Qué haré si tienes tus ojos Muertos a las luces claras Y no ha de sentir mi carne El calor de tus miradas! ¿Por qué te perdí por siempre En aquella tarde clara? Hoy mi pecho está reseco Como una estrella apagada.
Well, that’s all for the mo… thanks for visiting and take care! xxx
Yes, I know I should be busy translating and not get distracted by my blog, but I just couldn’t resist putting in this quick one of yesterday’s gorgeous sunset. (Thanks to my daughter’s phone the photos have come out quite well this time — haha!)
The photos remind me of one of the esoteric quotes of Jalāl ad-Dīn Mohammad Rūmī, the greatest Sufi mystic and poet in the Persian language:
Hello all! I hope you are keeping well in these difficult times…
As you can see, this morning I was met with a beautiful sunrise!
I would also like to take this opportunity of introducing to you one of my favourite blogs that I follow, written by a talented lady who lives in beautiful Yorkshire: https://lisafeatherstone.co.uk/.
The posts are very articulate, well-written and enlightening, with topics ranging from hand-knit designs, birds, books, plants and thoughts (wellbeing, drawing and accessibility). There’s also a quiz on Fridays which not only serves as a mental gymnasium but is sure to test and increase your general knowledge too. In short, there is something there for everyone!
Day’s sweetest moments are at dawn; Refreshed by his long sleep, the Light Kisses the languid lips of Night, Ere she can rise and hasten on. All glowing from his dreamless rest He holds her closely to his breast, Warm lip to lip and limb to limb, Until she dies for love of him.
Full many a glorious morning have I seen — William Shakespeare (1564-1616, Stratford-Upon-Avon)
Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine, With all triumphant splendour on my brow; But out, alack, he was but one hour mine, The region cloud hath mask’d him from me now. Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven’s sun staineth.