The truth is that university mixed in with work leaves me very little time for anything.   I am usually home at around midnight.  But I have to confess it’s fun.

Issue 4 has been such a thrill.  We had great contributions, good comments and overall, it was a great joint effort.  I feel like patting everyone on the back.

Don’t forget that the tone of the zine is super relaxed (and so are we) so old contributors (who’ve been with us since Issue I) and new ones, feel free to express yourselves.  =)

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Right now, I’m staring out the window at a sun-drenched Puerto Montt.  The multi-colored wooden houses, set against green hills look lovely in this light.

There is a lot to be grateful for: health, new beginnings, hope, provision… but I sometimes forget this.

This is the entire poem, from the Penguin translation by W.S. Merwin. The picture is taken from the site of the Dutch weather institute.

Tonight I Can Write

By Pablo Neruda (1904 –1973)

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, “the night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines,

I loved her and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

That is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Yesterday I only had one class, but having to sit in the train for four hours, I always bring along far more books than neccesary, simply to be able to read some good books in the train. As a result, I always have three to four books in my schoolbag that have nothing to do with psychology (my main course at university.) , and -on top of that-  a journal and a notebook for short stories. It used to be worse, i used to have a larger bag and dragged along five to six non-psychology books. of course, my bag consequently is way too heavy so that i get shoulderaches and backaches, but I don’t mind . 
In the picture you can see what I drag along to Amsterdam on a regular day . I’d recommend all six of these books to you, they’re great:

       1) my notebook for my short fantasy stories (I called it “The Fantastic Tales/ Fantastiska Berättelser/ Fantastische verhalen). A friend of mine used a similar moleskine notebook, and that inspired me to write my short fantasy stories in such a notebook. All you need as a writer is a good notebook and a great fountain pen.

      2) even though this “the popular ballads of Lucky Fonz III” looks like a book, this is actually my organizer. I made its cover resemble an old book cover, using an online version of the English and Scottish Popular Ballads (a.k.a. the Child Ballads) as a template. One day a university librarian mistook it for a library book, that made me very happy. Lucky Fonz III , who you can see on the cover, is an amazing Amsterdam singer-songwriter.
     
       3) my journal. I used to keep my journal in the same notepad which I also used for keeping notes and writing short stories, but that made me need a new notepad every week, and i think writing your thoughts in a beautiful journal gives you a greater awareness of the fact that your thoughts are worthwhile.
      
     4) Sylvia Plath’s poetry collection Crossing the Water , from my university library.Though I don’t think that the quality of a university depends entirely on its library, but I do think that a large library is a great asset for a university.
      
       5) Ingmar Bergman’s Scener ur ett Äktenskap (also from the university library)  Bergman is my hero, and I think he single-handedly lifted dialogue writing for films to a whole new level, because his film dialogues are profound, powerful and yet very cinematic and direct.  It’s in Swedish of course such amazing works should be read in the original language
     
       6) St. Augustine’s Confessions, my dad found this lovely old copy in the library of a pastor friend of his, who was giving away all of his books. It has both the latin text and a dutch translation, so reading it also improves my latin, and I love the old-fashioned dutch it uses. Saint Augustine says a lot of very true and insightful things and there is a tremendous amount of wisdom and gorgeous poetry in this book, though I do not agree with everything he says, such as his very platonic mindset as well as his misanthropy.   (hums Kevin Max with “Angel with no wings” “So come on  back when you can make some tea/ and read St. Augustine”. yep. that’s me. )

      These I dragged along to Amsterdam yesterday morning,  along with  two notepads and this little booklet about writing psychology papers (number 10 and 11).

         But after class I visited my best friend, we had a great time and walked around in the city where she lives a little, and we ended up in our favorite second-hand bookstore, and I found some real treasures there . That’s why I came home with 6 non-psychology books, instead of the 3 I’d left home with .

      7) E.T.A. Hoffmann’s Märchen : wonderfully weird fairytales.
    
      8  ) Bulfinch’s Mythology.
      
      9) George MacDonald’s Lilith : Finding this book made me go “sqeee!”, cuz I’ve been looking for this dutch translation everywhere for a few years now, since I found this dutch version of Phantastes. The title Phantastes is translated as “Droomwereld”, literally “dream world”. These dutch translations were published in 1974 and 1975 (though they were written in the 19th century) so they’re wonderfully hippie-esque, and you can tell that their covers are inspired by Harry Clarke‘s art. They’re so pretty !! Like all of George MacDonald’s books, they’re quite unique, unusual and enchanting.

In addition to its sense of history, one of the things I like best about this copy is that it apparently was a present given to someone in 1976 , cuz on the third page the following is written:

How cool is it that it says “Voor Guusje, van Ab”? ( FYI: that means “To Guusje, from Ab”; Guusje is a girl’s name.)  That tiny inscription is just an entire story in itself. It makes you wonder ”who were those people? What happened to them? He must have liked her, you can tell by the little flower doodle.” A second-hand book with its inscriptions, dedications, scribbles in the margins and stains often is a text in itself, and that’s why you can’t help liking second-hand books a  lot.

So, though I dont recommend carrying way too many books around as well,  I highly recommend you try browsing through your local second-hand bookstore every now and then

take care.
    

…this is why I think the Bodleian library must be the best library on earth: as Bibliodyssey pointed out today, this wonderful Oxford library has made a proportion of its manuscript images available to the general public : http://www.bodley.ox.ac.uk/medievalimages/. If you love medieval and renaissance manuscripts, this is a must-see. As you may have noticed,  I’m extremely fond of anything medieval, and especially of miniatures and bestiaries, and I think it’s wonderful that the Bodleian allows the general public all over the world to see some of the treasures it has aquired throughout the ages. There is a lot of history, beauty and wonder to be discovered on that site.    

(the library stamp was found in this google-books version of Crofton-Croker’s Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland. The inscription reads “Dominus Illuminatio Mea” which means “The Lord is my light”, the motto of the university of Oxford.) 

As a kid, my favorite writer was Annie M.G. Schmidt (1911 -1955), a dutch writer of amazingly funny and rebellious poems and books for kids. There was nothing condescending or patronizing about her or her works: she truly knew what kids love and what it means to be a kid.  I read all of her works and knew them all by heart. But of course, when in school, I had to read more highbrow books (her books are more cabaret-like ) and her works were slightly forgotten. But recently – when I found a book of her poetry- I re-discovered what a great writer she was: no-one could rhyme like her, her colloquial voice is amazing and she can adress heavy subjects in such a light-hearted way, that they make you laugh out loud in spite of yourself. Here is my very favorite poem.  I was very happy to find a great english translation of it online, cuz translating a rhyming poem is horribly difficult.
Everyone who reads it, thinks it’s actually about being an artist…but decide for yourself

Sebastian Spider

This is poor Sebastian S.
He got into an awful mess.

LISTEN!

Sebastian stated with a grin:
It’s strange. I’m not myself today,
I feel an urge from deep within
to spin a web without delay.

All the other spiders cried:
Oh, Sebastian! No, Sebastian!
Please, Sebastian, don’t be so silly.
In wintertime we sleep and hide.
No one makes webs when it’s this chilly.

But Sebastian just replied:
Webs can be small and hard to find -
if it’s too cold, I’ll go inside,
and sneak one in behind a blind.

All the other spiders cried:
Oh, Sebastian! No, Sebastian!
Please, Sebastian, don’t make a fuss!
It’s much too dangerous inside.
There’s danger for the likes of us.

Sebastian stubbornly insisted:
This Urge of mine is far too strong.
The other spiders still resisted:
Inside that house, you won’t live long…
Oh, oh, oh, Sebastian S!
He got into an awful mess.

An open window – he slipped inside.
Stubborn, yes, but walking tall!
All the other spiders cried:
There goes Sebastian, Urge and all!

SHORT PAUSE

A little later, without pardon,
this simple message reached the garden:
A murderer was in the room.
Sebastian S. just met the broom.

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Bibliography:
original illustration for “Sebastian Spider” by Wim Bijmoer.
Annie M.G. Schmidt. “Sebastian Spider.” 1951.  Annie-mg.com. Translation by David Colmer. 2007. 30 May 2008.
< http://www.annie-mg.com/huiskamer/over_annie/album_english/album25.html >

I’m not kidding. Yesterday night the ash rain started. Little sighs from the Chaitén volcano that has left so many people without a home.

Below are pics taken during a storm in the middle of the night, as the Chaitén volcano erupted (link to the site at the bottom of this post).

Luckily the government is giving a monthly salary to the people that lost everything and paying for their rent while they stay in a city nearby (my city). These are people that have lost houses, vehicles, clothes… they just got out of bed one morning, got dressed and were evacuated. Their situation is still unclear. If they cannot go back to Chaitén, then they will have to be relocated and start over (the worst case scenario) with a government fund (which is never big enough).

A sad, sad situation.

Going back to the ash rain, as it fell, I just stood there, looking at the sky, holding out my hand…

Nah, just kidding. =)

The ash rain is barely noticeable. You mainly see it on the hoods of cars after they’ve been parked for about an hour. Nevertheless, it’s still raining ash.

Chile… what an odd place it is.

*Pics taken from this site.

…one of the best ways, I think, to learn to appreciate the little things of life a little more, is to look at the sky more often. especially evening skies are great.  The sky is an ever-changing mozaic, and I never get bored with looking at clouds.
Now, my photos are just random snapshots taken with a cell-phone, but i’d nonetheless still like to share today’s evening sky:

The Corpus Christi Carol

Lully, lullay, lully, lullay,

The faucon hath borne my make away.

He bare him up, he bare him down,

He bare him into an orchard brown.

In that orchard ther was an hall

That was hanged with purple and pall.

And in that hall ther was a bed:

It was hanged with gold so red.

And in that bed ther lith a knight,

His woundes bleeding by day and night.

By that beddes side ther kneeleth a may,

And she weepeth both night and day.

And by that beddes side ther standeth a stoon:

Corpus Christi writen thereon.

The more you read St. Augustine’s books, the more you become a fan of his: The Confessions are quite amazing and I can’t wait to read his other works.
On a less canonical note, in that gorgeous 15th century book of saints’  lives by Jacobus de Voragine, called Legenda Aurea or The Golden Legend, an amazing story about St. Augustine is found. Taken from http://www.catholic-forum.com/saints/golden259.htm this book was translated by William Caxton, the first English printer. You may perhaps find the style old-fashioned, but I didnt have the heart to change anything about it.

Many other miracles hath God showed by his life, and also after his death, which were overlong to write in this book, for they would, I suppose, contain a book as much as all this and more, but among other corrections, I will set herein one miracle, which I have seen painted on an altar of Saint Austin at the black frirs at Antwerp, howbeit I find it not in the legend, mine exemplar, neither in English, French, ne in Latin. It was so that this glorious doctor made and compiled many volumes, as afore is said, among whom he made a book of the Trinity, in which he studied and mused sore in his mind, so far forth that on a time as he went by tbe sea-side in Africa, studying on theTrinity, he found by the sea-side a little child which had made a little pit in the sand, and in his hand a little spoon. And with the spoon he took out water of the large sea and poured it into the pit. And when Saint Augustin beheld him he marvelled, and demanded him what he did. And he answered and said: I will lade out and bring all this water of the sea into this pit. What? said he, it is impossible, how may it be done, sith the sea is so great and large, and thy pit and spoon so little? Yes, forsooth, said he, I shall lightlier and sooner draw all the water of the sea and bring it into this pit than thou shalt bring the mystery of the Trinity and his divinity into thy little understanding as to the regard thereof; for the mystery of the Trinity is greater and larger to the comparison of thy wit and brain than is this great sea unto this little pit. And therewith the child vanished away. Then here may every man take ensample that no man, and especially simple lettered men, ne unlearned, presume to intermit ne to muse on high things of the godhead, farther than we be informed by our faith, for our only faith shall suffice us.