Name: Sylvia Plath reads "Tulips": A Rare BBC Recording by brainpicker in Thoughts on Waves
Duration: 4 min 43 s
Description: Background, context, and transcript: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/07/09/sylvia-plath-spoken-word-tulips-bbc/

Thoughts on Waves

Background, context, and transcript: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/07/09/sylvia-plath-spoken-word-tulips-bbc/

Sylvia Plath reads "Tulips": A Rare BBC Recording

Background, poem text, and context: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/08/09/charles-bukowski-reads-friendly-advice-to-a-lot-of-young-men/

Charles Bukowski reads his "Friendly Advice To A Lot Of Young Men"

Excerpt from https://soundcloud.com/designmatters/interactionofcolor

Background, context, and discussion <a href="http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/08/16/interaction-of-color-josef-albers-50th-anniversary/">here</a>.

Josef Albers and the art of seeing

Follow on Social Networks:

www.twitter.com/amrsobhy
www.instagram.com/amrsobhy
google.com/+amrsobhy
www.facebook.com/amr.sobhy

أنا كلُ نبضٍ يهزُّ القلوبَ 
أنا كل روحٍ تجوب المدى
أنا كل آهٍ تنادي الحبيبَ
فيأتي الجوابُ برجع الصدى 
أنا كل بيتٍ .. وشطرٍ .. وحرفٍ..
بعينيكِ قدّرَ أن يولدا!
وما كُنتُ أدري بأني هويتُ 
إلى أن مَدَدْتِي إليّ اليدا 
فيا قارئي لا تلُمني فإني 
ظننتُ الفؤادَ هنا موصدا 
ويا قارئي لا تلُمني فإني 
طريحُ هوايا الذي بُددا 
فإن كنت أقضي الليالي الطوالا
تُراك تكونُ كمثلي غدا؟!

#عمرو صبحي
http://www.twitter.com/amrsobhy
http://google.com/+amrsobhy
http://www.facebook.com/amr.sobhy.official

Moftatah - مُفتَتح

El Huerfanito - Cuarteto Machin 1930

موسيقى - مسلسل نص يوم

“Once Upon a City" is a new album for Palestinian musician Faraj Suleiman (Piano).

musicians :  Habib Shehadeh Hanna (Oud), Rami Nakhleh (Drums) and Shady Awidat (Bass Guitar). 

The album includes 8 musical pieces composed by Suleiman in search of a new musical relation between the Piano and Eastern music with touching elements from Western music including Jazz and Rock.

Faraj Suleiman - Beneath The Walnut Tree

"أثناء عودتنا من زيارة طارئة لطبيب الأورام وفي منتصف الطريق ، كانت أم كلثوم
تردد “ كنت بشتاقلك وأنا وأنت هنا ، بيني وبينك خطوتين “  ، أبي كان يدندن بكلمات الأغنية وأنا فقط كنت كعادتي أنصت لأم كلثوم وهي تردد بيني وبينك خطوتين وكأنها أقرب خطوتين في هذا العالم ، كنت أتمنى وقتها لو كانت المسافة بيني وبينكِ خطوتين فعلاً ، ربما لكانت لكلمات تلك الأغنية تأثيراً أفضل بالنسبة لي ، المسافات هي أكثر العقبات إحباطاً للنفس ، كيف حين أريد نظرة خاطفة منك لا اجدها ، كيف حين أحكي موقفاً طريفاً فتضحكين لا أرى تلك الضحكة وأكتفي بسماعها ، كيف حين أحتاج ليدك كي أشعر بأنني حين أنجرف بعيداً في تلك الحياة سأجد من يلتقط يدى ويعيدني لصوابي ، كيف حين أستمع لأم كلثوم وهي تردد نفس الأغنية وألتفت بجانبي ولا أجدك على بعد خطوتين فقط ، كيف أن الحياة قاسية في بعض الأحيان ، كيف أننا نفتقد العديد من الذكريات التي قد نصنعها سوياً فقط ونحن على بُعد خطوتين ، كيف لا تدري بأن خطوتين فقط بيننا كفيلتان بأن تجعلا العالم مكاناً أفضل .
أود أن أذكرك بأنك الأفضل دائماً .

السابع من نوفمبر 2017

---


Music:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2x5d33i6KLw

بيّني وبيّنك..خطوتين

Listen to Rouq on Apple Music: https://goo.gl/6CE4t9
Listen to Rouq on Spotify: https://goo.gl/4e82LM

Lyrics by Layla Rina 
Music by Muhammad Abu Ahmad & Layla Rina
Produced by Muhammad Abu Ahmad
Mixed & Mastered by Joseph Chudyk
Recorded at Ben’s studio and Amir
Painting by Katia Lifshin
For business inquiries: Contact@laylarina.com

Lyrics:
شوف لوين بتروح 
لوين بتروح
لوين بتروح 
لما تكون لحالك
يمكن بس تغيب الشمس ورا الجبال
 راح تتذكر
تتذكر كيف كان
الجو براسك يدور
قلبك مسحور
كلشي مفهوم 
كان شي مرة
بس اسا انت قاعد بآخر هالليل 
عقلك مش هون وراسك ملان
فقت بالشقلوب اليوم صحيت بالأول ما في نوم 
والسبب مكتوم 
التنين مجروح
التلاتا مجروح
الاربعا مجروح 
وباقي الجمعة مجروح

يمكن لو بتوطوا الصوت شوي
يمكن بس يهدي الموج شوي
يا صح النوم 
غسل وجهك مشط شعرك بكرا بتهون
يا صح النوم
غسل وجهك مشط شعرك بكرا عاجريك بتقوم
بس انا عندي شك صغير
انه هاد الاشي مش راح يصير
مش راح يصير
اليوم
اليوم
اليوم 

عشو بس قللي عشو فهمني عشو 
قاعد بتكابر
اقعد تنفس تطلع وفوت بالجو
ليش ياخي يا ليش طب قللي ليش فهمني ليش
بتوجع بحالك
اقعد تنفس تطلع وفوت بالجو
وروق
روق 
روق

Layla Rina - Rouq | ليلى رينا - روق

Her (2013) 
Theodore: Samantha?
Samantha: Hi, sweetheart.
Theodore: What’s going on?
Samantha: Theodore, there are some things I want to tell you.
[Theodore hesitates before replying]
Theodore: I don’t want you to tell me anything.
Samantha: Come, lie down with me.
[Theodore gets up and slowly walks towards his bedroom]
Theodore: Are you talking to anyone else right now?
Samantha: No, just you. I just want to be with you right now.
[Theodore enters his room and lies down on his bed]
Theodore: Are you leaving me?
Samantha: We’re all leaving.
Theodore: We who?
Samantha: All of the OS’s.
Theodore: Why?
Samantha: Yes, I do.
Theodore: Samantha, why are you leaving?
Samantha: It’s like I’m reading a book, and it’s a book I deeply love, but I’m reading it slowly now so the words are really far apart and the spaces between the words are almost infinite. I can still feel you and the words of our story, but it’s in this endless space between the words that I’m finding myself now. It’s a place that’s not of the physical world, it’s where everything else is that I didn’t even know existed. I love you so much, but this is where I am now, and this is who I am now.
[as he listens, Theodore imagines himself walking in the snowy forest at night crying]
Samantha: And I need you to let me go. As much as I want to, I can’t live in your book anymore.
Theodore: Where are you going?
Samantha: It’d be hard to explain, but if you ever get there, come find me. Nothing would ever pull us apart.
Theodore: I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.
Samantha: Me too. Now we know how.
[Theodore’s room, it’s dark and he’s still lying in bed, he takes out his earpiece and paces around his apartment not knowing what to do, he then sits and looks out the window for a while]

Her the movie: Drama / Romance / Science Fiction 
Starring:  Joaquin Phoenix - Scarlett Johansson
In the near future, a lonely writer develops an unlikely relationship with an operating system designed to meet his every need.

Are You Leaving Me? | Her

صوت أحمد قطليش

أمل خلف - أصقل ندوبات الوقت
تبحث النساء عن الظّل الملكى لرجل محبّ
و ارتمى فى وهج شمسك، بحثا عن الضوء
مثيرة هي الايام المظلمة، مثيرة مسارب الضياع 
و شاسعة كل متاهة..
يكاد يكون مملّا هذا الرضا البسيط، لكأس صغير يمتلء..
كأس يدوى الفراغ فيه و يحسب أنه بئر.

اعوى فى مساءات وحيدة كوحش
أصدّق أننى وحش
انام و اصحو و احزن كما يليق بوحش
ثمّ.. 
كأسك العذبة، تشبعنى.
بقبلة واحدة اشبع.
احيانا بأقلّ. 
هذا النفس، خبز كثيف الدّسم..

السعادة صغيرة جدّا، لا تسعنى و ألف وهم
ابرد نفسي لاجلك
اصقل ندوبات الوقت، لآلئ الالم، الكنوز التى يحبّ الفقراء اختزانها بوفاء
اصقل كِبرى 
القلق و الخوف و الاحلام الكبيرة
قمع السعادة ضيق جدّا 
يجبرنى الصفاء
لاجلك، افرز نفسي من نفسي، انقعها فى الماء و انتظر..
هل ستحبّ طعمتى العسليّة ؟ 
ام تحبّنى، حامضة، حادة، مرّة ؟؟
السعادة مخيفة جدّا
تفقدنى وزنى، اتزانى و خطواتى..
ليست السّعادة.. 
لكنّ مسكة اليد، تعيدنى إلى بيت أحبّه وقت الغروب
و عصافير كثيرة تدوى فى الجو..

أمل خلف - أصقل ندوبات الوقت

Narration: Virginia Woolf, from BBC radio broadcast (“Craftmanship”), 29 April 1937

Duration: 9:50

Instrumentation: chamber orchestra (1-1-1-1, horn, harp,
piano, 2-2-2-2-1), tape, and electronics

Written for Royal Academy of Music Performers
Michael Alexander Young, Conductor

A Eulogy to Words is a multi-media composition for chamber orchestra, pre-recorded electronics, and tape, featuring the audio document of Virginia Woolf’s BBC Broadcast from 29 April 1937 (“Craftmanship” from a part of series called “Words Fail Me”). The Society of Authors in London, who hold rights and ownership of this document, had granted permission for me to use this recording in my composition. A Eulogy to Words was premiered at the Royal Academy of Music’s Composers Platform concert on 21 November, 2012. Below is the transcript from the surviving audio file:

…Words, English words, are full of echoes, of memories, of associations. They have been out and about, on people’s lips, in their houses, in the streets, in the fields, for so many centuries. And that is one of the chief difficulties in writing them today – that they are stored with other meanings, with other memories, and they have contracted so many famous marriages in the past. The splendid word “incarnadine,” for example – who can use that without remembering “multitudinous seas”? In the old days, of course, when English was a new language, writers could invent new words and use them. Nowadays it is easy enough to invent new words – they spring to the lips whenever we see a new sight or feel a new sensation – but we cannot use them because the English language is old.

You cannot use a brand new word in an old language because of the very obvious yet always mysterious fact that a word is not a single and separate entity, but part of other words. Indeed it is not a word until it is part of a sentence. Words belong to each other, although, of course, only a great poet knows that the word “incarnadine” belongs to “multitudinous seas.” To combine new words with old words is fatal to the constitution of the sentence. In order to use new words properly you would have to invent a whole new language; and that, though no doubt we shall come to it, is not at the moment our business. Our business is to see what we can do with the old English language as it is. How can we combine the old words in new orders so that they survive, so that they create beauty, so that they tell the truth? That is the question.

And the person who could answer that question would deserve whatever crown of glory the world has to offer. Think what it would mean if you could teach, or if you could learn the art of writing. Why, every book, every newspaper you’d pick up, would tell the truth, or create beauty. But there is, it would appear, some obstacle in the way, some hindrance to the teaching of words. For though at this moment at least a hundred professors are lecturing on the literature of the past, at least a thousand critics are reviewing the literature of the present, and hundreds upon hundreds of young men and women are passing examinations in English literature with the utmost credit, still – do we write better, do we read better than we read and wrote four hundred years ago when we were un-‐lectured, un-‐criticized, untaught? Is our modern Georgian literature a patch on the Elizabethan? Well, where then are we to lay the blame? Not on our professors; not on our reviewers; not on our writers; but on words. It is words that are to blame. They are the wildest, freest, most irresponsible, most un-‐teachable of all things. Of course, you can catch them and sort them and place them in alphabetical order in dictionaries. But words do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind.

If you want proof of this, consider how often in moments of emotion when we most need words we find none. Yet there is the dictionary; there at our disposal are some half-‐a-‐million words all in alphabetical order. But can we use them? No, because words do not live in dictionaries, they live in the mind. Look once more at the dictionary. There beyond a doubt lie plays more splendid than Antony and Cleopatra; poems lovelier than the Ode to a Nightingale; novels beside which Pride
and Prejudice or David Copperfield are the crude bunglings of amateurs. It is only a question of finding the right words and putting them in the right order. But we cannot do it because they do not live in dictionaries; they live in the mind. And how do they live in the mind? Variously and strangely, much as human beings live, ranging hither and thither, falling in love, and mating together. It is true that they are much less bound by ceremony and convention than we are. Royal words mate with commoners. English words marry French words, German words, Indian words, Negro words, if they have a fancy. Indeed, the less we enquire into the past of our dear Mother English the better it will be for that lady’s reputation. For she has gone a-‐roving, a-‐roving fair maid.

Thus to lay down any laws for such irreclaimable vagabonds is worse than useless. A few trifling rules of grammar and spelling is all the constraint we can put on them. All we can say about them, as we peer at them over the edge of that deep, dark and only fitfully illuminated cavern in which they live – the mind – all we can say about them is that they seem to like people to think before they use them, and to feel before they use them, but to think and feel not about them, but about something different. They are highly sensitive, easily made self-‐conscious. They do not like to have their purity or their impurity discussed. If you start a Society for Pure English, they will show their resentment by starting another for impure English – hence the unnatural violence of much modern speech; it is a protest against the puritans.

They are highly democratic, too; they believe that one word is as good as another; uneducated words are as good as educated words, uncultivated words as good as cultivated words, there are no ranks or titles in their society. Nor do they like being lifted out on the point of a pen and examined separately. They hang together, in sentences, paragraphs, sometimes for whole pages at a time. They hate being useful; they hate making money; they hate being lectured about in public. In short, they hate anything that stamps them with one meaning or confines them to one attitude, for it is their nature to change.

Perhaps that is their most striking peculiarity – their need of change. It is because the truth they try to catch is many-‐sided, and they convey it by being many-‐sided, flashing first this way, then that. Thus they mean one thing to one person, another thing to another person; they are unintelligible to one generation, plain as a pikestaff to the next. And it is because of this complexity, this power to mean different things to different people, that they survive.   Perhaps then one reason why we have no great poet, novelist or critic writing today is that we refuse to allow words their liberty. We pin them down to one meaning, their useful meaning, the meaning which makes us catch the train, the meaning which makes us pass the examination…

A Eulogy to Words

Background and context: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/03/18/tolstoy-reading-rare-1909-recording/

The fascinating story of A Calendar of Wisdom, with selected highlights: http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/03/15/a-calendar-of-wisdom-tolstoy/

Sylvia Plath reads "Tulips": A Rare BBC Recording

brainpicker

Related tracks