One of the biggest surprises of ; the Inward Cold effectively marries black metal and doom. My hats off to Mr. Apedaile for creating beautiful music.
Ravenous and Cavernous by Arcane North | Free Listening on SoundCloud
Servants of the Countercosmos by Wode. Builds on the deep, dark foundations set by their first LP, Servants explores deeper into a black cosmic void of truest black metal. Verses are deep, complex, guitars are truest black. Another masterpiece from a band I hope I will be lucky enough to experience live at least once in life.
This album is simply phenomenal and I cannot recommend enough. The Hunt by Ulvesang. Folk music that reaches to the past, connecting to yesteryear while unearthing primordial magic. There are few joys equal to reading a Sappho fragment - and that's mostly what they are - first thing in the morning. The poems, in these lovely and distilled translations by Barnard, jump across the gap of more than years and feel quiveringly fresh. No poet embodies Ezra Pound's dictum ''Only emotion endures'' like Sappho.
She feeds you ambrosial honey one minute, bitter bilious heartbreak the next.
Korban Blake
Sappho virtually invented what is now the most enduring and popular poetry: It is a nonsense to say that poetry is dead, dying or only read by a few constipated poetasters mostly interested in their own self-indulgent ramblings. The love song, good, bad or indifferent, blasts or seeps from the field, the street, the shower, the theatre, the radio, the television, the computer and the iPod all over the world. The oral love lyric is, hands down, the dominant creative use of language in human history. Its only rival is the religious hymn - and Sappho was a deft hand at writing those as well.
Sappho was simply the first Western poet to speak in beautifully lucid, ordinary words about her own emotions:. She hungers and struggles with loneliness, with her fears of ageing and death, with a rival stealing a lover, with her impatience for the presence of a beloved face. Most passionately, she hungers and struggles with capricious Aphrodite, the ''snare-knitter'' goddess of love, who floods her with blessings - or torments her with deaf ears.
Synonyms and antonyms of cavernous in the English dictionary of synonyms
Everything Sappho writes, even if written in jealous rage, glistens with ''delicious dew''. The thrill of reading her in the original has been raved about by the dustiest of classical scholars. Her most famous poem expresses for all time the almost medical symptoms of stifled erotic passion:. A thin flame runs under my skin … and I turn paler than dry grass.
At such times death isn't far from me. The world owes the preservation of this boiling geyser of a poem to a translation by the Latin poet Catullus, a thermal spring himself and an ardent admirer of Sappho. There is something radioactive about the work of Sappho. Each burning word seems to have a half-life of thousands of years. Yet we have so little of it: Some of what we have was found quoted in ancient grammar books, or in a mention or translation by a fellow poet hundreds of years after Sappho's death.
But the most bizarre and tantalising discoveries have been uncovered in the dry air of the Egyptian desert on discarded papyrus. Fragments of Sappho have been found torn into strips, used to plug a wine bottle or stuffed into the mouths of mummified crocodiles.
In , to delirious excitement from Sappho readers, a new and complete poem was pieced together from cloth pasted around a human mummy. In it, Sappho laments the loss of her ''tender young body'' and curses the physical pains of growing old.
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- The ravenous and the cavernous Hungry hordes roam the Javits Center for the N.Y. Restaurant Show;
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The poet's hair is whitening and her knees giving out. Alas, it made a lot of grim sense to me. I hope the next poem discovered will be more joyful. And on delicious song. AGATHA Christie, in a foreword to a collection of short stories, including her personal favourite, The Adventure of the Christmas Pudding , revels in memories of her childhood Christmases, especially the endless courses of lethally rich food.
Her foreword has an unselfconscious jollity and nostalgia that now reads as awkwardly as a waddling, guileless dodo.
Translation of «ravenous» into 25 languages
And just as extinct. It's now fashionable to publicly wring one's wan, wretched hands over an unhappy, better still - abusive - childhood. My generation, unlike our buttoned-up parents, has become perhaps rather too comfortable with retrospective whingeing - and too much therapy. Have we lost our childhood gusto?
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Do we all need a good dunking in Enid Blyton's famous ''lashings of lemonade''? No, we wouldn't risk it; the devil, diabetes, might get us. I treasure my lovely greedy moments, whether from childhood memories or, preferable by far, in the adult here and now. There is a Rabelaisian rhythm, a flavoursome swing to living that is being discounted or treated with moral distrust. I hate the new wowserism with its draconian measures to find and force down our throats the secret formula to eternal healthy life.
My life soundtrack still has the volume on high for Liza Minnelli's wistful ''Life is a cabaret, old chum. Come to the cabaret. In Homer, it's better to be alive than dead.
In both The Iliad and The Odyssey , the underworld is no celestial paradise. It is a place of grey shadows and famished ghosts who long for the smell, taste and touch of earthly pleasures again. My closest experience to that of being a Homeric ghost was in the days following my cancer diagnosis, when I looked at the world through a sickly grey gauze of envy. I envied the simple pleasures of good health and good appetite: Oh god, how I envied the well.
I thought that anyone who didn't have cancer should be dancing joyously down the street like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. And when I was finally well again, I never quite lost my immediate sense of ravenous gratitude. One day I will die. One day I will not wake up to the smell of my partner bringing my morning mug of strong coffee up the stairs.