Sonntagstour über Bach nach Dravograd, weiter durch das Mießtal (im Bild) via Ravne nach Mežica und über den Raunjak zu den neuen Werner Berg-Fassaden in Bleiburg
E-Bike-Tour am Sonntagmorgen von Pudlach nach Bach und weiter nach Dravograd zur neuen Radlerbrücke über die Meža/Mieß und dann die Meža flußaufwärts über Ravne, Prevalje und Poljana nach Mežica. Über den Raunjak gehts dann wieder zurück nach Kärnten und zwar über Loibach nach Bleiburg.
In Bleiburg kann man seit einigen Tagen bereits die neuen Werner Berg Bilder zum heurigen Ausstellungsthema „Rutarhof“ besichtigen.
I. The Burial of the Dead
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
T. S. Eliot, „The Waste Land“ from Collected Poems: 1909-1962
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
‘You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
‘They called me the hyacinth girl.’
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed’ und leer das Meer.
T. S. Eliot, „The Waste Land“ from Collected Poems: 1909-1962
Still weeping …
http://Libeliče – Vas ob meji
Blick über die Drau auf die alte Eisenbahnbrücke über den Wölblbach an der Staatsgrenze
I sat upon the shore
Fishing, with the arid plain behind me
Shall I at least set my lands in order?
Neuer Radweg von Dravograd nach Otiški Vrh
Schöne neue Radlerbrücke über die Meža/Mieß kurz vor der Eröffnung
Fahrt durch die Mežiška dolina des legendären Kralj Matjaž
All the cattle are standing like statues
They don’t turn their heads as they see me ride byFrom „Oklahoma“
Ravne ist die größte Stadt in Koroška, die Stadt der Eisenindustrie, der „Forma viva“- Stahlskulpturen
exhibition
Isidora Todorić: We Dogs Go To Heaven
06. 04. 2023 – 26. 05. 2023
Galerija Ravne
https://www.glu-sg.si/exhibition/isidora-todorc-vsi-psi-gremo-v-raj/?from=front
Stopped into a church
I passed along the wayIn Ravne werden bei der Sonntagsmesse die Liedtexte digital eingeblendet
City of steel sculptures
Neben den Teilen des Mežatal umfasst das Gemeindegebiet im Norden und Süden auch Bergland, das zu den Karawanken (Karavanke) zählt. Der Hauptort liegt auf 394 m. ü. A., die höchste Erhebung ist mit 1699 m. ü. A. die Uršlja gora an der südliche Gemeindegrenze.
Unreal City,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: ‚Stetson!
‘You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
‘That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
‘Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
‘Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
‘Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
‘Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
‘You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
(T. S. Eliot, „The Waste Land“ from Collected Poems: 1909-1962)
Riding into Prevalje
Viel los am neuen Radweg zwischen Prevalje und Poljana
Riding horses and bicycles along the Meža/Mieß
III. The Fire Sermon
The river’s tent is broken: the last fingers of leaf
Clutch and sink into the wet bank. The wind
Crosses the brown land, unheard. The nymphs are departed.
Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.
The river bears no empty bottles, sandwich papers,
Silk handkerchiefs, cardboard boxes, cigarette ends
Or other testimony of summer nights. The nymphs are departed.
And their friends, the loitering heirs of City directors;
Departed, have left no addresses.
By the waters of Leman I sat down and wept . . .
Sweet Thames, run softly till I end my song,
Sweet Thames, run softly, for I speak not loud or long.
But at my back in a cold blast I hear
The rattle of the bones, and chuckle spread from ear to ear.
(T. S. Eliot, „The Waste Land“ from Collected Poems: 1909-1962)