The Arts

U3A PHOTOS

The following photos were taken by members of Photography 4 of University of the Third Age, Edinburgh. Every month the members decide on a subject and submit a few photographs on dropbox followed by a viewing in a local library.  Our group leader, Geoff Gardner, encourages us to comment on the pros and cons of the photography which is helpful in allowing us to judge different aspects of the activity like lighting, framing, cropping, and all other aspects of in-camera decisions and post editing processing using our chosen software.  
A.H. Editor

Albert Harris: 1/80sec at f/4, ISO 3200

Benyapha Gardner: 1/85 sec at f28, ISO 400

Bill Grosart: 1/16 sec at f/7.1, ISO 100

Caroline Cruikshank:  1/640 sec at f/4, ISO 125

Geoff Gardner:  1/80 sec at f/4, ISO 400

John Ferguson:  1/2 sec at f/7.1, ISO 400

Rognvald Smith:  1/100 sec at f/5.6, ISO 125

Birgitta Debenham:  1/50 sec at f11, ISO 12800

 

David Edwards:  1/6 sec at f/4.5, ISO 200

David Russell:  1/125 sec at f/4, ISO 1600

Stephen Balmer:  1/50 sec at f/4, ISO 500

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Road, Beams, Path, Forest, Nature

PLAY Morning Song by Bernie Hartley


Morning light come touch my hand

and wake me soft and gentle

with your one command

and lift me in the morning

with a smile and song

 

River flow come wash my sins

and make me whole again

on your swirling stones

and lift me in the night

on the wings of time

 

Rolling clouds come clear my mind

and take me changing form

to the horizon’s end

and lift me in the morning

with a smile and song

 

Ocean wide catch me in your arms

and weave your turning waves

ocean wide catch me in your arms

your crystal bright cascades

 

Sunlight rays through forest leaves

open my eyes again

for time unchanged

and lift me in the morning

on the wings of time

 

Roaring flame of roses red

come set my eyes alight

burning in my head

and lift me in the night

on the wings of time

 

Morning sound of temple bells

open my ears again

to the dawn’s first rays

and lift me in the morning

with a smile and song

 

Mother earth hold me to your breast

and let me suckle softly

‘till the parting veil

is lifted in the night

on the wings of time

Published with kind permission from  Bernie Hartley
Copyright: Bernie Hartley
I wrote ‘Morning Song’ many years ago and it came to me in a dream, I woke up with it in my head. I offered it to Rinpoche and performed it at Summer Camp 2011 in France. It’s from the first CD of my own songs ‘Touch The Sky’ which is available via my website: www.berniehartley.com. I have another CD available of my own songs: ‘Changing Light’.
I’m happy for people to download ‘Morning Song’ for a small (or large!) donation to Rigul Trust.org. Paul Whitwam played bass on ‘Morning Song’ and Gavin Stewart played keyboard. 
I’ve been a musician since the age of 13, playing acoustic and electric guitar, flute, banjo, singing, writing songs. A pro musician for several years then teaching as well, I’ve played in several bands, duos, and solo all over UK and Europe. Recorded several albums two of which are 100% my own songs. I have a Masters in Music Education from Trinity College of Music in London. I was Music Teacher in a school for autistic spectrum disorders for 15 yrs.

Please make a contribution to Ringu Tulku Rinpoche’s Rigul Trust :

DONATE

 

 

 

BETWEEN TWO UNKNOWNS by Ianthe

Slooped from the slow hiss,

Bombadee, bomp,

Slip, shine, whine and chuckle.

Tinkle, rattle, buzz and winkle,

Slurp, burp, fart and stomp,

With xylophone and whoopee whistle.

……………………………………..

Emerging, raging,

Question, riddle,

Dance and rhythm,

Snake and wriggle,

Dodge and mark, hark and fumble,

Into life’s loud world we rumble.

…………………………………..

Stamping, marching,

 Drums and cymbals,

Bangs and trumpets,

No eurhythmics,

Argle-bargle of hoddy-noddies

Callithumpian!

…………………………………………..

Thrown harem scarem to fuddy duddies,

We strive to

Make our own sound…

“Puddysticks!” A hootenanny!

Shouting, laughing, strutting,

Deedy!

……………………………………………

 

Exhilaration!

Orchestration!

Marvellous works and adoration

Years of strife and hours of duty,

A chance to see the grand finale,

Behold, the lollygag and woopie!

……………………………………………­­­­­

 

And all at once, arriving puzzled,

Stumbled, bent,

Exsanguinous, umbiferous and needy,

Dressed in fuscous coats… and seedy!

Bombilating and bumfuzzled,

 Rum-sozzled and stinky!

(This poem was inspired by a quote ‘The Word itself is a Musical Sound’)

 

Glossary

Eurhythmics……………….……………in harmonious proportion.

Argle-bargle……………………………………………meaningless chat

Hoddy-noddies…………………………….……….………..daft people

Calithumpian………………………………..……..……….noisy parade

Puddysticks….childish South African word, meaning ‘easy’.

Deedy………………..………………………..industrious or effective.

Lollygag……………………spending time in an aimless lazy way.

‘Woopie’………….………………………..……Well Off Older Person.

Exsanguinous……..………………………..….bloodless or anaemic

Umbiferous……….…………………………………….……………..shady

Fuscous…………….…………………….dark and sombre in colour

Bombilating……….…………………………………………………buzzing

Bumfuzzled…………..…………………………………………..confused

 

MORNING PRACTICE

Morning Practice
(for Dónal C.)

The leaves: I’m sweeping them but still they fall
upon the steps and all along the path –
I wonder if I’ll reach the boundary wall.

The storm last night increased my brush’s haul,
though for this rain they will say dhanyavaad,
I’m sweeping up the leaves and still they fall.

How fine to hear the dark blue song thrush call
while smaller birds enjoy their dusty bath –
they’re sure to reach and pass the boundary wall.

Sometimes I think I’ll never clear them all –
Like Milarepa fearing Marpa’s wrath –
so still I’m sweeping leaves and still they fall.

From here in Sikkim via West Bengal,
my pilgrimage goes on into Sarnath,
I plan to make it inside Deer Park’s wall.

I hope this spell in detail I’ll recall,
once I progress into its aftermath.
Meanwhile I’m sweeping leaves but still they fall,
I don’t know if I’ll reach the boundary wall.


Reprinted with the kind permission of Maeve O’Sullivan.
From
Elswhere p.85 Alba Publishing

Dubliner Mave O’Sullivan’s poetry and haiku have been widely published, anthologised and translated.
Her four collections are Elsewhere (2017); Initial Response, An A-Z of haiku moments (2011); Vocal Chords (2014); and Double Rainbow (2005) all available at Alba Publishing
Maeve is a winner of the Listowel Writers’ Week poetry competition for a single poem, and conducts haiku workshops with adults and children.
A lecturer in Media Studies, she lives in Dublin
Maeve’s new collection of poetry, Elsewhere is available from Alba Publishing

MEMORIES

 

               E. H. Shepard

MEMORIES
[LEST WE FORGET]

At night when all the house is still,
I sometimes take my favourite briar,
And one last pipe ere bedtime fill,
Then fall to dreaming by the fire.

The cosy room, the easy-chair
Are left a hundred leagues behind,
I’m with the old battalion where
The cobbled roads of Flanders wind.

And once again the heavy pack,
And once again the miles of mud,
The old precarious duck-board track,
The cold o’nights that chilled the blood.
.          .          .          .          .           .          .
It’s good to have a house and fire,
And bed to go to.  Midnight chimes;
I knock the ashes from by briar –
Millions of men muse thus at times.
W. D. COCKER
From Poems Scots and English 1932, (Brown, Son & Ferguson, Ltd. Glasgow)

COMPASSION

image

Amongst the flowers I
am alone with my pot of wine
drinking by myself; then lifting
my cup I asked the moon
to drink with me, its reflection
and mine in the wine cup, just
the three of us; then I sigh
for the moon cannot drink,

and my shadow goes emptily along
with me never saying a word;
with no other friends here, I can
but use these two for company;
in the time of happiness, I
too must be happy with all
around me; I sit and sing
and it is as if the moon

accompanies me; then if I
dance, it is my shadow that
dances along with me; while
still not drunk, I am glad
to make the moon and my shadow
into friends, but then when
I have drunk too much, we
all part; yet these are

friends I can always count on
these who have no emotion
whatsoever; I hope that one day
we three will meet again,
deep in the Milky Way.

 Li Po

DRINK YOUR TEA

Drink your tea slowly and reverently,
as if it is the axis 
on which the world earth revolves 
– slowly, evenly, without 
rushing toward the future;
Live the actual moment.
Only this moment is life.

Thich Nhat Hahn

Elsewhere

 

Japan

Shinbazu Pond –
even these withered lotuses
can lift my heart

 

heated toilet seat –
memories of growing up
in a large family

 

deep-fried pork:
I await instructions
on how to eat it

 

we look through the dark
to the place where Mount Fuji
is supposed to be

 

arrival in Kyoto…
I buy flowers for myself
flowers for the Buddha

 

the clunk of wooden sandals
on stone paving –
Mount Otowa

 

thatched with water reeds
topped with acer leaves –
Basho-an the poet’s hut

 

further uphill
autumn birdsong leads the way –
Buson’s grave

 

wandering poet’s well               its stone collar lotus

 

dusk over the city           two small girls in flowery kimono

Japan has been extracted from Maeve O’Sullivan’s latest publication Elsewhere
available from Alba Publishing
Dubliner Mave O’Sullivan’s poetry and haiku have been widely published, anthologised and translated.
Her four collections are Elsewhere (2017); Initial Response, An A-Z of haiku moments (2011); Vocal Chords (2014); and Double Rainbow (2005) all available at Alba Publishing
Maeve is a winner of the Listowel Writers’ Week poetry competition for a single poem, and conducts haiku workshops with adults and children.
A lecturer in Media Studies, she lives in Dublin
Maeve’s new collection of poetry, Elsewhere is available from Alba Publishing

ODE TO MANCHESTER

The blood of Irish, Catholic immigrants
And Russian, Jewish refugees
Flows through the veins of this Buddhist nun,
A seeker of wisdom, compassion and peace,

Whose path has encircled the world and alights
Now in Edinburgh, where it has stayed.
But my heart cries out for Manchester,
For Manchester where I was made.

And I weep to see your suffering,
Caused by minds deluded by hate,
Yet tears of sadness are mixed with pride,
Seeing what makes my hometown so great.

Strength and kindness in adversity,
That brave, indomitable spirit,
Bred by love that welcomes diversity,
All embellished with pithy, street wit.

Mancunia, Mancunia!
That fortress of northern souls,
Your red brick streets and fields of dreams,
Bear witness to impossible goals.

In grief we stand united,
United we’ll rise from the ruins,
Like so many who’ve gone before us,
For in Manchester, that’s how we do things.

by Ani Rinchen Khandro, AKA Jackie Glass, Mancunian.

A Muslim comforts an elderly Jewish woman (Independent News)

LAZY LAMA FILM

Renowned German filmmaker Niko von Glasow’s newest film is now available to view here!

                                                                         LAZY LAMA FILM

The film shows Ringu Tulku not only as a Buddhist master and teacher – it also offers a personal, humorous and honest insight into his family and working life. It shows Ringu Tulku preparing four students for a retreat which lasts three years, three months and three days, in Sikkim, North India. Spending time with the Lazy Lama gives the audience the opportunity to reflect on their own lives, and find ways to create more room for spirituality, meditation, empathy and the right kind of “laziness”.

TO A POET A THOUSAND YEARS HENCE

I who am dead a thousand years,
    And wrote this sweet archaic song,
Send you my words for messengers
    The way I shall not pass along.

I care not if you bridge the seas,
    Or ride secure the cruel sky,
Or build consummate palaces
    Of metal or of masonry.

But have you wine and music still,
    And statues and a bright-eyed love,
And foolish thoughts of good and ill,
    And prayers to them who sit above?

How shall we conquer? Like a wind
    That falls at eve our fancies blow,
And old Moeonides the blind
    Said it three thousand years ago.

O friend unseen, unborn, unknown,
    Student of our sweet English tongue,
Read out my words at night, alone:
    I was a poet, I was young.

Since I can never see your face,
    And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
    To greet you. You will understand.

James Elroy Flecker was educated at Dean Close School, Cheltenham, where his father was headmaster, and at Uppingham and Trinity College, Oxford.

After university he joined the Diplomatic Service, spending time in Constantinople and Beirut. In 1913 he went to Switzerland to seek a cure for his tuberculosis but died there two years later at the age of 31.