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NA LISTI Od 04.8.2010.g. /
LISTED SINCE August 4th, 2010 among leading European magazines:  |
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Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić, MSc Sarajevo & Bugojno, Bosnia and Herzegovina MI OBJEDINJUJEMO RAZLIČITOSTI... WE ARE UNIFYING DIVERSITIES |
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Interview Tatjana Debeljački vs. Evan Mantyk USA April 2014. |
Evan Mantyk
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The school’s paintings not only resonated beauty, but also enshrined the highest level of technical discipline as one of their main themes?
***The Hudson River School was one of the last great art movements in the world before modernism fully took over and fragmented the human aesthetic. Many of their landscape paintings not only demonstrate the pinnacle of landscape painting in terms of skill, but also are infused with a sense of spirituality and reverence. The sweeping vista becomes a grand cathedral, the sky a brilliantly lit dome, the trees ornate pillars, and the water a strained glass masterwork.
When did you publish your first book and how did the success follow later?
***I publish a book of solely my own poetry in 2010. It did okay, not great in terms of success and sales. After the failure in success, I fully realized that poetry is a very difficult field. Basically, anyone can publish their own book and anyone who is literate can theoretically write what today passes for poetry. The result is that most people are uninterested in reading your poetry, whether it is great or poor. The form itself is ruined. I concluded from this that people today really do not need simply another poetry book, which they probably won’t read. They need a new venue where the beauty of poetry is once again discerned and put on its appropriate pedestal. Beauty means poetry that follows classical forms such as meter and rhyme, is easily recognized as poetry and not prose, is clear and coherent, and places value in perennial themes such as building character and cherishing virtue. The new environment facilitating a new renaissance in poetry is what is needed.
Are sculptures from myths included in your area of culture?
***Our culture category is quite broad and includes artwork, including sculptures, depicting myths such as Greek myths.
Could you tell us something about the beautiful sculptures by Sabin Howard?
***Howard is a highly skilled sculptor. People would consider his work to be in the classical style, which is true. It features realistic representations of people often embodying loftier ideas such as the personas of Greek mythology. I feel it is not enough to say his works are classical style, they are really in the style of true beauty touching on that divine aspect that reaches to the best of humanity and transcends it.
Who are your favourite 19th century painters and why them?
***William-Adolphe Bouguereau: His works are stunningly realistic yet often depict spiritual subject matter. Even those that are not specifically spiritual are charged with sense of brightness and goodness.
Sir Frederic Leighton: He is a master of aesthetic and style, matching costumes, fabrics, composition, color, and attitude to create a distinct mood that is relatable yet highly refined. He creates a visual feast that is both fascinating and exciting to look at but also hearty and satisfying to devour. Sir Lawrence Alma Tameda is similarly a master for these reasons.
Thomas Cole and Asher Durand: The titans of the Hudson River school are great for reasons described above.
William Bradford: His nautical paintings are exquisite and perennially adventurous.
What do you think about the destinies of some famous painters such as Dali, Van Gogh, Gaugain, Picasso?
***They have written their own destinies. They have fragmented aesthetics and beauty. Remove their names and most people couldn’t recognize the basic value of many of their paintings. It is not clear that a high level of skill is required and in most cases such skill is in fact lacking. What is the deeper meaning that they are conveying? It is the ephemeral rubbish of modernism that builds its distorted perspective upon the negation tradition. They have warped people’s perceptions of art and people will treat them and art in general in increasingly warped ways until their paintings are rendered meaningless and finally recognized as garbage.
What is your experience with haiku?
***This form is a treasure left to us by Japanese culture. It is wonderfully simple and elegant. It is good for beginners in poetry and can be enhanced by the inclusion of alliteration and rhyme. Of course writing a good one is not easy, the trick is to effectively travel between two ideas in ways that you wouldn’t normally or are that are startling or exciting to the reader’s perspective.
Could you tell us something about the magazine you publish?What is its concept and what are the contents?
***We publish classical poetry on the themes of Beauty, Falun Dafa, Great Culture, Science, and Humor. Classical poetry means that it has meter and rhyme. We also publish essays in these categories.
How do you manage all that with so much work that you do? Do you have time for yourself? What inspires you?
***I practice Falun Dafa meditation every day and place value on the discipline’s three principles, Truth, Compassion, and Tolerance (Zhen-Shan-Ren in Chinese). This is my foundation and I draw a lot of my inspiration from the practice as well.
Are you satisfied with the Editorial team and the members of the Society of Classical Poets?
***I thank everyone who has helped. They have done an outstanding job. However, we can always use more people and we are only starting.
What are your plans for the future creative work?
*** I have many ideas including novels and plays incorporating classical poetry and themes. Of course, one day I’d like to pen a great epic poem.
Contemplation on Consciousness of Life?
***I believe that everything is alive, even if it does not seem to be. For example even a rock is made of atoms just as we are.
Evan Mantyk’s career in a few years?
***I am an English teacher now; perhaps I will be then too.
***The Hudson River School was one of the last great art movements in the world before modernism fully took over and fragmented the human aesthetic. Many of their landscape paintings not only demonstrate the pinnacle of landscape painting in terms of skill, but also are infused with a sense of spirituality and reverence. The sweeping vista becomes a grand cathedral, the sky a brilliantly lit dome, the trees ornate pillars, and the water a strained glass masterwork.
When did you publish your first book and how did the success follow later?
***I publish a book of solely my own poetry in 2010. It did okay, not great in terms of success and sales. After the failure in success, I fully realized that poetry is a very difficult field. Basically, anyone can publish their own book and anyone who is literate can theoretically write what today passes for poetry. The result is that most people are uninterested in reading your poetry, whether it is great or poor. The form itself is ruined. I concluded from this that people today really do not need simply another poetry book, which they probably won’t read. They need a new venue where the beauty of poetry is once again discerned and put on its appropriate pedestal. Beauty means poetry that follows classical forms such as meter and rhyme, is easily recognized as poetry and not prose, is clear and coherent, and places value in perennial themes such as building character and cherishing virtue. The new environment facilitating a new renaissance in poetry is what is needed.
Are sculptures from myths included in your area of culture?
***Our culture category is quite broad and includes artwork, including sculptures, depicting myths such as Greek myths.
Could you tell us something about the beautiful sculptures by Sabin Howard?
***Howard is a highly skilled sculptor. People would consider his work to be in the classical style, which is true. It features realistic representations of people often embodying loftier ideas such as the personas of Greek mythology. I feel it is not enough to say his works are classical style, they are really in the style of true beauty touching on that divine aspect that reaches to the best of humanity and transcends it.
Who are your favourite 19th century painters and why them?
***William-Adolphe Bouguereau: His works are stunningly realistic yet often depict spiritual subject matter. Even those that are not specifically spiritual are charged with sense of brightness and goodness.
Sir Frederic Leighton: He is a master of aesthetic and style, matching costumes, fabrics, composition, color, and attitude to create a distinct mood that is relatable yet highly refined. He creates a visual feast that is both fascinating and exciting to look at but also hearty and satisfying to devour. Sir Lawrence Alma Tameda is similarly a master for these reasons.
Thomas Cole and Asher Durand: The titans of the Hudson River school are great for reasons described above.
William Bradford: His nautical paintings are exquisite and perennially adventurous.
What do you think about the destinies of some famous painters such as Dali, Van Gogh, Gaugain, Picasso?
***They have written their own destinies. They have fragmented aesthetics and beauty. Remove their names and most people couldn’t recognize the basic value of many of their paintings. It is not clear that a high level of skill is required and in most cases such skill is in fact lacking. What is the deeper meaning that they are conveying? It is the ephemeral rubbish of modernism that builds its distorted perspective upon the negation tradition. They have warped people’s perceptions of art and people will treat them and art in general in increasingly warped ways until their paintings are rendered meaningless and finally recognized as garbage.
What is your experience with haiku?
***This form is a treasure left to us by Japanese culture. It is wonderfully simple and elegant. It is good for beginners in poetry and can be enhanced by the inclusion of alliteration and rhyme. Of course writing a good one is not easy, the trick is to effectively travel between two ideas in ways that you wouldn’t normally or are that are startling or exciting to the reader’s perspective.
Could you tell us something about the magazine you publish?What is its concept and what are the contents?
***We publish classical poetry on the themes of Beauty, Falun Dafa, Great Culture, Science, and Humor. Classical poetry means that it has meter and rhyme. We also publish essays in these categories.
How do you manage all that with so much work that you do? Do you have time for yourself? What inspires you?
***I practice Falun Dafa meditation every day and place value on the discipline’s three principles, Truth, Compassion, and Tolerance (Zhen-Shan-Ren in Chinese). This is my foundation and I draw a lot of my inspiration from the practice as well.
Are you satisfied with the Editorial team and the members of the Society of Classical Poets?
***I thank everyone who has helped. They have done an outstanding job. However, we can always use more people and we are only starting.
What are your plans for the future creative work?
*** I have many ideas including novels and plays incorporating classical poetry and themes. Of course, one day I’d like to pen a great epic poem.
Contemplation on Consciousness of Life?
***I believe that everything is alive, even if it does not seem to be. For example even a rock is made of atoms just as we are.
Evan Mantyk’s career in a few years?
***I am an English teacher now; perhaps I will be then too.
Evan Mantyk (USA)
Evan Mantyk is President of The Society of Classical Poets. He is a poet, writer, and English teacher in the Catskills region of New York, where he lives with his wife and two children. He previously edited and wrote for The Epoch Times and maintains a blog with the international newspaper.
Evan Mantyk is President of The Society of Classical Poets. He is a poet, writer, and English teacher in the Catskills region of New York, where he lives with his wife and two children. He previously edited and wrote for The Epoch Times and maintains a blog with the international newspaper.
Teachers
I.
The greatest writers are the teachers;
The paper is their pupil;
Each sheet defiantly stretches
With a stark blank, diffused will.
But, the teacher writes a story
To fill minds, however plain,
Crafting a rich tale of glory,
Inspiring from the mundane.
So their wills are all together
Unified in a story arc,
Pleasing and sturdy bound leather,
The future craftsman’s bench mark.
II.
The greatest writers are the teachers,
Humbly yielding to blank page,
Quietly in the void searches
For future artist or sage.
Seeking the predestined story
That is waiting to be told,
Focusing what now seems blurry,
Sifting the mud from the gold.
Their students are the great heroes
In the future’s giant plot;
Letting go of their large egos,
Teachers know what they are not.
III.
The greatest writers are the teachers,
They, themselves, are each a book;
The students are the apt readers,
At each word they take a look.
The teachers’ thoughts, views, and morals
Are the underlying theme;
How they maneuver life’s pitfalls,
What they deem a lofty dream.
If their tale is moving, captures
Their students’ imagination,
Then the final scene is rapture
And helps guide future nations.
Haiku
The Persecution of Falun Gong
Meditating group,
One clear crisp day at Shanghai
In earth’s sunny loop.
What is Zhen-Shan-Ren?
Truth-Compassion-Forbearance,
Refiner of men.
Police arrive there,
Frosted breath flies from warped mouths,
Evil spirits flare.
The days, weeks, and months
Spent making dolls for export
With smiles on their mouths.
Torture in damp dark,
Floods of blood and brainwashing,
He floats on faith’s ark.
Communist thinking,
Godless junk and filth piled high
Leaves morals sinking.
He floats to a shore
Where the soft sands of heaven
Disrupt his sweet snore.
Awake half-dead now,
Joyous that earth’s red demon
Didn’t make him kowtow.
The majestic sun
Behind a wall of gray smog
On a day soon done.
A Catskill Mountains Trek
Trees infused with mist
Enchant those just awakened
Before their breakfast.
A new mountain trail
On soft leaves of late autumn
Seems destined to fail.
The deer hunter’s tent
I thought I saw was a rock
Without an intent
From the mountain’s peak,
Two pagodas stand like Gods
Who we humbly seek.
At Heaven I peek--
A feeling, a subtle glow,
A name I can’t speak.
Virtue’s lofty peak
Amidst unknown wilderness
That seems un-unique.
Descending the cliff,
A sheer drop to the bottom
Scares me tired and stiff.
Debris crumbles off
As I look for a new way
And try not to scoff.
The narrow path leads
Down to a long shining lake
That reflects our deeds.
A Psalm of Christmas
What the heart of the young activist said to the psalmist
After Henry Longfellow’s “A Psalm of Life”
Tell me not in boring numbers
About today’s economy,
For our consciences grow numb-er
And become our own enemy.
Money’s not real! It’s an idea!
It’s a value agreed to give;
It’s a home, clothes, and a meal
It’s a means, not an end, to live!
Not an end after won elections
Not an end after more degrees!
But to awaken populations!
And find something greater to be!
Money is built on more ideas
Like on what it means to live well;
Does it involve clean air and trees?
Or does it make someone’s life hell?
Do we care that our Christmas lights
Are made by prisoners of faith,
Tortured and deprived of the rights
We value, or so we sayeth?
What about discrimination
That occurs outside our borders
In a trading “partner” nation
From which our shelves are mail ordered?
The Falun Gong practitioner
Is the world’s silent elephant
Crucified with modern horror
That we all knowingly permit.
We can’t not buy “Made in China”
But we can speak loud our brave minds
And let ring a meaningful change
That makes our lives a bit sublime.
Let us then speak out loud and strong
With words of both truth and cheer:
“Merry Christmas, free Falun Gong,
And have a prosperous New Year!”
Watching Shen Yun Performing Arts
How they fly now through the air
With such poise and splendid flair
With a grace and force unique
As if fueled by pure mystique!
What’s the tale that they unfold
Costumed bright and bravely bold
Backdrops grand of landscapes vast
From what milieu was this cast?
When I leave the brilliant show,
I can feel a soft light glows,
Lifts my feet each step I go,
Carries me upon its flow.
What lifts them up lifts me now;
Art is real, I don’t know how.
Portrait of a God
God of men who’s dressed in white,
Beard on face of long brown hair,
Halo pattern traced in light,
Nimbus flowing through the air.
Glowing skin with mercy shines,
Ancient toga wraps His frame,
Fabric rich and much more fine,
Than what mortals give a name.
Eyes of keenest vision sit;
Each a crystal ball that holds
Any deed that we commit,
Whether it be base or bold.
Hands and arms that move in sync,
Like the Milky Way they flow,
Steering hidden wheels that link
Weather, wellness, wars, and woe.
Giant scroll in hand, He swoops,
Down to where His people are,
Like a king to battling troops
Speaking hope in lands afar.
Words on whispers wafting through
Some can hear but others can’t
“Just the wind, it’s nothing new.”
(Blindly grope an elephant.)
Others hear the words resound
Holy message from the past
Shaping future, so profound:
“Virtue, virtue, to the last!”
Portrait of a Goddess
Goddess sleek and draped in white,
Flowing wisps of long brown hair,
Halo hat of holy light,
Cherubs floating everywhere.
Beads around her long thin neck,
Each a world for which she cares,
Gazing down at each small speck,
Seeing each one’s special flare.
Arm extends and points the way,
She is leading quite a crew,
Rushing fast without delay,
They are building something new.
Angels come alert, aloft,
Some that soar are seraphim,
Wings of six, they whirl and waft,
Waiting Her most worthy whim.
Planting pillars rising high,
There the splendid arches meet,
Ceiling opens up to sky,
Birds with banners softly tweet.
Flowers fill the flying hands,
Each is put in proper place,
Sweet aroma’s fill the land,
Bridging heaven’s time and space.
Enlightened guests gladly go,
To the place that she prepares
Brilliant banners let them know:
Someone out there truly cares!
30 Riddles
Have a try, who am I? I.
My mirror image is never that far,
I have five different points like a star,
While I have no mouth that I can employ,
I do make a loud sound when filled with joy.
II.
I’m an acrobat and a chatty chap,
I travel with friends but I need no map,
I feed my children the milk of the sea,
And in France, I’m considered royalty.
III.
Father of a large noted family,
I made ends meet by fixing people’s keys;
A local man of esteem when alive,
Eighty years after my death I arrived.
IV.
I am so very dark and moist inside,
My round structure may crumble on all sides,
Yet people love to visit every day,
And they often take a drink on the way.
V.
The most powerful thing that can be worn,
Yet I require little strength to be borne,
My rarity has increased up to now,
In England, I still make some people bow.
VI.
I’m among the world’s most unwelcome guests,
I crash whichever party I like least,
And am known as an dirty reveler,
Though, I am a beautiful traveler.
VII.
With a saint for a ride, I almost failed,
Not so sure about the shape of the trail,
But I pressed on as the road ahead curled,
Surprised to find what seemed like a new world.
VIII.
Like a rainbow I’m gone in a short time,
And my bow shape leaves only a moist slime,
But unlike a rainbow, less of a blur,
And, at least outside, only one color.
IX.
Turn me upside down and I’m right side up,
Empty my glass and you fill up my cup,
I’m always on time and I’m never late,
I never go backwards at any rate.
X.
A loud sound of joy comes out of my mouth
Or a loud sound that could cause someone’s death,
Or a loud sound that could start a contest,
Or a loud sound that lays someone to rest.
XI.
I am the most expensive fruit on earth,
Though from a plant I did not come forth,
I traveled a long way from the Far East,
One on your desk is enough for a feast.
XII.
A composer of the English Baroque,
Although it was German that I first spoke
And I wrote operas for Italian,
Of language and fireworks, I was a fan.
XIII.
Sink this ship last or the war is for naught,
All other enemies should be first caught,
This one’s the evilest looking of them,
Shaped like infinity is its emblem.
XIV.
Fifty years after my country’s grand birth,
To the very day when its stars came forth,
And the same day the third president died,
Would you believe I also died? No lie.
XV.
I started a great war in ancient Greece,
And since then my great fame has never ceased,
A body part, drink, company, and tree,
All get their names just from little old me.
XVI.
I was found in a lake, but stuck in stone,
So mighty that others I have outshone,
Helping to create a future country,
A timeless symbol or just a story?
XVII.
How come an insect enlarged would not fly
Yet saints from East and West rise in the sky?
Why does an apple fall down from a tree?
It is because of me, not gravity.
XVIII.
They call me the sun, for my great kingdom
Has something better than plebeian freedom
It has a planet-like path bound to me
And the epic vision for France I see.
XIX.
My face is on a U.S. bill you’ve spent,
But I am not a U.S. president,
My skin is fairer than most that you’ve seen,
I got a bad burn in 1814.
XX.
I am a fruit and I’m also a bird,
And a people’s name, does that seem absurd?
At least all three me’s are from the same place,
A big island you can pick out from space.
XXI.
I am the master of the four seasons,
I can turn the summer storm off or on,
Deftly pulling strings and blowing the winds,
Such power, three hundred years couldn’t rescind.
XXII.
My favorite is a hot summer’s day,
When you take a break, I go on display,
Just don’t look close at my dark ugly spots,
If you wait too long I might start to rot.
XXIII.
Did I go blind from seeing Heaven’s light?
Did I glimpse paradise and lost my sight?
When I wrote it all down in human verse,
Was I in human suffering immersed?
XXIV.
An auspicious gift or a deadly plot?
If you were standing there, right on the spot,
Would you sense the fall of a great city?
I gallop over sin, without pity.
XXV.
I am a net for catching intruders,
A weapon for a cold blooded murder
An elegant plate for eating supper
And a mode of transport that is super.
XXVI.
A Columbia University drop out,
I had British troops to think about;
I’m the founder of the U.S. coastguard
And the nation’s first financial steward.
XXVII.
Right, left, up, down, backwards, and upside down,
There’s no direction that I have not flown,
Don’t expect my two legs to fly in war
The sweet life is what I am living for.
XXVIII.
Some claim that I’m nothing more than a dream
Fiction more powerful than any cream,
In fact, age is first a state of the mind,
Just ask Ponce de Leon what he did find.
XXIX.
An Italian who made the flat world round,
I made a meal that today still astounds,
And is subject of countless replicas,
But contains no spices from America.
XXX.
I used to fly poorly, but now I swim,
Sometimes I would cross the road on a whim,
I’m medicine for the sick, stuck in bed,
Even though I, myself, float around dead.
ANSWER KEY: I. Hand II. Dolphin III. Bach IV. Chocolate Chip Cookie (Chocolate Cookie also acceptable) V. Royal Crown VI. Meteor (or Comet) VII. Christopher Columbus VIII. Banana IX. Hourglass X. Gun XI. Apple Computer XII. Handel XIII. Eight Ball XIV. John Adams XV. Apple XVI. Excalibur XVII. A Molecule XVIII. The Sun King or Louis XIV XIX. The White House XX. Kiwi XXI. Vivaldi XXII. Watermelon XXIII. John Milton XXIV. The Trojan Horse XXV. A spider web XXVI. Alexander Hamilton XXVII. A Hummingbird XXVIII. Fountain of Youth XIX. Leonardo Da Vinci XXX. The Chicken in Chicken Noodle Soup
A Godly Painting
On “Cimabue’s Celebrated Madonna is carried in Procession through the Streets of Florence” By Sir Frederic Leighton
A godly painting held over their heads
As they process through a street in Florence,
Each face is free from manic glee or dread
And transcends with a tranquil tolerance;
They are transformed by the art’s deep meaning,
The ideals that they uphold in their lives
Of what is proper and what is demeaning;
Are those mere humans or Gods who walk by?
The cloud’s shape mimics the foreground’s alignment,
Forming a passageway from ground to sky
That leads out of our human confinement
Beyond a life bound to be sick and die.
But, none truly traveled it, none were Gods,
It is we who must this new way now plod.
I.
The greatest writers are the teachers;
The paper is their pupil;
Each sheet defiantly stretches
With a stark blank, diffused will.
But, the teacher writes a story
To fill minds, however plain,
Crafting a rich tale of glory,
Inspiring from the mundane.
So their wills are all together
Unified in a story arc,
Pleasing and sturdy bound leather,
The future craftsman’s bench mark.
II.
The greatest writers are the teachers,
Humbly yielding to blank page,
Quietly in the void searches
For future artist or sage.
Seeking the predestined story
That is waiting to be told,
Focusing what now seems blurry,
Sifting the mud from the gold.
Their students are the great heroes
In the future’s giant plot;
Letting go of their large egos,
Teachers know what they are not.
III.
The greatest writers are the teachers,
They, themselves, are each a book;
The students are the apt readers,
At each word they take a look.
The teachers’ thoughts, views, and morals
Are the underlying theme;
How they maneuver life’s pitfalls,
What they deem a lofty dream.
If their tale is moving, captures
Their students’ imagination,
Then the final scene is rapture
And helps guide future nations.
Haiku
The Persecution of Falun Gong
Meditating group,
One clear crisp day at Shanghai
In earth’s sunny loop.
What is Zhen-Shan-Ren?
Truth-Compassion-Forbearance,
Refiner of men.
Police arrive there,
Frosted breath flies from warped mouths,
Evil spirits flare.
The days, weeks, and months
Spent making dolls for export
With smiles on their mouths.
Torture in damp dark,
Floods of blood and brainwashing,
He floats on faith’s ark.
Communist thinking,
Godless junk and filth piled high
Leaves morals sinking.
He floats to a shore
Where the soft sands of heaven
Disrupt his sweet snore.
Awake half-dead now,
Joyous that earth’s red demon
Didn’t make him kowtow.
The majestic sun
Behind a wall of gray smog
On a day soon done.
A Catskill Mountains Trek
Trees infused with mist
Enchant those just awakened
Before their breakfast.
A new mountain trail
On soft leaves of late autumn
Seems destined to fail.
The deer hunter’s tent
I thought I saw was a rock
Without an intent
From the mountain’s peak,
Two pagodas stand like Gods
Who we humbly seek.
At Heaven I peek--
A feeling, a subtle glow,
A name I can’t speak.
Virtue’s lofty peak
Amidst unknown wilderness
That seems un-unique.
Descending the cliff,
A sheer drop to the bottom
Scares me tired and stiff.
Debris crumbles off
As I look for a new way
And try not to scoff.
The narrow path leads
Down to a long shining lake
That reflects our deeds.
A Psalm of Christmas
What the heart of the young activist said to the psalmist
After Henry Longfellow’s “A Psalm of Life”
Tell me not in boring numbers
About today’s economy,
For our consciences grow numb-er
And become our own enemy.
Money’s not real! It’s an idea!
It’s a value agreed to give;
It’s a home, clothes, and a meal
It’s a means, not an end, to live!
Not an end after won elections
Not an end after more degrees!
But to awaken populations!
And find something greater to be!
Money is built on more ideas
Like on what it means to live well;
Does it involve clean air and trees?
Or does it make someone’s life hell?
Do we care that our Christmas lights
Are made by prisoners of faith,
Tortured and deprived of the rights
We value, or so we sayeth?
What about discrimination
That occurs outside our borders
In a trading “partner” nation
From which our shelves are mail ordered?
The Falun Gong practitioner
Is the world’s silent elephant
Crucified with modern horror
That we all knowingly permit.
We can’t not buy “Made in China”
But we can speak loud our brave minds
And let ring a meaningful change
That makes our lives a bit sublime.
Let us then speak out loud and strong
With words of both truth and cheer:
“Merry Christmas, free Falun Gong,
And have a prosperous New Year!”
Watching Shen Yun Performing Arts
How they fly now through the air
With such poise and splendid flair
With a grace and force unique
As if fueled by pure mystique!
What’s the tale that they unfold
Costumed bright and bravely bold
Backdrops grand of landscapes vast
From what milieu was this cast?
When I leave the brilliant show,
I can feel a soft light glows,
Lifts my feet each step I go,
Carries me upon its flow.
What lifts them up lifts me now;
Art is real, I don’t know how.
Portrait of a God
God of men who’s dressed in white,
Beard on face of long brown hair,
Halo pattern traced in light,
Nimbus flowing through the air.
Glowing skin with mercy shines,
Ancient toga wraps His frame,
Fabric rich and much more fine,
Than what mortals give a name.
Eyes of keenest vision sit;
Each a crystal ball that holds
Any deed that we commit,
Whether it be base or bold.
Hands and arms that move in sync,
Like the Milky Way they flow,
Steering hidden wheels that link
Weather, wellness, wars, and woe.
Giant scroll in hand, He swoops,
Down to where His people are,
Like a king to battling troops
Speaking hope in lands afar.
Words on whispers wafting through
Some can hear but others can’t
“Just the wind, it’s nothing new.”
(Blindly grope an elephant.)
Others hear the words resound
Holy message from the past
Shaping future, so profound:
“Virtue, virtue, to the last!”
Portrait of a Goddess
Goddess sleek and draped in white,
Flowing wisps of long brown hair,
Halo hat of holy light,
Cherubs floating everywhere.
Beads around her long thin neck,
Each a world for which she cares,
Gazing down at each small speck,
Seeing each one’s special flare.
Arm extends and points the way,
She is leading quite a crew,
Rushing fast without delay,
They are building something new.
Angels come alert, aloft,
Some that soar are seraphim,
Wings of six, they whirl and waft,
Waiting Her most worthy whim.
Planting pillars rising high,
There the splendid arches meet,
Ceiling opens up to sky,
Birds with banners softly tweet.
Flowers fill the flying hands,
Each is put in proper place,
Sweet aroma’s fill the land,
Bridging heaven’s time and space.
Enlightened guests gladly go,
To the place that she prepares
Brilliant banners let them know:
Someone out there truly cares!
30 Riddles
Have a try, who am I? I.
My mirror image is never that far,
I have five different points like a star,
While I have no mouth that I can employ,
I do make a loud sound when filled with joy.
II.
I’m an acrobat and a chatty chap,
I travel with friends but I need no map,
I feed my children the milk of the sea,
And in France, I’m considered royalty.
III.
Father of a large noted family,
I made ends meet by fixing people’s keys;
A local man of esteem when alive,
Eighty years after my death I arrived.
IV.
I am so very dark and moist inside,
My round structure may crumble on all sides,
Yet people love to visit every day,
And they often take a drink on the way.
V.
The most powerful thing that can be worn,
Yet I require little strength to be borne,
My rarity has increased up to now,
In England, I still make some people bow.
VI.
I’m among the world’s most unwelcome guests,
I crash whichever party I like least,
And am known as an dirty reveler,
Though, I am a beautiful traveler.
VII.
With a saint for a ride, I almost failed,
Not so sure about the shape of the trail,
But I pressed on as the road ahead curled,
Surprised to find what seemed like a new world.
VIII.
Like a rainbow I’m gone in a short time,
And my bow shape leaves only a moist slime,
But unlike a rainbow, less of a blur,
And, at least outside, only one color.
IX.
Turn me upside down and I’m right side up,
Empty my glass and you fill up my cup,
I’m always on time and I’m never late,
I never go backwards at any rate.
X.
A loud sound of joy comes out of my mouth
Or a loud sound that could cause someone’s death,
Or a loud sound that could start a contest,
Or a loud sound that lays someone to rest.
XI.
I am the most expensive fruit on earth,
Though from a plant I did not come forth,
I traveled a long way from the Far East,
One on your desk is enough for a feast.
XII.
A composer of the English Baroque,
Although it was German that I first spoke
And I wrote operas for Italian,
Of language and fireworks, I was a fan.
XIII.
Sink this ship last or the war is for naught,
All other enemies should be first caught,
This one’s the evilest looking of them,
Shaped like infinity is its emblem.
XIV.
Fifty years after my country’s grand birth,
To the very day when its stars came forth,
And the same day the third president died,
Would you believe I also died? No lie.
XV.
I started a great war in ancient Greece,
And since then my great fame has never ceased,
A body part, drink, company, and tree,
All get their names just from little old me.
XVI.
I was found in a lake, but stuck in stone,
So mighty that others I have outshone,
Helping to create a future country,
A timeless symbol or just a story?
XVII.
How come an insect enlarged would not fly
Yet saints from East and West rise in the sky?
Why does an apple fall down from a tree?
It is because of me, not gravity.
XVIII.
They call me the sun, for my great kingdom
Has something better than plebeian freedom
It has a planet-like path bound to me
And the epic vision for France I see.
XIX.
My face is on a U.S. bill you’ve spent,
But I am not a U.S. president,
My skin is fairer than most that you’ve seen,
I got a bad burn in 1814.
XX.
I am a fruit and I’m also a bird,
And a people’s name, does that seem absurd?
At least all three me’s are from the same place,
A big island you can pick out from space.
XXI.
I am the master of the four seasons,
I can turn the summer storm off or on,
Deftly pulling strings and blowing the winds,
Such power, three hundred years couldn’t rescind.
XXII.
My favorite is a hot summer’s day,
When you take a break, I go on display,
Just don’t look close at my dark ugly spots,
If you wait too long I might start to rot.
XXIII.
Did I go blind from seeing Heaven’s light?
Did I glimpse paradise and lost my sight?
When I wrote it all down in human verse,
Was I in human suffering immersed?
XXIV.
An auspicious gift or a deadly plot?
If you were standing there, right on the spot,
Would you sense the fall of a great city?
I gallop over sin, without pity.
XXV.
I am a net for catching intruders,
A weapon for a cold blooded murder
An elegant plate for eating supper
And a mode of transport that is super.
XXVI.
A Columbia University drop out,
I had British troops to think about;
I’m the founder of the U.S. coastguard
And the nation’s first financial steward.
XXVII.
Right, left, up, down, backwards, and upside down,
There’s no direction that I have not flown,
Don’t expect my two legs to fly in war
The sweet life is what I am living for.
XXVIII.
Some claim that I’m nothing more than a dream
Fiction more powerful than any cream,
In fact, age is first a state of the mind,
Just ask Ponce de Leon what he did find.
XXIX.
An Italian who made the flat world round,
I made a meal that today still astounds,
And is subject of countless replicas,
But contains no spices from America.
XXX.
I used to fly poorly, but now I swim,
Sometimes I would cross the road on a whim,
I’m medicine for the sick, stuck in bed,
Even though I, myself, float around dead.
ANSWER KEY: I. Hand II. Dolphin III. Bach IV. Chocolate Chip Cookie (Chocolate Cookie also acceptable) V. Royal Crown VI. Meteor (or Comet) VII. Christopher Columbus VIII. Banana IX. Hourglass X. Gun XI. Apple Computer XII. Handel XIII. Eight Ball XIV. John Adams XV. Apple XVI. Excalibur XVII. A Molecule XVIII. The Sun King or Louis XIV XIX. The White House XX. Kiwi XXI. Vivaldi XXII. Watermelon XXIII. John Milton XXIV. The Trojan Horse XXV. A spider web XXVI. Alexander Hamilton XXVII. A Hummingbird XXVIII. Fountain of Youth XIX. Leonardo Da Vinci XXX. The Chicken in Chicken Noodle Soup
A Godly Painting
On “Cimabue’s Celebrated Madonna is carried in Procession through the Streets of Florence” By Sir Frederic Leighton
A godly painting held over their heads
As they process through a street in Florence,
Each face is free from manic glee or dread
And transcends with a tranquil tolerance;
They are transformed by the art’s deep meaning,
The ideals that they uphold in their lives
Of what is proper and what is demeaning;
Are those mere humans or Gods who walk by?
The cloud’s shape mimics the foreground’s alignment,
Forming a passageway from ground to sky
That leads out of our human confinement
Beyond a life bound to be sick and die.
But, none truly traveled it, none were Gods,
It is we who must this new way now plod.
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Copyright © 2014 DIOGEN pro cultura magazine & Sabahudin Hadžialić
Design: Sabi / Autors & Sabahudin Hadžialić. Design LOGO - Stevo Basara.
Freelance gl. i odg. urednik od / Freelance Editor in chief as of 2009: Sabahudin Hadžialić
All Rights Reserved. Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić
WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.com
Contact Editorial board E-mail: [email protected];
Narudžbe/Order: [email protected]
Pošta/Mail: Freelance Editor in chief Sabahudin Hadžialić,
Grbavička 32, 71000 Sarajevo i/ili
Dr. Wagner 18/II, 70230 Bugojno, Bosna i Hercegovina
Design: Sabi / Autors & Sabahudin Hadžialić. Design LOGO - Stevo Basara.
Freelance gl. i odg. urednik od / Freelance Editor in chief as of 2009: Sabahudin Hadžialić
All Rights Reserved. Publisher online and owner: Sabahudin Hadžialić
WWW: http://sabihadzi.weebly.com
Contact Editorial board E-mail: [email protected];
Narudžbe/Order: [email protected]
Pošta/Mail: Freelance Editor in chief Sabahudin Hadžialić,
Grbavička 32, 71000 Sarajevo i/ili
Dr. Wagner 18/II, 70230 Bugojno, Bosna i Hercegovina