dijous, 30 de gener de 2014

THE DOOMSDAY BOOK - BYE-BYE FLASH GORDON THE GORDO RATTRAY TAYLOR

  •  THE BOOK IS ONE OF THE FIRST TO RECOGNIZE THE ROLE OF JOHN TYNDALL
  • IN THE GLOBAL WARMING PLOT HE HAD ARGUED BEFORE THIS DYING AGE
  • THAT TEMPERATURE DEPENDED ON THE AMOUNT OF CO2 IN ATMOSPHERE

  • DEVIDO À PROPRIEDADE DE ABSORVER THE LONGER WAVELENGHTS OF HEAT RADIATION G,S. CALENDAR ARGUES THE SAME IN 1938 AND PROPOSES THAT THE GENERAL WARMING IS DUE TO THE ADDITIONAL CO2 ADDED BY MAN IN THE COLD WAR ERA 1958 POST-SPUTNIK GILBERT PLASS SAYS THAT 1900 C02 IS ONLY 290 PPM AND RAISED TO 330 PPM IN 1958 SOME COUNTER ATTACK AND DROP THE GUILT IN THE DRYNG OF BOGS AND MARSHLAND BECAUSE BOGS LOCK DOWN OR LOCK UP THAT'S THE SAME 366 BILLION TON'S OF CO2  BUT THE WEATHERING FROM ROCKS IS BIGGER
  • The Doomsday Book: Can the World Survive? (1st ed. : 1970 /THE MUIR GLACIER IN ALASKA RETREATED 2 MILES IN TEN YEARS ...BUT SAYS TOO THAT THE ARCTIC PACK ICE INCREASE IN 1958....
  • How to Avoid the Future (1978)
  • Sex in History (1954)
  • Economics for the Exasperated (1948)
  • Conditions of Happiness
  • Are Workers Human?
  • The Angel Makers
  • The Science of Life: A pictorial history of biology (1967)
  • The Biological Time Bomb (1968)

NEEDLE - HAL CLEMENT 1954 - LE MICROBE DÉTECTIVE IN FRANÇAIS É UMA VISÃO DUM E.T. MAIS MACRO QUE MICRO-DIMENSIONAL DE DOIS QUILOS DE GELEIA CELULAR

O CAÇADOR PERSEGUE UM FUGITIVO

MAS TOMBA NA TERRA EMITE PSEUDÓPODOS PROVA MOLUSCOS

GELEIA CELULAR COM MILHÕES DE MICRO-CÉLULAS

DE CÉLULAS DO TAMANHO DE GRANDES MOLÉCULAS

COM CAPACIDADE DE LIQUEFAZER-SE E INTRODUZIR-SE EM HOST'S

SHARK'S....HUMANS E PASSADAS 200 PÁGINAS CAPTURA O MAU MAU

E FICA COMO SIMBIONTE D'UN GARÇON DE 15 ANS

UM CLARO CASO DE ABUSO DE MENORES

PAEDOPHILIA TAL COMO PAEDOGOGEIN TÊM SIDO TIRADAS DO SEU USO LITERAL

PRA UM MAIS LATERAL....BOLA AO POSTE...

HELL FLOWER - GEORGE Ó SMITH 1955 A STORY OF POLITICAL SUFFOCATION BY S.S's

Charles Farradyne VON GAMA DAS CUNHAS had crashed a spaceship into The Bog on Venus.

SIMILARES A GARDÉNIAS A IMAGINAÇÃO NA FICTION ESTÁ À CUNHA

PROVOCAM ALUCINAÇÕES E ALUCINA LOUÇÕES POLÍTICAS GRAVÍSSIMAS 

LA FLEUR DIABOLIQUE C'EST UMA DROGA POLÍTICA TRAFICADA IN BLOUKO-NET

HÁ UMA CIVILIZAÇÃO HUMANA EXTRA-TERRESTRE COM MAUS FÍGADOS

E COM TECNOLOGIA SUPERIOR MAIS LA TERRE DES HOMMES VINCIT SEMPER TYRANUS 

LES MAUS MAUS SONT MAUVAIS CARIÑO OU ESCREVE-SE CARALHO?

PARA A GRÉCIA E EM FORÇA Ó CÉSARES VON DEMAIN OR VON DOMAIN'E ...REMEMBER THE MAINE - LES CONQUISTADORES D'ANDROMEDE PAR PIERRE BARBET -FLEUVE NOIR 1971

SENDO O DESEJO DE DOMINIUM OR DOMINION

OR DOMÍNIO UMA CONSTANTE HUMANA D=EMac in tosh you tosser

é NORMAL QUE A INFLUÊNCIA DOS CONTOS DE DOMÍNIO

CHEGUEM A TODAS AS ÁREAS DA LITERATURA

INCLUSIVE ÀS 50 SHADES OF GREY FOR NERDS THE SCI-FI

MIKADOR IMPERATOR ENVOI CHEZ ANDROMEDA UNE AMBASSADE

C'EST LA GUERRE COMERCIAL AGAINST THE SCANISTES

OR DE SAKANISTES VON KUNHA UND GAMA GAMA RAY

UNE ORDRE POLITIQUE RELIGIEUSE

NITRONS DE LA CONSTELATION DU DRAGON QUE OXIDAM O N

AVEC PROTOXYDE NO NO ....LAUGHING GAS THAT GIVES A SHORT EUFORIA

TO THE COLONS AND SEMICOLONS OR CÓLONS BEFORE SUFFOCATION

dimecres, 29 de gener de 2014

ALIEN - LESTER DEL REY

 there was only a gentle swell on the pacific, and the sails of the little thirty-foot sloop


were barely filled by the dying breeze


A RED SPARK BLOOMED INTO


A CILINDER BEARING THREE FINS ALL GLEARING WITH THE FURY OF RED-HOT


METAL


METAL HURLANT


UMA CRIATURA HUMANÓIDE DE DUPLAS JUNTAS SEM ORELHAS E GARRAS ...

RAY BRADBURY - THE STRAWBERRY WINDOW

PERPETUATED BATHED THE TOWN IN ROSEATE WARMTH


CARPETED THE WORLD IN PINK SUNRISE


AND MADE THE CUT LAWN  SEEM IMPORTED FROM SOME PERSIAN BAZAAR


Prentiss and his family have moved from Earth to Mars as part of a program to colonize this new planet. Carrie, his wife, is dreadfully unhappy on Mars, and many, many times in the stillness of the Martian night, she has taken her clothes out from the bureau in preparation for packing and returning home. The things that are important to her are back home on Earth. But when her spirits are especially low, Robert surprises her by having those items which are most dear to her shipped from Earth to Mars. These items include the creaking front steps to their home, the front door with the strawberry window in it, and her piano. Robert promises his wife that soon he will have the entire house shipped to Mars. Carrie is now content. As she climbs the creaking front doorsteps to peer through the strawberry window, the pink glass gives Mars the appearance of a never-ending dawn.

"The Strawberry Window," like "The End of the Beginning," is Bradbury's statement of belief in the necessity of travel to outer space. Robert Prentiss is the person through whom Bradbury speaks. Prentiss tries to persuade his wife to consider the importance of their inhabiting Mars. He tells her that one day the sun is going to explode. Then, humanity will die unless other planets have already been colonized. Prentiss compares our instinct to survive to the instinctive way that salmon fight against the stream to arrive at the proper place before they propagate and die. He assures Carrie that people may say that they are sending out space ships for the purpose of making money or seeing the sights, but the real reason for the space flights is to inhabit world after world so that nothing can ever totally destroy humanity. Bradbury is optimistic about achieving immortality through outer space exploration and colonization. He has strongly supported the United States' space program from the Apollo flights to the early investigation of Mars. He sees the nation's space program as an absolute necessity in the future and considers the space program to be of the greatest priority because it symbolizes the life force struggling to survive not just here on Earth but in other worlds, forever and forever.

THE DAY IT RAINED FOREVER

This story is set in the desert, in a ghost town, in a hotel that looks like "a hollowed dry bone." Mr. Terle, Mr. Fremley, and Mr. Smith live in this hotel, and they find the heat and dryness almost unbearable. They are described as being like a "damn desert cactus" in desperate need of a drink. Consequently, they are interested in little else but the possibility of rain. When they hear rumbling sounds in the distance, they are sure that rain is finally coming. However, the sound is only Miss Blanche Hillgood's car. She has "blue eyes like water," and in the back of her car is a harp case "tilted against the sky like the prow of an ancient ship." When she plays her harp for the men, the long desired rains finally fall, yet they come in the form of Miss Hillgood's music rather than real rain. Each time she plays, musical notes drop and patter like rain through the hotel, falling cool at the open windows and upon the dying cactus in the front yard. More important, however, this music rains upon the men who tilt their heads back, allowing it to fall where it will. When Miss Hillgood decides to make the hotel her permanent residence, the time of the long rains has arrived.

IN PASSAGE OF THE SUN - GEORGE COLLIN AN LIZARD LIKE INVASION OF EARTH....IN A LIZARD LIKE EARTH

AND WHAT THEN HAVE WE LOST?


IN WAR, BITTER WAR


A BURNING HOME


AND WHAT THEN HAVE WE GAINED?


IN WAR, BITTER WAR


SHAME DISHONOUR


OUR COMRADES DEATH


AND A MINSTREL'S SONG


IN PASSAGE OF THE SUN...


EARTH BESIEGED BY THE THRONG


LAST VESTIGES OF ATHMOSPHERIC PRESENCE HAD BOILED AWAY


BURNT AND DISPERSED IN THE SPACE


10 YEARS OF WAR, BITTER WAR....SHAKES THAT...


HUMANIDADE PRESA EM DOMOS UM DOS DOMOS DA ´NORTH AMERICA


DESTRUÍDO POR UM RAID IN APRIL


O IMPÉRIO DE SIRIUS DOMINA A TERRA ATÉ OS THRONG LIZARD LIKE


A INVADEM


MAS HÁ 100 YEARS PIONEERS FROM THE FAR STARS DERROTAM OS GAJOS


E FUNDAM O KINGDOM OF TERRA


A HOLLY WAR WITH TEMPLE OF EARTH AND ANCESTRY ADORATION...


NEO-ISLAMITES I S'POSE


STAR SCIENCE FICTION STORIES Nº3 BALLANTINE BOOKS 1954 PRICE 35 CENTS


EXPENSIVE...


ASIMOVIAN .....IT'S SUCH A BEAUTIFULL DAY


RICHARD WITH HIS TEXTREEL AND POCKET PROJECTOR, I DIALED


THE SCHOOL COORD'S BUT NOTHING HAPPENS


THE DOOR IS OUT OF ORDER


AW GEE , MOM, CAN'T STAY HOME TILL THE DOOR IS FIXED


BUT, GOLLY AND MANY OTHERS IDIOMATIC AUTOMATIC EXPRESSIONS


 FROM THE 50'S


GOSH NO UND SO WITTER


2117 THE STRATOLINER IS A ANCIENT VEHICLE

dilluns, 27 de gener de 2014

DAS TRAGÉDIAS LITERÁRIAS QUE T'ABORDAM DIA A DIA, ISTO TEM DIAS O MASSACRE O HORROR A TRAGÉDIA DO MECO OU DE LE MEC DANS LA CRONIQUE MUITO AGUDA MAS QUASE CRÓNICA ALFACINHA FILHO DE ALGUÉM MATA FILHO DE NENHURES EM ALGURES

Um castigo de Deus : a boroa que depois de cozida apareceu da cor do sangue . ed. de
Manuel Gaspar.

A criança salva do poço em que a lançara a madrasta com o seu cão salvador após
a interessante homenagem realizada na Marinha Grande / versos por Sousa Rosa.

O crime de Sabrosa (Paredes) matou a família para “dar o exemplo.

Ciúme e traição na vila da Nazaré.


Crimes : o crime da Golegã ; Crueldade de uma mãe que espancou uma filhinha até às
portas da morte.

Despedida do degradado João da Silva Brandão que parte no dia 9 do corrente.
A despedida de João Brandão.

Deu um tiro no pai com uma “caçadeira : crime horroroso perto de Alfândega da Fé.

Dois primos que se amam desde criança.

Dorinda da Cruz Fernandes de Andorinha, vítima do trágico acidente ocorrido em
S. Silvestre do Campo – Coimbra / versos de David Dias Serralheiro.

Drama duma criança : Aldeia da Serra ( Vila Real).

Em Conchinchina na cidade de Saigão uma mulher deu à luz um monstro
diabólico nunca visto.
No verso: Lisboa da beira-mar : marcha melodia.
 
34
Foi raptado e assassinado o menor António Augusto Silva Frias da Costa do lugar
de Bustelo - Roque (S. João da Madeira).

Foi visto o céu cor de sangue – 1950 / edição de Manuel Gaspar.

Homem acometido de loucura mata os pais e dois irmãos ; O crime de Bustelo (S.
João da Madeira) ; A tragédia de Camarate.
No verso: Percalços dos estudantes ; Perdição de amor / A. Nobre

Loas ou hymnos sagrados com que os habitantes da villa d’Obidos e seu concelho
conduzem em triumpho ao sítio, próximo da Pederneira, a Imagem de Nossa
Senhora da Nazareth no anno de 1920 para serem recitadas por trez anjos, sob as
denominações : Óbidos, devoção e zelo / autor, Reverendo Beneficiado Francisco
Raphael da Silveira Malhão.

Loas ou hymnos sagrados com que os habitantes da villa d’Obidos e seu concelho
conduzem em triumpho ao sítio, próximo da Pederneira, a Imagem de Nossa
Senhora da Nazareth no anno de 1921 offerecidas e dedicadas à mesma Senhora
pelo obidense Padre José Nunes Ferreira Tavares, sendo festeiros António André,
Faustino Daniel, Henrique de Souza, João Henriques Moreira e José Firmino.

As mulheres.

Na barra da Figueira da Foz : a tragédia da “Nova Leirosa” em 19-4-1959.
No verso: Viagem à lua ; Tem cuidado / por Júlio Brandão. Edição de Eduardo Augusto
Seabra

Por bem fazer, mal haver : tragédia passada no dia de todos os Santos no lugar da
Titória – Freguesia da Milherada – Mafra.
No reverso: A Maria dos magalas! Da revista “O passarinho da Ribeira” ; Desprezo de
mãe / letra de Joaquim Augusto Ribeiro

Por não querer ser mãe a Providência Divina castigou-a


A José Bento Pessoa: distincto cyclista portuguez / J. J. d’Araújo. Lisboa:
[s.n.], 1901.

Abaixo os homens! : cançoneta scena-comica / Celestino G. da Silva. Lisboa :
Livraria Económica de F. Napoleão de Victoria, [18-?].



Abençoada chuva! : comédia em 1 acto / imitação Decio Feio. Lisboa :
Arnaldo Bordalo, 1911


 O actor: cançoneta / Augusto Garraio; música de Pascoal Pereira. Lisboa:
Livraria Económica de F. Napoleão de Victoria, [18-?].

La adúltera, sin saberlo / novela por Fernando Mora; ilustraciones de Varela
de Sigas. Madrid: Sucesores de Rivadeneyra, S.A., 1924.




Ai! Chiliques, cheques, choques!
Ai! Chiliques, cheques, choques! : cançoneta / Augusto Garraio. Lisboa:
Livraria Económica de F. Napoleão da Victória, [18-?].


 As alfacinhas : tercetto cómico / Alfredo Albuquerque Júnior. Lisboa :
Livraria Económica de F. Napoleão de Victoria, [18-?].
Musica da cançoneta “Os Lisboetas”


Amor e amizade : comedia em um acto / original de J. E. Coelho. Lisboa :
Typographia do Panorama, 1860.

A TRAGÉDIA DISSE À ROSA

Ó RAINHA DO VERGEL

NESTE CONTO FEITO PROSA

VERTEIS AÍ O TEU FEL

NA TRAGÉDIA FEITA GLOSA

DA COMÉDIA

QUE NOS GOZA

NA TRAGÉDIA

QUE S'ADIA

DIA-A-DIA  NA PORFIA

QUE NUM DELES

POR MANIA

SEJA DAQUELES

QUE ANUNCIA

O MILAGRE

DO TRIBUTO

MUITO AGRE

DO POVO BRUTO

QUE SE DROGA

MINUTO-A-MINUTO

POIS ESTÁ EN VOGA

SER BRUTO

E PAGAR TRIBUTO

A QUEM NOS AFOGA

PROPAGANDA POUR SERVIR L'HISTOIRE DE LA GUERRE ECONOMIQUE MONDIALE - DES FAUX MÉMOIRES ET DES FAUX ÉTUDES VON VASCONÇO DA GAMA GAMA MCKENNA MAC KINA OU NÃ KINA NA ESKINA?

PRÉFACE DE CHURCHILL 1933

LA TERREUR DES MERS

LE KAISERISME MALÉFIQUE

A ESPIA MCKENNA ESPIA OS ALEMÃES A DAREM BAIONETADAS NOS BÉBÉS

PÕEM-NOS EM ESPETADAS PARA DEPOIS OS MOSTRAREM ÀS MÃES....

QUE DESFALECEM PERANTE TAL HORROR PROPAGANDÍSTICO

QUE DESDE OS JANÍZAROS TURCOS ÀS PORTAS DE VIENNA

TEM DADO JEITO

OS ALEMÃES SÃO O MAL

CHEIRAM MAL DOS PÉS

TÊM OLHOS SINISTROS

QUEREM SÓ É SALTAR PARA CIMA DAS FREIRAS BELGAS

MESMO DAS OCTAGENÁRIAS TAL É O  FUROR TEUTONICUS

CAPITÃO DA CORVETA DA KRIEGSMARINE DO KAISER É O DEMO REENCARNADO

O MAL ESTÁ SEMPRE DO LADO DE QUEM PERDE

diumenge, 26 de gener de 2014

THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMPOSITION ...EDGAR ALLAN POE

THE PHILOSOPHY OF COMPOSITION.

———
BY EDGAR ALLAN
Poe’s explanation of the process of writing is so rigidly logical, however, that some have suggested the essay was meant as a satire or hoax.
The three central elements of Poe’s philosophy of composition are:
Length[edit]
Poe believed that all literary works should be short. “There is”, he writes, “a distinct limit… to all works of literary art – the limit of a single sitting.” He especially emphasized this “rule” with regards to poetry, but also noted that the short story is superior to the novel for this reason.
Method[edit]
Poe dismissed the notion of artistic intuition and argued that writing is methodical and analytical, not spontaneous. He writes that no other author has yet admitted this because most writers would “positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes… at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair… at the cautious selections and rejections”.
“Unity of effect”[edit]
The essay states Poe’s conviction that a work of fiction should be written only after the author has decided how it is to end and which emotional response, or “effect,” he wishes to create, commonly known as the “unity of effect.” Once this effect has been determined, the writer should decide all other matters pertaining to the composition of the work, including tone, theme, setting, characters, conflict, and plot.
AND CON PLOT…

———
CHARLES DICKENS, in a note now lying before me, alluding to an examination I once made of the mechanism of “Barnaby Rudge,” says — “By the way, are you aware that Godwin wrote his ‘Caleb Williams’ backwards? He first involved his hero in a web of difficulties, forming the second volume, and then, for the first, cast about him for some mode of accounting for what had been done.”
I cannot think this the precise mode of procedure on the part of Godwin — and indeed what he himself acknowledges, is not altogether in accordance with Mr. Dickens’ idea — but the author of “Caleb Williams” was too good an artist not to perceive the advantage derivable from at least a somewhat similar process. Nothing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name, must be elaborated to its dénouement before any thing be attempted with the pen. It is only with the dénouement constantly in view that we can give a plot its indispensable air of consequence, or causation, by making the incidents, and especially the tone at all points, tend to the development of the intention.
There is a radical error, I think, in the usual mode of constructing a story. Either history affords a thesis — or one is suggested by an incident of the day — or, at best, the author sets himself to work in the combination of striking events to form merely the basis of his narrative — designing, generally, to fill in with description, dialogue, or autorial comment, whatever crevices of fact, or action, may, from page to page, render themselves apparent.
I prefer commencing with the consideration of an effect. Keeping originality always in view — for he is false to himself who ventures to dispense with so obvious and so easily attainable a source of interest — I say to myself, in the first place, “Of the innumerable effects, or impressions, of which the heart, the intellect, or (more generally) the soul is susceptible, what one shall I, on the present occasion, select?” Having chosen a novel, first, and secondly a vivid effect, I consider whether it can best be wrought by incident or tone — whether by ordinary incidents and peculiar tone, or the converse, or by peculiarity both of incident and tone — afterward looking about me (or rather within) for such combinations of event, or tone, as shall best aid me in the construction of the effect.
I have often thought how interesting a magazine paper might be written by any author who would — that is to say, who could — detail, step by step, the processes by which any one of his compositions attained its ultimate point of completion. Why such [column 2:] a paper has never been given to the world, I am much at a loss to say — but, perhaps, the autorial vanity has had more to do with the omission than any one other cause. Most writers — poets in especial — prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy — an ecstatic intuition — and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating crudities of thought — at the true purposes seized only at the last moment — at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity of full view — at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as unmanageable — at the cautious selections and rejections — at the painful erasures and interpolations — in a word, at the wheels and pinions — the tackle for scene-shifting — the step-ladders and demon-traps — the cock’s feathers, the red paint and the black patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, constitute the properties of the literary histrio.
I am aware, on the other hand, that the case is by no means common, in which an author is at all in condition to retrace the steps by which his conclusions have been attained. In general, suggestions, having arisen pell-mell, are pursued and forgotten in a similar manner.
For my own part, I have neither sympathy with the repugnance alluded to, nor, at any time, the least difficulty in recalling to mind the progressive steps of any of my compositions; and, since the interest of an analysis, or reconstruction, such as I have considered a desideratum, is quite independent of any real or fancied interest in the thing analyzed, it will not be regarded as a breach of decorum on my part to show the modus operandi by which some one of my own works was put together. I select “The Raven,” as most generally known. It is my design to render it manifest that no one point in its composition is referrible either to accident or intuition — that the work proceeded, step by step, to its completion with the precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem.
Let us dismiss, as irrelevant to the poem per se, the circumstance — or say the necessity — which, in the first place, gave rise to the intention of composing a poem that should suit at once the popular and the critical taste.
We commence, then, with this intention.
The initial consideration was that of extent. If any literary work is too long to be read at one sitting, we must be content to dispense with the immensely important effect derivable from unity of impression — [page 164:] for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world interfere, and every thing like totality is at once destroyed. But since, ceteris paribus, no poet can afford to dispense with any thing that may advance his design, it but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any advantage to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it. Here I say no, at once. What we term a long poem is, in fact, merely a succession of brief ones — that is to say, of brief poetical effects. It is needless to demonstrate that a poem is such, only inasmuch as it intensely excites, by elevating, the soul; and all intense excitements are, through a psychal necessity, brief. For this reason, at least one half of the “Paradise Lost” is essentially prose — a succession of poetical excitements interspersed, inevitably, with corresponding depressions — the whole being deprived, through the extremeness of its length, of the vastly important artistic element, totality, or unity, of effect.
It appears evident, then, that there is a distinct limit, as regards length, to all works of literary art — the limit of a single sitting — and that, although in certain classes of prose composition, such as “Robinson Crusoe,” (demanding no unity,) this limit may be advantageously overpassed, it can never properly be overpassed in a poem. Within this limit, the extent of a poem may be made to bear mathematical relation to its merit — in other words, to the excitement or elevation — again in other words, to the degree of the true poetical effect which it is capable of inducing; for it is clear that the brevity must be in direct ratio of the intensity of the intended effect: — this, with one proviso — that a certain degree of duration is absolutely requisite for the production of any effect at all.
Holding in view these considerations, as well as that degree of excitement which I deemed not above the popular, while not below the critical, taste, I reached at once what I conceived the proper length for my intended poem — a length of about one hundred lines. It is, in fact, a hundred and eight.
My next thought concerned the choice of an impression, or effect, to be conveyed: and here I may as well observe that, throughout the construction, I kept steadily in view the design of rendering the work universally appreciable. I should be carried too far out of my immediate topic were I to demonstrate a point upon which I have repeatedly insisted, and which, with the poetical, stands not in the slightest need of demonstration — the point, I mean, that Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem. A few words, however, in elucidation of my real meaning, which some of my friends have evinced a disposition to misrepresent. That pleasure which is at once the most intense, the most elevating, and the most pure, is, I believe, found in the contemplation of the beautiful. When, indeed, men speak of Beauty, they mean, precisely, not a quality, as is supposed, but an effect — they refer, in short, just to that intense and pure elevation of soul — not of intellect, or of heart — upon which I have commented, and which is experienced in consequence of contemplating “the beautiful.” Now I designate [column 2:] Beauty as the province of the poem, merely because it is an obvious rule of Art that effects should be made to spring from direct causes — that objects should be attained through means best adapted for their attainment — no one as yet having been weak enough to deny that the peculiar elevation alluded to, is most readily attained in the poem. Now the object, Truth, or the satisfaction of the intellect, and the object Passion, or the excitement of the heart, are, although attainable, to a certain extent, in poetry, far more readily attainable in prose. Truth, in fact, demands a precision, and Passion, a homeliness (the truly passionate will comprehend me) which are absolutely antagonistic to that Beauty which, I maintain, is the excitement, or pleasurable elevation, of the soul. It by no means follows from any thing here said, that passion, or even truth, may not be introduced, and even profitably introduced, into a poem — for they may serve in elucidation, or aid the general effect, as do discords in music, by contrast — but the true artist will always contrive, first, to tone them into proper subservience to the predominant aim, and, secondly, to enveil them, as far as possible, in that Beauty which is the atmosphere and the essence of the poem.
Regarding, then, Beauty as my province, my next question referred to the tone of its highest manifestation — and all experience has shown that this tone is one of sadness. Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears. Melancholy is thus the most legitimate of all the poetical tones.
The length, the province, and the tone, being thus determined, I betook myself to ordinary induction, with the view of obtaining some artistic piquancy which might serve me as a key-note in the construction of the poem — some pivot upon which the whole structure might turn. In carefully thinking over all the usual artistic effects — or more properly points, in the theatrical sense — I did not fail to perceive immediately that no one had been so universally employed as that of the refrain. The universality of its employment sufficed to assure me of its intrinsic value, and spared me the necessity of submitting it to analysis. I considered it, however, with regard to its susceptibility of improvement, and soon saw it to be in a primitive condition. As commonly used, therefrain, or burden, not only is limited to lyric verse, but depends for its impression upon the force of monotone — both in sound and thought. The pleasure is deduced solely from the sense of identity — of repetition. I resolved to diversify, and so vastly heighten, the effect, by adhering, in general, to the monotone of sound, while I continually varied that of thought: that is to say, I determined to produce continuously novel effects, by the variation of the application of the refrain — the refrain itself remaining, for the most part, unvaried.
These points being settled, I next bethought me of the nature of my refrain. Since its application was to be repeatedly varied, it was clear that therefrain itself must be brief, for there would have been an insurmountable difficulty in frequent variations of [page 165:] application in any sentence of length. In proportion to the brevity of the sentence, would, of course, be the facility of the variation. This led me at once to a single word as the best refrain.
The question now arose as to the character of the word. Having made up my mind to a refrain, the division of the poem into stanzas was, of course, a corollary: the refrain forming the close to each stanza. That such a close, to have force, must be sonorous and susceptible of protracted emphasis, admitted no doubt: and these considerations inevitably led me to the long o as the most sonorous vowel, in connection with r as the most producible consonant.
The sound of the refrain being thus determined, it became necessary to select a word embodying this sound, and at the same time in the fullest possible keeping with that melancholy which I had predetermined as the tone of the poem. In such a search it would have been absolutely impossible to overlook the word “Nevermore.” In fact, it was the very first which presented itself.
The next desideratum was a pretext for the continuous use of the one word “nevermore.” In observing the difficulty which I at once found in inventing a sufficiently plausible reason for its continuous repetition, I did not fail to perceive that this difficulty arose solely from the pre-assumption that the word was to be so continuously or monotonously spoken by a human being — I did not fail to perceive, in short, that the difficulty lay in the reconciliation of this monotony with the exercise of reason on the part of the creature repeating the word. Here, then, immediately arose the idea of a non -reasoning creature capable of speech; and, very naturally, a parrot, in the first instance, suggested itself, but was superseded forthwith by a Raven, as equally capable of speech, and infinitely more in keeping with the intended tone.
I had now gone so far as the conception of a Raven — the bird of ill omen — monotonously repeating the one word, “Nevermore,” at the conclusion of each stanza, in a poem of melancholy tone, and in length about one hundred lines. Now, never losing sight of the object supremeness, or perfection, at all points, I asked myself — “Of all melancholy topics, what, according to the universal understanding of mankind, is the most melancholy?” Death — was the obvious reply. “And when,” I said, “is this most melancholy of topics most poetical?” From what I have already explained at some length, the answer, here also, is obvious — “When it most closely allies itself to Beauty: the death, then, of a beautiful woman is, unquestionably, the most poetical topic in the world — and equally is it beyond doubt that the lips best suited for such topic are those of a bereaved lover.”
I had now to combine the two ideas, of a lover lamenting his deceased mistress and a Raven continuously repeating the word “Nevermore” — I had to combine these, bearing in mind my design of varying, at every turn, the application of the word repeated; but the only intelligible mode of such combination is that of imagining the Raven employing the word in [column 2:] answer to the queries of the lover. And here it was that I saw at once the opportunity afforded for the effect on which I had been depending — that is to say, the effect of the variation of application. I saw that I could make the first query propounded by the lover — the first query to which the Raven should reply “Nevermore” — that I could make this first query a commonplace one — the second less so — the third still less, and so on — until at length the lover, startled from his original nonchalance by the melancholy character of the word itself — by its frequent repetition — and by a consideration of the ominous reputation of the fowl that uttered it — is at length excited to superstition, and wildly propounds queries of a far different character — queries whose solution he has passionately at heart — propounds them half in superstition and half in that species of despair which delights in self-torture — propounds them not altogether because he believes in the prophetic or demoniac character of the bird (which, reason assures him, is merely repeating a lesson learned by rote) but because he experiences a phrenzied pleasure in so modeling his questions as to receive from the expected “Nevermore” the most delicious because the most intolerable of sorrow. Perceiving the opportunity thus afforded me — or, more strictly, thus forced upon me in the progress of the construction — I first established in mind the climax, or concluding query — that to which “Nevermore” should be in the last place an answer — that in reply to which this word “Nevermore” should involve the utmost conceivable amount of sorrow and despair.
Here then the poem may be said to have its beginning — at the end, where all works of art should begin — for it was here, at this point of my preconsiderations, that I first put pen to paper in the composition of the stanza:
Prophet,” said I, “thing of evil! prophet still if bird or devil!
By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore,
Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore —
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the raven — “Nevermore.”
I composed this stanza, at this point, first that, by establishing the climax, I might the better vary and graduate, as regards seriousness and importance, the preceding queries of the lover — and, secondly, that I might definitely settle the rhythm, the metre, and the length and general arrangement of the stanza — as well as graduate the stanzas which were to precede, so that none of them might surpass this in rhythmical effect. Had I been able, in the subsequent composition, to construct more vigorous stanzas, I should, without scruple, have purposely enfeebled them, so as not to interfere with the climacteric effect.
And here I may as well say a few words of the versification. My first object (as usual) was originality. The extent to which this has been neglected, in versification, is one of the most unaccountable things in the world. Admitting that there is little [page 166:] possibility of variety in mere rhythm, it is still clear that the possible varieties of metre and stanza are absolutely infinite — and yet, for centuries, no man, in verse, has ever done, or ever seemed to think of doing, an original thing. The fact is, originality (unless in minds of very unusual force) is by no means a matter, as some suppose, of impulse or intuition. In general, to be found, it must be elaborately sought, and although a positive merit of the highest class, demands in its attainment less of invention than negation.
Of course, I pretend to no originality in either the rhythm or metre of the “Raven.” The former is trochaic — the latter is octametre acatalectic, alternating with heptameter catalectic repeated in the refrain of the fifth verse, and terminating with tetrameter catalectic. Less pedantically — the feet employed throughout (trochees) consist of a long syllable followed by a short: the first line of the stanza consists of eight of these feet — the second of seven and a half (in effect two-thirds) — the third of eight — the fourth of seven and a half — the fifth the same — the sixth three and a half. Now, each of these lines, taken individually, has been employed before, and what originality the “Raven” has, is in their combination into stanza; nothing even remotely approaching this combination has ever been attempted. The effect of this originality of combination is aided by other unusual, and some altogether novel effects, arising from an extension of the application of the principles of rhyme and alliteration.
The next point to be considered was the mode of bringing together the lover and the Raven — and the first branch of this consideration was the locale. For this the most natural suggestion might seem to be a forest, or the fields — but it has always appeared to me that a close circumscription of space is absolutely necessary to the effect of insulated incident: — it has the force of a frame to a picture. It has an indisputable moral power in keeping concentrated the attention, and, of course, must not be confounded with mere unity of place.
I determined, then, to place the lover in his chamber — in a chamber rendered sacred to him by memories of her who had frequented it. The room is represented as richly furnished — this in mere pursuance of the ideas I have already explained on the subject of Beauty, as the sole true poetical thesis.
The locale being thus determined, I had now to introduce the bird — and the thought of introducing him through the window, was inevitable. The idea of making the lover suppose, in the first instance, that the flapping of the wings of the bird against the shutter, is a “tapping” at the door, originated in a wish to increase, by prolonging, the reader’s curiosity, and in a desire to admit the incidental effect arising from the lover’s throwing open the door, finding all dark, and thence adopting the half-fancy that it was the spirit of his mistress that knocked.
I made the night tempestuous, first, to account for the Raven’s seeking admission, and secondly, for the effect of contrast with the (physical) serenity within the chamber.
I made the bird alight on the bust of Pallas, also for [column 2:] the effect of contrast between the marble and the plumage — it being understood that the bust was absolutely suggested by the bird — the bust of Pallas being chosen, first, as most in keeping with the scholarship of the lover, and, secondly, for the sonorousness of the word, Pallas, itself.
About the middle of the poem, also, I have availed myself of the force of contrast, with a view of deepening the ultimate impression. For example, an air of the fantastic — approaching as nearly to the ludicrous as was admissible — is given to the Raven’s entrance. He comes in “with many a flirt and flutter.
Not the least obeisance made he — not a moment stopped or stayed he,
But with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door.
In the two stanzas which follow, the design is more obviously carried out: —
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
——
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door —
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
——
The effect of the dénouement being thus provided for, I immediately drop the fantastic for a tone of the most profound seriousness: — this tone commencing in the stanza directly following the one last quoted, with the line,
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only, etc.
From this epoch the lover no longer jests — no longer sees any thing even of the fantastic in the Raven’s demeanor. He speaks of him as a “grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore,” and feels the “fiery eyes” burning into his “bosom’s core.” This revolution of thought, or fancy, on the lover’s part, is intended to induce a similar one on the part of the reader — to bring the mind into a proper frame for the dénouement — which is now brought about as rapidly and as directly as possible.
With the dénouement proper — with the Raven’s reply, “Nevermore,” to the lover’s final demand if he shall meet his mistress in another world — the poem, in its obvious phase, that of a simple narrative, may be said to have its completion. So far, every thing is within the limits of the accountable — of the real. A raven, having learned by rote the single word “Nevermore,” and having escaped from the custody of its owner, is driven, at midnight, through the violence of a storm, to seek admission at a window from which a light still gleams — the chamber-window of a student, occupied half in poring over a volume, half in dreaming of a beloved mistress deceased.  [page 167:] The casement being thrown open at the fluttering of the bird’s wings, the bird itself perches on the most convenient seat out of the immediate reach of the student, who, amused by the incident and the oddity of the visiter’s demeanor, demands of it, in jest and without looking for a reply, its name. The raven addressed, answers with its customary word, “Nevermore” — a word which finds immediate echo in the melancholy heart of the student, who, giving utterance aloud to certain thoughts suggested by the occasion, is again startled by the fowl’s repetition of “Nevermore.” The student now guesses the state of the case, but is impelled, as I have before explained, by the human thirst for self-torture, and in part by superstition, to propound such queries to the bird as will bring him, the lover, the most of the luxury of sorrow, through the anticipated answer “Nevermore.” With the indulgence, to the utmost extreme, of this self-torture, the narration, in what I have termed its first or obvious phase, has a natural termination, and so far there has been no overstepping of the limits of the real.
But in subjects so handled, however skilfully, or with however vivid an array of incident, there is always a certain hardness or nakedness, which repels the artistical eye. Two things are invariably required — first, some amount of complexity, or more properly, adaptation; and, secondly, some amount of suggestiveness — some under[[-]]current, however indefinite of meaning. It is this latter, in especial, which imparts to a work of art so much of that richness(to [column 2:] borrow from colloquy a forcible term) which we are too fond of confounding with the ideal. It is the excess of the suggested meaning — it is the rendering this the upper instead of the under[[-]]current of the theme — which turns into prose (and that of the very flattest kind) the so called poetry of the so called transcendentalists.
Holding these opinions, I added the two concluding stanzas of the poem — their suggestiveness being thus made to pervade all the narrative which has preceded them. The under-current of meaning is rendered first apparent in the lines —
“Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore!”
It will be observed that the words, “from out my heart,” involve the first metaphorical expression in the poem. They, with the answer, “Nevermore,” dispose the mind to seek a moral in all that has been previously narrated. The reader begins now to regard the Raven as emblematical — but it is not until the very last line of the very last stanza, that the intention of making him emblematical of Mournful and Never-ending Remembrance is permitted distinctly to be seen:
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting,
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted — nevermore.
 

CURIOSIDADES, ALARVIDADES E OUTRAS VERDADES DESTE SÉCULO XX QUE DESPONTA EM CHAMAS - DOS LIVROS QUE SÃO LISTAS DE MASSACRES AFOGADOS NOS TEMPOS DE CÓLERA OU MESMO DE FEBRE TIFÓIDE OS TEMPOS SÃO IMUNES ÀS DOENÇAS DOS MORTAIS

A GUERRA DAS MINAS AFIGURA-SE UM TERRÍVEL JUGO? SOBRE O


COMÉRCIO MUNDIAL


8 DE SETEMBRO DE 1915 AFUNDAMENTO DO TORPEDEIRO 51 AUSTRÍACO


OS PRIMEIROS U.C-15 TINHAM 6 POÇOS CADA UM COM DUAS MINAS


O UC-16 TINHA 18 MINAS EM 6 POÇOS DE TRÊS CADA


MAIS TARDE SURGIRAM ALGUNS COM 36 MINAS LANÇADAS À RETAGUARDA


DE 1914 A SETEMBRO DE 1915- 15 U E 15 UB E 15 UC FORAM LANÇADOS


E AFUNDADOS 16 U E 2 UB E 1UC OS U COM 800 TONELADAS OS UB COM 260


E OS UC COM 426 COM UM CANHÃO MINAS E 2 TORPEDOS


OS UB DA FLANDRES COM 100 TONES E OS UC DE 180 TONNES FORAM OS ÚNICOS


EXCLUSIVAMENTE LANÇADORES DE MINAS


24 DE MARÇO 1917 O CIRCÉ AFUNDA O AUSTRÍACO U-88


 E É AFUNDADO EM 20 DE SETEMBRO DE 1918 PELO ALEMÃO U-47


INGLESES E 4 FRANCESES AFUNDADOS PELOS TORPEDEIROS TURCOS

AU DESSOUS DE LA GUERRE DU MENSONGE - PAR X....1917

C'EST UNE VRAI CHAIN REACTION DANS LES CHAMPS DE MINES


DEFLAGRAÇÃO EM CADEIA NUM CAMPO DE MINAS CUJA DISTÂNCIA MÍNIMA


DEVERIA SER DE 50 METROS PARA EVITAR QUE UMA EXPLOSÃO


FAÇA DEFLAGRAR TODO O CAMPO


NÃO HÁ CULPADOS E OS PESCADORES MORREM POR UM TOQUE DE REDE


MINAS FEITAS À PRESSA COM A CONIVÊNCIA DE MINISTROS E ALMIRANTES


AS ANTENAS DAS MINAS SÃO EM CHUMBO O MENOR TOQUE DEFORMA-AS


E O TUBO DE VIDRO NO SEU INTERIOR COM BICROMATO DE POTÁSSIO CASSE


OU PARTE-SE E PACIÊNCIA O CONTEÚDO VAI PARA O VASO COM 2 ELÉCTRODOS


ZINCO E CARVÃO E O LÍQUIDO (ELECTRÓLITO) TRANSFORMA O VASO NUMA PILHA


GERA-SE CORRENTE ELÉCTRICA QUE DETONA O FULMINANTE QUE DETONA


OS 140 QUILOS DE TOLITE FAZENDO BUMM A VIDAS DE PAUVRES GENS


E A MILHÕES DE FRANCOS QUE TERÃO DE SER SUBSTITUIDOS


FAZENDO MAIORES FORTUNAS AOS GRANDES DE FRANÇA ET AILLEURS



THE GENTLE ART OF MAKING ENENEMIES - BY WHISTLER

The Fate of an Anecdote



TO THE EDITOR:


[Sidenote: New York Tribune, Sept. 12, 1880]

Sir—In Scribner's Magazine for this month there appears an article on Mr. Seymour Haden, the eminent



surgeon etcher, by a Mr. Hamerton, and in this article I have stumbled upon a curious statement concerning,

strangely enough, my own affairs, offered pleasantly in the disguise of an anecdote habitually “narrated” by

the Doctor himself, and printed effectively in inverted commas, as here shown:

... “A parallel anecdote is narrated by Mr. Haden: 'The most exquisite series of plates which Whistler ever

did—his sixteen Thames subjects—were originally printed by a steel−plate printer, and so badly that the

owner thought the plates were worn out, and sold them for a small sum in comparison to their real worth. The

purchaser took them to Goulding, the best printer of etchings in England, and it was found that they were not

only perfect, but that they produced impressions which had never before been approached even by Delatre.'”

Putting gently aside the question of these plates being superior to all previous or subsequent work, and

dealing merely with facts, I have to say that they were not “originally printed by a steel−plate printer”; that the

impressions were not so bad that the owner thought the plates worn out; and, flattering as is the supposition



that they were sold for a small sum in comparison to their real worth, I am obliged to reject even this palatable

assertion, as I received for the plates the price that I asked, knowing full well their exact condition.

Instead of the “steel−plate printer,” Delatre, then at his prime, had himself printed these etchings—a fact

which, amusingly enough, Mr. Haden admits further on, in direct contradiction to his first broad statement.

Moreover, I had myself pulled proofs of them all; indeed, one in the set of sixteen plates, a drypoint, called

“The Forge” (for by the way they were not all of the Thames), I alone printed. When the plates left my hands

they were not “taken to Goulding,” who at that moment had, I fancy, barely begun his career as “the best

printer of etchings in England” (and a capital printer he certainly is); and it was not “found that they produced



impressions never before approached even by Delatre”—here we have the contradiction alluded to—no! this

theatrical denouement I must also put aside with sorrow.

The plates were brought out by Messrs. Ellis, who had them printed by some one in London, whose work

was certainly not to be compared to that of Delatre, whom I should undoubtedly have recommended; so that it

was only long after the sale had been completed and the plates had ceased to be in my possession, that



inferior impressions were produced.

The understanding on my part with those publishers was that the plates were to be destroyed after one

hundred impressions had been taken, but very recently they reappeared, and were sold to their present

possessors, who did take them to Mr. Goulding. And here I am obliged to explain away the last element of



astonishment, for Mr. Goulding naturally found the etchings in their original perfect condition simply because

I had had them steeled in their full bloom when I had satisfied myself by my own proofs.

Goulding's impressions of these plates are very excellent, but to say they were quite unapproached by

Delatre is not only needless exaggeration, but an unkindness to Mr. Goulding.

Surely there must be some misunderstanding between Mr. Haden and his biographer—a misdeal of

data—an accident with the anecdotes—because no one was more keenly alive to all relating to these plates

and their various states than Mr. Haden himself, whose strong sense of the importance of printing was

acquired while watching the progress of these same plates, and the previous French set, as they were proved

by me and printed by Delatre, to whom I introduced him.

Far from me to spoil a good story; but for the life of me I cannot see what any sympathizing raconteur



will regret in the destruction of this MERE JUMBLE OF STATISTICS

dissabte, 25 de gener de 2014

UM GOÊS EM COIMBRA DE PORVORIM AOS ALLUVIÕES DESTES ATERROS DA EPOCA ACTUAL NESTES MONTES E VALLES -1882 - 12 PÁGINAS - RUA DA CALÇADA Nº DE EXEMPLARES DESCONHECIDO

UMA AFFRONTA AO MODO DE VIDA DOS INDIGENAS DITOS FUTRICAS

QUE POR HYPOTHESE DO QUE COIMBRA NÃO PODE SER.....

Mr. Miguel Archanjo Marques Lobo (1834-1883)

The well-known Professor Mr. Miguel Archanjo was born in
Mudd’davaddi, 
Saligao, Bardez, on 9-8-1834 and expired in Coimbra,
Portugal in December 1883. His parents were Francisco Joao Marques and
Isabel Maria Lobo. He graduated in three faculties, through the
University of Coimbra: Mathematics, with distinction, in 1860;
Philosophy, also with distinction, in 1860; and Medicine, with
accessit, in 1861. Through the decree dated 24-9-1864, he was
appointed professor of Introduction to the three kingdoms of nature
and elementary mathematics, for Viana do Castelo, post which he
carried on till 1866. Later on, he held on in Coimbra giving tuitions
in the same subjects and exercising clinic at the same time.

He was a member of Instituto de Coimbra and wrote all his books in
Portuguese. The list of books is given below.