Arch #writephoto

Arch

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For centuries the great abbaye had stood, in its majesty and glory, in the peaceful landscape. It was then a centre of faith and science, where wise men worked, and kept the flame of civilisation burning. They were frugal, up in the frosty mornings before dawn, ploughing the fields and teaching the children; their chants filled the vales and forests, rising to the sky.

Then the heretics had come, plundering, burning, torturing the faithful. A dark veil had fallen on the earth, the Dark Lord’s reign had begun.

But today, in the faint light of dawn, I can hear the monks’s voices, the soft footsteps of their sandals. I sense their presence, their curiosity, even, about this strange creature, this human being who survived the fall. Their anthem is but a light breeze through the icy air.

The arch stands, witness to a millennium of folly. And there, on the cold stones, I kneel, praying to the true God, in submission and piety, the last, shivering survivor of the war, that ended the evil empire.

Dedicated to the builders of the great abbayes of Yorkshire, and their defenders.

Looking back… #Iamwriting

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Last winter, there was ice on the windows… Perhaps, now, we miss that cold edge to the air?

The long walks along the river, the parcs, the lakes. A cold Sekt on a bench, long rides in the vibrating forests, the discovery of ancient sites, the monuments to deep history…

The storm. Each day counted, a boat trip on the lake, an hour in the museum, Luther, Sans Souci… Ruinenberg…

Yes, some short stories, but the novel is still beached, going nowhere. Does it matter?

No, it was a good year. Each day counted, 1937, a look into a recent past, and, wrapped in mist, a further away time: what ghosts roam in those older streets?

Discoveries: characters to make alive, tales to tell, dreams to repeat.

Inspiration: each new dawn, nature fighting back, art… The dark Muse.

Books? Turing, Wittgenstein, The Plot Against America, Silk Roads, Musil…

We are grateful for every morning, in the City of Faust: a Moveable Feast…

Photo: Air-raid shelter in Berlin at the Reinhardtstraße. At the present it is used as a private museum for contemporary art of art collector Christian Boros. On the top of the shelter is a reproduction of the Barcelona-Pavillion.

By Times – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3950214

 

Ovation #DailyPrompt #BerlinerDom

Steps to Heaven

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The notes spiral high to the far away dome, Luther looks down impassively from the vantage point of his stele. Hensel, Bartolini, Crüger, Praetorius, Bach… Concertos and chorals resonate deep in the baroque church: the audience, enthralled, pauses before the ovation.

A venue of legend, resurrected from the ruins, in the midst of the City, reborn to her splendour…

Inspired by the Dresdner Bläserweihnacht, Berliner Dom, 26. Dezember 2016

Berlin classical concerts 

 

A wall, and a tower #BerlinDiary, July 10

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In my street the only trace of the Mauer is the brass inscription on the pavement. All round everything is new: Berlin is being rebuilt, or renovated, but trees also are planted, here in Mitte, and elsewhere in this fascinating city. In the evening a fine rain started, veiling the profile of the television tower, built in the DDR days, and one the vantage points of the city (I prefer the monument to the victories of 1814-15 in Viktoria Park.)

I went earlier in an exploration of the centre, from the Columbiadamm in Tempelhof, the Alte Jacobsstraße, in Kreuzberg, to Seestraße in Wedding. To get a sense of who the city really is, one has to walk, or cycle. There is a lot of this in perspective…

Landmarks, in stone or time, are everywhere. 17 June, the Landwehr Kanal, Museeumsinsel, Kennedy’s speech at the Schöneberg Rathaus… An eagle still stands proudly on the façade of the old airport building in Tempelhof, on Luftbrückeplatz…

Abandoned #TheDailyPost

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Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.

It’s a hidden place, not hidden from view, for it is in full view, anyone walking past can see it. But, perhaps, not look at it. So, for us, it is close to perfection: an urban corner unlikely to be disturbed by developers and other real estate thieves… A very quiet place, for those, like us, who like roaming at night, past doors long forgotten, climbing silently strange stairways no longer fit for humans…

 

Image sourcehttp://www.findingberlin.com/abandoned-elisabeth-sanatorium/

#AtoZAprilChallenge Mausoleum

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It stands at the highest point, in the historical landscape of Cobham Park, in West Kent. From there one can see the Thames estuary to the North, and south-westwards, the rolling North Downs.

In 1767, the 3rd Lord Darnley left clear instructions in his will that “a chapel or mausoleum be built as a family burying place… on top of the hill in my Park at Cobham called Williams Hill.”

After his death, his widow asked James Wyatt, one of Britain’s great architects, to design the mausoleum. Wyatt’s design was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1783 and the mausoleum was built under the supervision of another architect, George Dance the Younger.

The mausoleum was never consecrated, so couldn’t be used; instead it became a landscape feature in the wood, outside the historic parkland of Cobham Hall, which Humphry Repton designed.

Falling into decline after the Second World War, the mausoleum suffered several attacks of vandalism. It was eventually purchased and restored by the Cobham Ashenbank Management Scheme.

From: “Darnley Mausoleum – a rescue story”, National Trust.

#VisDare 89: Aware

AwareThese days, he rarely visited the old town: he wanted to forget the ghosts, even if he sometimes missed the tortuous streets, the medieval houses, the narrow lanes at the back of secret and overgrown gardens…

But today, he wanted to go back, to smell the ancient timber, admire once again the tortured roofs, and those long gone courtyards.

There, near the templar church, in one corner, he knew he would meet her again, the cloudy shadow of a timeless beauty… and those eyes…