Picture Pages Index

"From translation all wisdom has its source". These collages are an essay in translation from word to image. The labour has been a time-eating distraction, but I wouldn't say it hasn't been worth it. Something more about the poem has been learned, at least, and perhaps the continuity of its Weltanschauung has been demonstrated. The spine of The Seafarer is its commonplace centrality to the experience of Everyman. Familiar, popular images, ancient and newish, are not wrong; clichés can be arranged in novel, interesting ways, just as single words can. But the results are not wholly satisfying; perhaps a proper balance between design and image has not been found. Click htms under URL column.

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Main artist edvard munch   winslow homer     a p ryder   c d friedrich animations     unknown   unknown       gustave doré   sculptor?   photographer? m c escher   m larson   bruno liljefors bo backström gustave doré   rembrandt     photographer?     hokusai       c d friedrich a p ryder           h j draper   e munch       harald sohlberg charles sheeler n de stael     none     none     leonardo     gustave doré     courbet william blake   m c escher m c escher m c escher william blake   edvard munch edward hopper   albrecht dürer       dundee wallace   m e winge   albrecht dürer       leonardo                         charles XII       andrew wyeth     photographer?       am duat   william blake animations   el greco albrecht dürer   none   rodin leonardo   animations     none   rembrandt       unknown monamy el greco lindisfarne michelangelo   none

Credit M.Harden Artchive   MHA     MHA   MHA various     unknown   unknown       datadesigns   leif ericsson site   webshots MHA   sthlm ntnlmsm   sthlm ntnlmsm   datadesigns   MHA     webshots     M.Harden Artchive       MHA MHA           ---   MHA       MHA   MHA     none     none     MHA     datadesigns     musée d'orsay M.Harden Artchive   MHA MHA MHA MHA   munch museum M.Harden Artchive   MHA       tartan house   nat mus sthlm   MHA       MHA                         various       MHA     gotland       BM   MHA various   MHA MHA   none   MHA M.Harden Artchive   various     none   MHA       CHW CHW MHA none MHA   none

Text May my words spell the truth of the ways I've toiled distraught for days on end enduring cares and bitter bale within my breast, my keel cleaving endless halls of heaving waves I would often at the bark's bows wake the strait night through steering her clear of clashing cliffs cold fetters froze my feet and hunger seared my heart with sore sea-weariness that man lolling on fair land has no earthly inkling of how I a wretched wreck on ice-cold sea weathered each winter exiled from kith and kin hail scoured my skin and hoar hung heavy All I ever heard along the ice-way was sounding sea the gannet's shanty whooper and curlew call and mewling gull were all my gaming, mead and mirth At tempest-tested granite crags the ice-winged tern would taunt spray-feathered ospreys overhead would soar and scream No kinsman near to fend off need no one to comfort or console That fine fellow, carefree in his cups set snugly up in town, cannot conceive the load I hauled along the sea-lanes The dark night deepens, northern snow hardens the soil and hail hits earth like cold corn Yet my heart hammers now, yearning anew wanting the steep salt-water road longing with lust to roam rough seas, alone to seek out some far foreign shore The mood to wander mills within my mind But none on earth may be so proud so prodigal or yare in youth nor so express in action nor smiled on by so mild a master that he embark with unconcern what end for him the Master may intend He will not heed the harp though and is not gladdened by gold rings nor woman's winning ways and wants no worldly joys only the rolling oceans urge him on the wave play pulls him and impels Then blossom decks the bower's bough the bothie blooms, the sea meads gleam the wide world racks the restless mind of him who on the full flood tide determines to depart And heralding his summer hoard of pain the gowk repeats his plaintive geck foreboding bitterness of breast Soft-bedded bloods cannot conceive what some men suffer as abroad they travel tracks of exile Reckless of that, my thought is thrown beyond my heart's cage now. Hot hunger keenly comes again. My mind is cast upon the sea swell, over the whale's world widely to course creation's coast widely to course creation's coast gielleð anfloga hweteð onwæl weg hreþer unwearnum the summons wails above on wing it steels the unarmed soul to start across the waters where the whale sways gielleð anfloga hweteð onwæl weg hreþer unwearnum God's visions are to me more vivid than this dead life loaned out on land I know its leasehold will not last Still three things twist man's mind until the day his doom is sealed age, illness or some stroke of hate will seize sense from him So any noble spirit will aspire to earn an everlasting epitaph of praise for good deeds done on earth, bold blows dealt at the Devil and against fell foe at the Devil and against fell foe before his passing, that posterity delights enjoyed for ever by the brave among the angels may perpetuate The days of glory have decayed the earth has spilled its splendour there are no captains now, no kings gold givers such as once there were the lords who lived to purchase fame and utmost laud among their peers Virtue is fallen, visions are faded the weak are left to hold this world worn low. The flower of the field is old the leaf is withered and the laurel sere Throughout this middle isthmus man meets age hoar-headed, bleak of face by former friends forsaken, grieving over scions of lineage long since gone there are no captains now, no kings gold givers such as once there were the lords who lived to purchase fame and utmost laud among their peers Life ebbs, the flesh feels less and fails to savour sweet or sour is frail of hand, feeble of mind Though men may bury treasured pelf beside their brother's born remains and sow his grave with golden goods he goes where gold is worthless Nor can his sinful soul, quaking before his God call hoarded gold or mortal glory to his aid that Architect is awesome Whose might moves the world Whose hand has fixed the firmament earth's vaults and vapours Dull is the man who does not dread the Lord on him will death's descent be sudden blissful the man that meekly lives on him will heaven benisons bestow A mind was given man by God to glory in his might A man should steer a steadfast course be constant, clean and just in judgement a man should curb his love or loathing though flame consume his comrade and fire the funeral pyre for fate is set more surely God more great, than any man surmise Come, consider where we have a home, how we can travel to it, how our travail here will lead us to the living well-head and heaven haven of our Lord's love the living well-head a haven Thus let us thank His hallowed name Thus let us thank His hallowed name that He has granted us His grace Dominion enduring, the Ancient of Days for all time

 

An effort has been made to acknowledge sources. Most images have been linked to their source, but some sources have inadvertently been lost. They may be relocated in due course. Objections to the presence of any image will either secure a link to its source or its immediate removal. Mail cichw-0[at]cichw.net for this or any other good reason. The animations come from countless sources which all appear to be interlinked. One of the most user-friendly seems to me www.4YEO.com [here]; otherwise try starting at www.gifart.com [here] or www.clipart.com [here]. What is art but idle play?
 

Other images, some incorporating some of those above, are linked thematically from here..

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