Happy Anniversary with WordPress.com! They say to me WordPress
You registered on WordPress.com 7 years ago. They say to me, you know,
Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging. They say congrats
You see, Dear reader that just followed me, it’s refreshing to know that someone out there on the web likes you on WordPress.com, and is following your blog and what you do has a meaning although it’s not extra, extra, but for me it’s important and it’s enough, to keep me writhing on some things of little importance like a Goldfinch.
So thank you for reading, and thank you WordPress for hosting me all these years , without you Mackeen, the Algerian Goldfinch didn’t fly elsewhere
“Free you mind, and let it soar over the common believes _ Kalimelo “
Sometimes, you may say to yourself, “I think I over do, now,” by using the same terms over and over, people get tired of the blah, at the end _ yadayada, I know, but trying to grab some audiences, it’s hard for a blogger, everyone knows that, and everyone looks for it. Not that I need it. There are some causes, ideals, Aristotelianism, are lost in advance, I knew it the moment I started blogging. It’s not a self-flagellation either, but it was an awareness of the moment; the disappearance of a species, but the welfare of a bird, it’s the least concern today.
That is, when you feel like you have exhausted, when all the possible and imaginary means, using the Prompts of the day, quotes, poetry from poets, and writers… You’re about to throw the towel. Then, sometimes, by just listening to a song, like the one ” Drift Away” from Rod Stewart. Then, you have the declic, it puts you back on tracks
Day after day, I’m more confused
Yet I look for the light through the pourin’ rain
You know that’s a game that I hate to loose
And I’m feelin’ the strain, ain’t it a shame
Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
Oh, give me the beat boys and free my soul
I wanna get lost in your rock ‘n’ roll and drift away
Beginnin’ to think that I’m wastin’ time
I don’t understand the things I do
The world outside looks so unkind
Now I’m countin’ on you to carry me through*
Yet, this is it, You get then, a feeling, that you want to fling to the world, your plea,
_”Give me the beats boys, and free my soul,I wanna get lost in your conversation, and lost in translation, and drift away.”
_”Give me the courage to persevere writing, blogging, and posting, for a noble cause to save an endangered bird from disappearing.”
Because it has been five years in the making of Mackneen, The Algerian Goldfinch blog, that I’m blogging and posting, posts after posts, through the Internet, and WordPress, to make my call inviting people to join my conversation, to get the bird, tha Goldfinch, namely, free from the cage, from all the cages around the world.
Because, when you write, it’s your voice that you hear, your silent monologue settles inside your mind, you want to shout it out load what you have in your gusts, and you want to get out the hell of it those itching words that are elbowing against each other’s, who to come first to the open, to put it down to paper, at the view of the common reader, and accepting be critiqued, for you audacity, and daring to compose and post such non-sense. Like this one, such as.
It’s insane, I know, but I am not the only one, there is a lot of celebrities out there, they went, like Don Quixote De La Pampa, battling against the windmills, but more than a daydream, they make it their cause, like the French Actress Brigitte Bardot, defending the seals against their abusive massacre, and many more others, Ushuaia, We discover each day that million of species are almost disappearing from the surface of the earth.
So, I learned more, thence in my quest of sources to support my cause than, I expected, in my own beliefs, that the cause has the merits to be consistent, and true, that is not being a utopia, a euphoric chimera of the mind. When you know that the name Goldfinch is deeply anchored in the sub-conscience of the people through the ages, be it religious beliefs, like in Christian literatures or propane rites and customs and not merely folks traditions, by only checking into Wikipedia.
when you know that John Kavanagh, Keats, Dona and the list is long , to cite just few, had the privilege to be the predecessors in evoking the goldfinch in their poems, and proses, in their essays and masterpiece, than I believe that it worth borne identity of El Mackneen, the Algerian Goldfinch, even it was futile and elusive matter of blogging about.
When you get to know that a writer has a Noble Price, like Dona Tart, a novel that has a name of the goldfinch, it’s no shame to kvel well up. So, although it was just a dream at it début , yet it has been already five years that I blog under the name of Macknee, The Algerian Goldfinch, may be one day, it comes to light.
It’s time to free my mind, and uncage my imagination.
_knowledge is limited, imagination encircles the world, Einstein
It’s not the cage that encircles the idea. It’s the mind, free your mind, and let is soar above the common beliefs.
In #RememberanceDayforLostSpecies I dedicated this blog, some 5 years, in an attempt to bring to attention of readers in Algeria in particular, where the Algerian Goldfinch is endangered.
I launched an SOS , like a message in a bottle into the sea:
Save the Algerian goldfinch!
When you write, who is watching you?
It’s true, that for a poet, he has his own muse, Erato, a musician his own muse it’s Melpomene, but Calliope, the muse for a writer, she never shows up when he needs her the most, she is whimsical at times. So we are always fascinated, in our quest, by the blanc of a page, waiting for the moment when inspiration strikes, and we forget to look around, to things that we treasures for the longest, they are witnesses of our moments in life, or some we lost, that is_
“Somewhere, those poor things must still be knocking about”__Constantine Cavafy
It has been in the traditions of to many countries, and their cultures as well , for the longest as we can go back in to the past, in the history of literature, in humanities, we find that people has an intimated affection for the goldfinch, in particular, either through the religious interpretation of icons, in Arts, like in Christianity, referring to biblical scriptures, or for the profane, in the folklore, and artisanal arts and crafts, in poetry, and in writing prose.
I had a photo of a pet, a Bird, The Goldfinch, that I took while I was in Algiers, I framed it and put it on top of a corner of the TV furniture, just facing me, on the spot, usually where I use to sit to write. It had a sad look, it seemed like, it wanted to tell me something, like bagging me, for a plea, each time I look at it.
I couldn’t bring a caged bird with me, on board the airplane, 5 years ago, when I returned home because, simply it’s insane, for, imagine having a cage bird inside the cabine, or put in the belly of the plane with the luggage, for 10 to 14 hours, it’ll be dead at the arrival. Secondo, not only its prohibited and a protected species, but with all hustle of authorised documents, and vaccines, and with the flu bird, forget it. I resigned one’s mind and gave the bird as a souvenir from me to cousin, then.
So I gave up after that on the breeding thing. And the very idea to have a pet bird.
I get inspired by two WordPress prompts, “Witness, and Last Call! commenting Boot camp.”
Here, with the same post below, that I posted 4 years ago, it was my fist blog, the story is:
It all started, more or less, like this_
Dear readers, يا اللاحبا ب ، و ىا لولاد ,
Chers amis , l'heure est grave, time is running out,
El_Mackeen, The Goldfinch, the Elegant Chardoneret Parva est en voie de disparition,
the bird is endangered, and in its way of disappearance, do you know that?
Dear friends in Algeria , let's do it, let's make it happens!
Let's make the first day of spring un event, let it be the day of El Mackneen
At first glance, five years ago, it’s looked like gibberish, for anyone who has stumbled upon my blog, accidentally, or in purpose, he got there by chance, looking for some kind of, a matter of inspiration, he might said, “what is this!”, and passed on in a click, to the next blog. Continue reading Save the Algerian goldfinch!
“a dying language regressing
to your origin regressing
to the rib whittling yourself
down to a single bone to be
allowed another chance”
“Eden, nobody will be screaming
to harvest you in the new
Eden there will be birds
but no mirrors or dew
to reflect you back like a star
and force you to stare into
your own furred face and cry
there you are
_An excerpt of a poem by Isabelle Doyle, a former student at Emma Willard School.
And sill here I am.
_The Cry of birds_Grew from the ramage of birds to the hurry of wind_Hugh McCrae
Here I am, for the nonce
Here I am in a cage
My cry grew from the ramage
Of birds, To the hurry of winds
Shall I ever have a chance
To fly, fly, again, and drift away
Finally Home, I’ll cry and I’ll say
That’s, the one and only once
I need yes in deed, to be free
Thence, all I need is my wings
to spread in spree
Here I am, and always be
You put me one day in a cage
Can’t you see me today that I age?
Can’t you see me that I am bleeding?
Can’t you see me that I am weeping?
Like a violin bow, on its hair string
T’was the first day of Spring
That day going my way straight to my fate
That I used to be free before t’was too late
Then I was nattering in my joy and glee
With No motive for my killing spree
Spending my joy from tree to tree
Having no foe, nor a prey I was to be
Safe that a carol of joy betrayed me
I was caught In a dream-catcher net
It was a gloomy day, that’s Ô! My fate
Mother Nature comes to me, ready set for rejoice
Full of fun, laughing of plenty to hear my voice
For, You don’t know why I sing, ah! me
It was the first day of Spring, for me
It’s only but a prayer, from the bottom of my heart I sing
but a plea I wish you hear me, that upward to Heaven I fling
That one day you may let me free, before it was too late
No more I can fly, nor my wings I can spread
It’s only Poetry, a lady
she knows toward me, she said
I know why The Caged Birds Sing
I know why The Caged Birds sing, ah me,
when his wing is bruised and his bosom sore
when he hit the bars, and would be free;
it is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his hearth's deep core,
but a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings
I know why the caged bird sings_Maya Angelou
Let It Be
When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be. Let it be, let it be. Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
That’s my carol of joy and glee
Now that’s here I am, and free
_Homage to El Baji,an Algerian singer and songwriter of Algiers of Old, Kalimelo
I had published a post with a similar topic to these above, few months ago, and with the same Prompt,as it recurres like if it was, for in a same dream that we do sometimes, the one like we find ourselves in a place we had never hbeen there before, but it recalls to us that like we knew it same as it has been always our place that where we live, thence I would love to share one of those things that we keep deep in our memories, we treasure since childhood. And sometimes,the other day, although l changed my itinerary to go to work, it chanced that I passed by the same store where I had spotted it lately, the same object in à-propos; and it was still there, in display, and what a coincidence! How can small things trigger you sometimes to the core of the marrow, and in a split of an eye-blink it sent you some decades back to the days of childhood. Then,I was astonishing by such, and such of a propinquity of things can accomplish: of being in the same place, with an object long wished for at out of your reach, and at the same time, of different epochs.
I just turned seven years old then, and that year I had contracted some kind kids rush that had kept me home and from going to school. It was Chrismas Eve, an event drive was set up to distribute the gifts, and I couldn’t go to pick-up my gift, a Secret Santa wish-list; and it was a guitar that I had wished for.
So, after recovery, the day I was back to school, the teacher had kept my gift for me, it locked in the cabinet with the school supplies, I was happy then, when he give it to me, well wrapped with glossy paper-wrap, and a best-wishes card, and recovery for me, from the whole class, tapped on it.
Back home, and once I unwrapped it, I was so disappointed to discover that it wasn’t the gift that I had wished for, instead it was a banal toy, a corvette replica-car, with a static motion drives back to those times, with no batteries powered motor yet.
l never had a guitar, since. It was something , “Out of Your Reach.” Although I played guitar later on, and I could afford it, but it had never crossed my mind to have one once grown up.
going my way to work, down the road, of the street, at the fork, I spotted this image at the vitrine of a famous store, by a beautiful morning of May, and more I want to share with you this moment, a treat, and the most; a souvenir of the past; A memorabilia; a toy I lost, Longtemps, I wept. A dream I kept, and it lasts in my mind. I find hard, and it’s hard to find In my soul, a child within, I’m and still, young at heart, nothing to blame, a trait of mine and enough of an artist as I always been, and remain_ to draw upon my imagination, and which fora moment I stand still…
For all those kids that have no toys girls and boys
By the way…
_ Was is a coffee latte, or an ice cream? Can’t member but only indulged that moment,
by the way…
on this time of chocolate Give a hot chocolate for the needy passer-by, going your way…