poems, aphorisms and quotations about music, arts and life.
The fourth planet belonged to a business man. This person was so busy that he didn't even raise his head when the little prince arrived.
"Three and two make five [...] That amounts to five-hundred-and-one million, six-hundred-twenty-two thousand, seven hundred thirty-one."
"Five-hundred million what?"
"Hmm? You're still there? Five-hundred-and-one million... I don't remember... I have so much work to do! I'm a serious man. I can't be bothered with trifles! Two and five, seven..."
"Five-hundred-and-one million what?" repeated the littel price, who had never in his life let go a question once he had asked it.
The businessman raised his head. "For the fifty-four years I've inhabited this planet, I've been interrupted only three times. The first time was twenty-two years ago, when I was interrupted by a beetle that had fallen onto my desk from god knows where. It made a terrible noise, a I made four mistakes in my calculations. The second time was eleven years ago, when I was interrupted by a fit of rheumatism. I don't get enough exercise. I haven't time to take strolls. I'm a serious person. The third time...is right now! Where was I? Five-hundred-and-one millon..."
"Million what?"
The businessman realized that he had no hope of being left in peace. "Oh, of those little things yu sometimes see in the sky."
"Flies?"
"No, those little shiny things."
"Bees?"
"No, those little golden things that make lazy people daydream. Now, I'm a serious person. I've no time for daydreaming."
"Ah! you mean the stars?"
"Yes, that's it. Stars."
"And what do you do with five-hundred million stars?"
"Five-hundred-one million, six-hundred-twenty-two thousand, seven hundred thirty-one. I'm a serious person, and I'm accurate."
"And what do you do with those stars?"
"What do I do with them?"
"Yes."
"Nothing. I own them."
"You own the stars?"
"Yes."
"But I've already seen a king who - "
"Kings don't own. They 'reign' over...it's quite different."
"And what good does owning the stars do you?"
"It does me the good of being rich."
"And what good does it do you to be rich?"
"It lets me buy other stars, if somebody discovers them."
The little prince said to him, this argues a little like my drunkard. Nevertheless he asked more questions. "How can someone own the stars?"
"To whom do they belong?" retorted the businessman grumpily.
"I don't know. To nobody."
"Then they belong to me, because I thought of it first."
"And that's all it takes?"
"Of course. When you find a diamond that belongs to nobody in particular, then it's yours. When you find an island that belongs to nobody in particular, it's yours. Now I own the stars, since no one before me ever thought of owing them."
"That's true enough," the little prince said. "And what do you do with them?"
"I manage them, I count them and then count them again," the businessman said. "It's difficult work. But I'm a serious person!"
The little prince was still not satisfied. "If I own a scarf, I can tie it around my neck and take it away. But you can't pick the stars!"
"No, but I can put them in a bank."
"What does that mean?"
"That means that I write the number of my stars on a slip of paper. And then I lock that slip of paper in a drawer."
"And that's all?"
"That's enough!"
That's amusing, thought the little prince. And even poetic. But not very serious. The little prince had very different ideas about serious things from those of the grown-ups. "I own a flower myself, " he continued, "which I water every day. I own three volcanoes, which I rake out every week. I even rake out the extinct one. You never know. So it's of some use to my volcanoes, and it's useful to my flower, that I own them. But you're not useful to the stars."
The businessman opened his mouth but found nothing to say in reply, and the little prince went on his way.
"Grown-ups are certainly extraordinary" was all he said to himself as he continued on his journey.
[Antoine De Saint-Exupéry]
P
OTOÑO
Otoño de manos de oro.
Ceniza de oro tus manos dejaron caer al camino.
Ya vuelves a andar por los viejos paisajes desiertos.
Ceñido tu cuerpo por todos los vientos de todos los siglos.
Otoño, de manos de oro:
con el canto del mar retumbando en tu pecho infinito,
sin espigas ni espinas que puedan herir la mañana,
con el alba que moja su cielo en las flores del vino,
para dar alegrìa al que sabe que vive
de nuevo has venido.
Con el humo y el viento y el canto y la ola temblando,
en tu gran corazòn encendido.
José Hierro
"Music demands obedience.
It even demands obedience of the imagination
when a melody comes to mind.
You can't think to nothing else.
It's a kind of tyrant.
In exchange it offers its own freedom."
John Berger
" There is an old Jewish legend abuot
the origin of the prize to God.
After creating the human beings, the legend says,
He asked the angels what did they think abuot the world
He had just created.
'There's only one thing missing', they said.
'It's the sound of the prize to the Creator.'
So, the story continues,God created the music."
" When I listen to music, I fear no dangers.
I am invulnerable.
I see no enemies.
I am related to the ancient and to the recent times."
Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)