quinta-feira, setembro 14, 2006

Darfur, can't look away

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Next, Back, Thread Ahead: Two Views of Darfur, Thread Back: Pietro Paolo Savorgnan di Brazzà.

Click to Enlarge / Click para Aumentar14/09, Roméo Dallaire, History will judge Canada, not Sudan, on the fate of Darfur, (Archive).

07/09, Eric Reeves, Khartoum's Ultimatum to the African Union: "Leave or Stay on Our Terms"

from IRIN:
    14/09, Gov’t renews ultimatum for African force in Darfur
    11/09, Rebel fragmentation hampers Darfur peace
    05/09, Khartoum issues deadline to AU force
    17/08, Half a million Darfurians cut off from aid
    21/07, Aid work suspended after three are killed in Darfur camp
    19/07, Donors pledge to boost African force in Darfur
    04/07, Violence worsens in Darfur IDP camp
    02/07, AU mission extended to year-end but no deal on UN force
    29/06, Chadians look for refuge in volatile Darfur
    28/06, Annan to meet al-Bashir over UN force in Darfur
    07/06, No agreement on UN force in Darfur

I may turn into a hand-wringer yet ... what else is there to do? From what I see of it these people are doomed.

I had a shrink once who hated me because when she pressed me into a corner in the 'reality therapy' she said she was treating me with, I would come up with some poem or other, most of them are somewhere in this blog ... she called it 'transcendence' ('damned transcendence' I think she was saying inside herself); and eventually she sure-enough did throw me out, didn't want me as a patient anymore, oh well, I got over it. So today ... along comes Dylan Thomas to help me get through the rest of the afternoon.

Dylan Thomas

The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
Is my destroyer.
And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

The force that drives the water through the rocks
Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
Turns mine to wax.
And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

The hand that whirls the water in the pool
Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
Hauls my shroud sail.
And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
How of my clay is made the hangman's lime.

The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
Shall calm her sores.
And I am dumb to tell a weather's wind
How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb
How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

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