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Old Dec 30, 2006, 7:59 AM   #11
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Jim, I believe that either for an advanced or an elementary learner it is thepassion of photography and thesubject which will eventually bring great results!The technique will inevitably follow Ah,btw, your arsenal of equipment isincentive enough
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Old Dec 30, 2006, 9:40 AM   #12
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Lovely shot Bahadir. It looks like a dream home to me. Almost surreal....cheers...Don
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Old Dec 30, 2006, 6:51 PM   #13
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Thank you for your appreciation, Don. As a matter of fact, your dream house has been serving as a cafeteria at the university campus for quite a while. So,I'd like to treat youto meal there if you ever pay a visit around here
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Old Jan 2, 2007, 10:40 PM   #14
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The picture has the sense of an old familiar place. Your treatment of it seems to have conveyed your emotions about the building and the campus. Well done. Contrasts nicely with the title you gave to the image....

The skies they were ashen and sober;
The leaves they were crisped and sere-
The leaves they were withering and sere;
It was night in the lonesome October
Of my most immemorial year;
It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,
In the misty mid region of Weir-
It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,
In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir...

Turns out that one of my guilty pleasures isthe sensuous onomatopoeia andcareful alliteration ofEdgar Allen Poe's work.

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Old Jan 3, 2007, 8:20 AM   #15
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The Barbarian wrote:
Quote:
Turns out that one of my guilty pleasures isthe sensuous onomatopoeia andcareful alliteration ofEdgar Allen Poe's work.
...Andyour guilty pleasure turns out to bea virtue here, Barbarianreferring also my reply to Glyn's kind postabove, in which I had strongly recommended a detourto Poe'e Ulalume ; )

Well, having translated all his poems into my native language at the fourth grade at the university and the year following my graduation, I haveoften seenhis rhymes pendulous in the air along with the notes from Bach....

Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul-
Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.
There were days when my heart was volcanic
As the scoriac rivers that roll-
As the lavas that restlessly roll
Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek
In the ultimate climes of the pole-
That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek
In the realms of the boreal pole.
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