Saturday, May 29, 2010

kaspian monster ekranoplan

A ground effect vehicle (GEV) is one that attains level flight near the surface of the Earth, made possible by a cushion of high-pressure air created by the aerodynamic interaction between the wings and the surface known as ground effect. Also known as a wing-in-ground-effect (WIG) vehicle, flarecraft, sea skimmer, ekranoplan, or wing-in-surface-effect ship (WISE), a GEV can be seen as a transition between a hovercraft and an aircraft. The International Maritime Organization (IMO) has classified the GEV as a ship.[1] A GEV differs from an aircraft in that it cannot operate without ground effect, so its operating height is limited relative to its wingspan.

In recent years a large number of different GEV types have evolved for both civilian and military use. However, these craft are not in wide use.

Russian Ekranoplans: "LUN" / SM-6 / "Orlyonok" A-90 / VVA-14 / KM-08

In the USSR the WIG ("wing in ground effect") developments took place at the Central Hydrofoil Design Bureau (CHDB),
lead by Alexeiev. The military potential for such a craft was soon recognised and Alexeiev received personal support from Kruchev
including virtually unlimited financial resources. This very important development in WIG history lead to the Caspian Sea Monster,
v a 550 ton military ekranoplan, only a few years after this top secret project was initiated.
The first ekranoplan as we know it now, the SM-2P, was built in 1962.
Another feature found in most later ekranoplans were the jets that were blowing under the wing to assist at take-off.

"LUN" firing cruise missiles.

Front section of "LUN".

LUN at mooring site


Orlyonok A-90

SM-6 - demonstrator for the Orlyonok

Enlarged version of KM-08

VVA-14 land based Ekranoplan

Impressive view of LUN firing a cruise missile at full speed.

Russian Ekranoplans: KM-08 / "Orlyonok" A-90

When the KM programme was launched in 1963 it was very ambitious, it was to be more than 100 times heavier than the SM-2P,
which was the heaviest ekranoplan at that time. After the experimental craft the Russian ekranoplan program continued and lead
to the most successfull ekranoplan so far, the 125 ton A.90.125 Orlyonok. The Orlyonok incorporated many features that had been tested
separately in earlier designs: it was amphibious, it had a huge turboprop engine for cruise thrust at the top of the fin and two turbofans
in the nose for air injection. A few Orlyonoks have been in service with the Russian Navy from 1979 to 1992. The most recent large
ekranoplan from the former Soviet Union is the 400 ton Lun which was built in 1987 as a missile launcher. It carried six missiles on
top of the hull. At the time when the Soviet Union fell apart there was a second Lun under construction.

KM-08 - with 500 tons , the haeviest vehivle ever flown!

A-90 "Orlyonok".

A-90 "Orlyonok".

KM-08 and SM-6

On joint maneuvers with the Fleet (Orlyonok)

The amphibeous Orlyonok unloading cargo.

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Wednesday, May 26, 2010


History of this blog post.

half an hour ago I told my mum that my contact in the USA has a bad BED BUG PROBLEM, and she says.. "USE FLIT".. it has been around for ages! "I think my grandmother used it" (My mum is 86!) .. quickly I did some research, and here is what I found.

You can still buy the stuff in germany:


«Lösung gegen Krätze» sowie eine weitere fast volle Dose, deren Aufschrift das Präparat «Flit» verkündet, welches «Motten, Mücken, Fliegen, Bettwanzen, Küchenschaben und Ameisen» töten soll. Dose der Firma «Vulkan», deren Inhalt der Etikettierung nach als «Ofen-Pomade» zum Einsatz kam.

Für Hausbesitzer Marcus Batz ein Fall fürs Heimatmuseum vielleicht: Teils skurrile Alltagsgegenstände vom Dachboden komponierte
Fotograf RalfRödel zu einem Bild. FotoAndréDeGeare

vernichtungsmittel, ca. 1930" style="width: 315px; height: 315px;" border="0">
Zerstäuber für Flit-Insekten-
vernichtungsmittel, ca. 1930

Flit bug spray, 1930 Ilustração, No. 110, July 16, 1930 - 6a, originally uploaded by Gatochy. Scanned from Portuguese magazine Ilustração, No. 110, July 16, 1930. Click image for 783 x 1185 size. "Destroys flies, mosquitoes, clothes-moths, cockroaches, bugs, ants".

Flit surface spray for spraying walls ceilings kills

"Say it, Spray it, Slay it!" Flit aerosol bomb insecticide advertisement from the June 19, 1950 issue of Life magazine

at home on vacation at camp fight insect pests economical scientific formula assures quick knockdown sure kill simple push button valve easy one-hand operation fills an average size room in 5 seconds - container holds 12 ounces good for months - quick henry the filt - SAY IT SPRAY IT SLAY IT

aerosol bomb

ESSO FLIT continuous space sprayer gulf spray

FLIT Surface Spray

Flit, the bug killer, made by Standard Oil’s Stanco. Flit was famous for its magazine ad campaign thSal Hepaticaat was drawn by Dr. Seuss. It came with an atomizer to shoot the spray at the bugs. The slogan became a catch phrase; it was “Quick, Henry, the Flit.” Apparently, the brand survives in another permethrin-based formulation by another company, Clarke.
1927 flit advertising

Click image for 801 x 1137 size. "Flit kills all insects quicker. Guard yourselves against imitations". In Portuguese magazine Ilustração, No. 109, July 1 1930.


Surely everyone remembers that catchy phrase, “Quick Henry, the Flit!” and if Henry did as his wife stated, the mosquito didn’t stand a chance.

Well, this blog is not about “Flit.” But in reading a story yesterday morning in the newspaper, the old phrase came to mind and I just couldn’t help but hee-haw about it. I need to alert readers that if they are sensitive to things sexual, they probably should turn back now. Otherwise, keep on reading.

The findings of a 300-man study is being given Tuesday at the Chicago Meeting of the American Urological Association and the results of this study show that a new anesthetic developed by a London company, Plethora Solutions Ltd., will make a sad group of men very, very happy. Well, this is my interpretation of the efficacy of their product, but I think you’ll see what I mean in a minute.

The article states that one of the most common sexual problems of men, striking about 1 in every 3 is premature ejaculation. This is even a higher percentage than that of erectile dysfunction, which is 1 in every 4. According to the article, a new topical anesthetic by another company, a cream called EMLA that is used to numb one’s organ thus prolonging ejaculation is in the works, but its drawback is that it takes about 45 minutes to work. Complicating the matter is that the man must wear a condom or the cream will be transferred to his partner and cause her to go numb and miss out on the whole thing!

So the Plethora folks have developed an anesthetic spray that once sprayed on the end of the penis is absorbed quickly and goes to work in mere minutes. In their most recent efficacy trial, the company recruited the 300 men in Northern Ireland who had documented histories of prematurity and who were in monogamous relationships. Two-third used the spray and one-third used a placebo.

Now all this I find very clinical. But here is what made me burst out laughing: “The men were instructed to spray it on five minutes before intercourse, and then document the time from penetration to ejaculation with a stopwatch.” Here’s where the “Quick, Henry, the Flit” comes in. The image of 300 men holding spray cans and stopwatches is what really makes me laugh. Oh, how I wish I could draw that scene for use in my blog.

But since this topic needs to stay clinical, I must report that like in all good trials, the participants fill out detailed questionnaires about their experiences and their sexual satisfaction, and the results indicated a “go.” Apparently the spray satisfied everyone, and with FDA approval it will go on the market with a cost less than Viagra and the other erectile-dysfunction drugs.

If I read the article correctly, the name of the spray will be Tempe. (How do you think that will sit with Tempe, Arizona?)

I would think it would be called simply “Plethora” – and if you wonder why, look up the word in any good dictionary and you’ll discover it means more than just an excess. And this makes this whole thing much more interesting clinically, and exceptionally funny, I think.

And apologies to anyone who doesn’t find this a laughing matter.

Flit is the brand name for an insecticide.

The original product, launched in 1923[1] and mainly intended for killing flies and mosquitoes, was mineral oil based and manufactured by the Standard Oil Company of New Jersey (renamed Esso/Exxon). Later marketed as "FLIT MLO", it has since been discontinued. A hand-operated device called a Flit gun was commonly used to perform the spraying.

The Flit brand name has been reused for another insecticide product, with the primary active ingredient of permethrin, marketed by Clarke Mosquito Control.[2] The current product is most often used to control adult mosquitos. Spraying it into the air kills adult mosquitos that are present and then by settling onto surfaces it kills mosquitos that may later land.

Quick, Henry, the Flit!

In 1928 Flit, then marketed by a newly formed subsidiary of Jersey Standard, Stanco Incorporated,[3] became the subject of a very successful long running advertising campaign. Theodor Seuss Geisel created the artwork for this campaign, years before he started writing the children's books that made him famous as Dr. Seuss. The ads typically showed people threatened by whimsical, menacing insect-like creatures that will look familiar to fans of Dr. Seuss's later work and contained the tagline "Quick, Henry, the Flit!". This advertising campaign continued for 17 years and made "Quick, Henry, the Flit!" into a popular catchphrase in the United States.[4][5]
[edit] References

1. ^ James Anthony Clark. The chronological history of the petroleum and natural gas industries. Clark Book Co., 1963, p. 137. ASIN B000WTVV34.
2. ^ Flit – product information, Clarke Mosquito Control.
3. ^ Alfred D. Chandler, Jr. Strategy and Structure: Chapters in the History of the American Industrial Enterprise. Beard Books, 1962, p. 212. ISBN 978-1587981982 9781587981982.
4. ^ The Advertising Artwork of Dr. Seuss.
5. ^ Richard Corliss. "That Old Feeling: Seuss on First". Time, March 2, 2004.

A Flit gun is a hand-pumped insecticide sprayer used to dispense Flit, a brand-name insecticide widely used against flies and mosquitoes between 1928 and the mid-1950s. Although named after the well-known brand, "Flit gun" became a generic name for this type of dispenser.

A Flit gun consists of a pneumatic tube with a hand-operated plunger to force air through an air nozzle in the front. Below the front of the pneumatic tube is a secondary tubular container designed to hold a liquid insecticide, this reservoir set at 90 degrees to the pneumatic tube. The insecticide reservoir traditionally has a screw-cap for pouring additional insecticide into the container, plus an internal hose that feeds from the fluid reservoir up to a tip placed just forward of the air nozzle of the pneumatic tube. This arrangement mists or atomizes the insecticide into a spray when the pneumatic tube handle is pumped, without the requirement for any compressed propellants to be stored. The basic pneumatic tube portion is similar in operation to a Super Soaker or a hand-powered grease gun, but propelling air rather than water or grease.


Once commonly found in households, hand-operated Flit guns have been replaced as insecticide dispensers by aerosol spray cans and fallen out of common use. The design was originally created for rural outdoor use in the early 20th century, and is rarely seen anymore, aside from in reruns of pre-World War II cartoons and a few early movies.
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from Fireflies by Rabindranath Tagore

Terebess Asia Online (TAO)


by Rabindranath Tagore

Tagore himself visited Japan several times, and Japanese haiku were translated into Bengali by Tagore early in the 20th century. However, Kalyan Dasgupta writes in 2001 that

[...] to this day, haiku as a literary expression does not seem to evoke much more than a queer reaction among the general reading public in either West Bengal or Bangladesh.

And so, when he published Jaapaani Haaiku (Calcutta: 2000)--a Bengali anthology of Japanese haiku--Dasgupta felt the need to describe for his readers "what the Japanese have sought from haiku," including "elegance" and "simplicity." Such information on how to receive haiku is essential if one wishes to import the form to a non-Japanese language and culture.

The title of this poem, ‘Fireflies’, comes from the first verse of the bilingual ‘Lekhan’ (1926)—‘My fancies are fireflies. . .’ It consists of 256 epigrams and short verses and shares structural similarity with Tagore’s other notable epigrammatic poem, ‘Stray Birds’. These poems resemble the sayings of a wise man rather than poetry. The possibility of the influence of Japanese Haiku can be suggested. The compact style conveys memorable poetic expressions with great force and intensity. The brevity and crispness of these verses combined with the wit and wisdom contained in them make these poems extremely delightful and reader friendly. The Bengali version of some these poems are also to be found in ‘Sphulinga’ (1946) apart from ‘Lekhan’.

Tagore in Balatonfüred, Hungary
(November 1926)

The beautiful promenade on the shore of lake Balaton was named after Rabindranath Tagore (it was called Kolos promenade, then Deák promenade previously). The world-famous Hindu poet heart disease was treated here in 1926. He completed the ‘Fireflies’ during this stay in Balatonfüred. After his recovery he planted a lime-tree in the health-park. This act was motivated by an old Indian legend saying that if the tree takes root, its planter will live long so that he or she can see the new sprouts. "If I am not present in this world any more, oh my tree, let your new leaves rustle in spring above those who roam about; the poet loved you until his death." - wrote the poet. In fact, Tagore lived for another 17 years after having planted the tree. A Hindu grove has been created around the memorial tree and statue of the poet in the past decades. Several presidents of the Indian Republic including Indira Gandhi saluted the memory of Tagore by planting trees.

‘Fireflies’ (‘Lekhan’) printed in facsimile of the poet’s handwriting:

The lines in the following pages had
their origin in China and Japan where
the author was asked for his writings
on fans or pieces of silk.

Rabindranath Tagore
Nov. 7. 1926
Balatonfüred, Hungary.

My fancies are fireflies, —
Specks of living light
twinkling in the dark.

The voice of wayside pansies,
that do not attract the careless glance,
murmurs in these desultory lines.

In the drowsy dark caves of the mind
dreams build their nest with fragments
dropped from day's caravan.

Spring scatters the petals of flowers
that are not for the fruits of the future,
but for the moment's whim.

Joy freed from the bond of earth's slumber
rushes into numberless leaves,
and dances in the air for a day.

My words that are slight
my lightly dance upon time's waves
when my works havy with import have gone down.

Mind's underground moths
grow filmy wings
and take a farewell flight
in the sunset sky.

The butterfly counts not months but moments,
and has time enough.

My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises,
carrying a single laughter.
The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow
which yet it never can grasp.

Let my love, like sunlight, surround you
and yet give you illumined freedom.

Days are coloured vbubbles
that float upon the surface of fathomless night.

My offerings are too timid to claim your remembrance,
and therefore you may remember them.

Leave out my name from the gift
if it be a burden,
but keep my song.

April, like a child,
writes hieroglyphs on dust with flowers,
wipes them away and forgets.

Memory, the priestess,
kills the present
and offers its heart to the shrine of the dead past.

From the solemn gloom of the temple
children run out to sit in the dust,
God watches them play
and forgets the priest.

My mind starts up at some flash
on the flow of its thoughts
like a brook at a sudden liquid note of its own
that is never repeated.

In the mountain, stillness surges up
to explore its own height;
in the lake, movement stands still
to contemplate its own depth.

The departing night's one kiss
on the closed eyes of morning
glows in the star of dawn.

Maiden, thy beauty is like a fruit
which is yet to mature,
tense with an unyielding secret.

Sorrow that has lost its memory
is like the dumb dark hours
that have no bird songs
but only the cricket's chirp.

Bigotry tries to keep turth safe in its hand
with a grip that kills it.
Wishing to hearten a timid lamp
great night lights all her stars.

Though he holds in his arms the earth-bride,
the sky is ever immensely away.

God seeks comrades and claims love,
the Devil seeks slaves and claims obedience.

The soil in return for her service
keeps the tree tied to her,
the sky asks nothing and leaves it free.

Jewel-like immortal
does not boast of its length of years
but of the scintillating point of its moment.

The child ever dwells in the mystery of ageless time,
unobscured by the dust of history.

Alight laughter in the steps of creation
carries it swiftly across time.

One who was distant came near to me in the morning,
and still nearer when taken away by night.

White and pink oleanders meet
and make merry in different dialects.

When peace is active swepping its dirt, it is storm.

The lake lies low by the hill,
a tearful entreaty of love
at the foot of the inflexible.

There smiles the Divine Child
among his playthings of unmeaning clouds
and ephemeral lights and shadows.

The breeze whispers to the lotus,
"What is thy secret?"
"It is myself," says the lotus,
"Steal it and I disappear!"

The freedom of the storm and the bondage of the stem
join hands in the dance of swaying branches.

The jasmine's lisping of love to the sun is her flowers.

The tyrant claims freedom to kill freedom
and yet to keep it for himself.

Gods, tired of their paradise, envy man.

Clouds are hills in vapour,
hills are clouds in stone, —
a phantasy in time's dream.

While God waits for His temple to be built of love,
men bring stones.

I touch God in my song
as the hill touches the far-away sea
with its waterfall.

Light finds her treasure of colours
through the antagonism of clouds.

My heart to-day smiles at its past night of tears
like a wet tree glistening in the sun
after the rain is over.

I have thanked the trees that have made my life fruitflul,
but have failed to remember the grass
that has ever kept it green.

The one without second is emptiness,
the other one makes it true.

Life's errors cry for the merciful beauty
that can modulate their isolation
into a harmony with the whole.

They expect thanks for the banished nest
because their cage is shapely and secure.

In love I pay my endless debt to thee
for what thou art.

The pond sends up its lyrics from its dark in lilies,
and the sun says, they are good.

Your calumny against the great is impious,
it hurts yourself;
against the small it is mean,
for it hurts the victim.

The first flower that blossomed on this earth
was an invitation to the unborn song.

Dawn—the many-coloured flower—fades,
and then the simple light-fruit,
the sun appears.

The muscle that has a doubt if its wisdom
throttles the voice that would cry.

The wind tries to take the flame by storm
only to blow it out.

Life's play is swift,
Life's playthings fall behind one by one
and are forgotten.

My flower, seek not thy paradise
in a fool's buttonhole.

Thou hast risen late, my crescent moon,
but my night bird is still awake to greet thee.

Darkness is the veiled bride
silently waiting for the errant light
to return to her bosom.

Trees are the earth's endless effort to
speak to the listening heaven.

The burden of self is lightened
when I laugh at myself.

The weak can be terrible
because they try furiously to appear strong.

The wind of heaven blows,
The anchor desperately clutches the mud,
and my boat is beating its breast against the chain.

The spirit of death is one,
the spirit of life is many,
Whe God is dead religion becomes one.

The blue of the sky longs for the earth's green,
the wind between them sighs, "Alas."
Day's pain muffled by its own glare,
burns among stars in the night.

The stars crowd round the virgin night
in silent awe at her loneliness
that can never be touched.

The cloud gives all its gold
to the departing sun
and greets the rising moon
with only a pale smile.

He who does good comes to the temple gate,
he who loves reaches the shrine.

Flower, have pity for the worm,
it is not a bee,
its love is a blunder and a burden.

With the ruins of terror's triumph
children build their doll's house.

The lamp waits through the long day of neglect
for the flame's kiss in the night.

Feathers in the dust lying lazily content
have forgotten their sky.

The flowers which is single
need not envy the thorns
that are numerous.

The world suffers most from the disinterested tyranny
of its well-wisher.

We gain freedom whrn we have paid the full price
for our right to live.

Your careless gifts of a moment,
like the meteors of an autumn night,
catch fire in the depth of my being.

The faith waiting in the heart of a seed
promises a miracle of life
which it cannot prove at once.

Spring hesitates at winter's door,
but the mango blossom rashly runs our to him
before her time and meets her doom.

The world is the ever-changing foam
thet floats on the surface of a sea of silence.

The two separated shores mingle their voices
in a song of unfathomed tears.

As a river in the sea,
work finds its fulfilment
in the depth of leisure.

I lingered on my way till thy cherry tree lost ist bossom,
but the azalea brins to me, my love, thy forgiveness.

Thy shy little pomegranate bud,
blushing to-day behind her veil,
will burst into a passionate flower
to-morrow when I am away.

The clumsiness of power spoils the key,
and uses the pickaxe.

Birth is from the mystery of night
into the grerater mystery of day.

These paper boats of mine are meant to dance
on the ripples of hours,
and not to reach any destination.

Migratory songs wing from my heart
and seek their nests in your voice of love.

The sea of danger, doubt and denial
around man's little island of certainty
challenges him to dare the unknown.

Love punishes when it forgives,
and injured beauty by its awful silence.

You live alone and unrecompensed
because they are afraid of your great worth.

The same sun is newly born in new lands
in a ring of endless dawns.

God is world is ever renewed by death,
a Titan's ever crushed by its own existence.

The glow-worm while exploring the dust
never knows that stars are in the sky.

The tree is of to-day, the flower is old,
it brings with it the message
of the immemorial seed.

Each rose that comes brings me greetings
from the Rose of an eternal spring.
God honours me when I work,
He loves me when I sing.

My love of to-day finds no home
in the nest deserted by yesterday's love.

The fire of pain tracse for my soul
a luminous path across her sorrow.

The grass survives the hill
through its resurrections from countless deaths.

Thou hast vanished from my reach
leaving an impalpable touch in the blue of the sky,
an invisible image in the wind moving
among the shadows.

In pity for the desolate branch
spring leaves to it a kiss that fluttered in a lonely leaf.

The shy shadow in the farden
loves the sun in silence,
Flowers guess the secret, and mile,
while the leaves whisper.

I leave no trace of wings in the air,
but I am glad I have had my flight.

The fireflies, twinkling among leaves,
make the stars wonder.

The mountain remains unmoved
at its seeming defeat by the mist.

While the rose said to the sun,
"I shall ever remember thee,"
her petals fell to the dust.

Hills are the earth's gesture of despair
for the unreachable.

Though the thorn in thy flower pricked me,
O Beauty,
I am grateful.

The world knows that the few
are more than the many.

Let not my love be a burden on you, my friend,
know that it pays itself.

Dawn plays her lute before the gate of darkness,
and is content to vanish when the sun comes out.

Beauty is truth's smile
when she beholds her own face
in a perfect mirror.

The dew-drop knows the sun
only within its own tiny orb.

Forlorn thoughts from the forsaken hives of all ages,
swarming in the air, hum round my heart
and seek my voice.

The desert is imprisoned in the wall
of its unbounded barrenness.

In the thrill of little leaves
I see the air's invisible dance,
and in their glimmering
the secret heart-beats of the sky.

You are like a flowering tree,
amazed when I praise you for your gifts.

The earth's sacrifical fire
flames up in her trees,
scattering sparks in flowers.

Foretsts, the clouds of earth,
hold up to the sky their silence,
and clouds from above come down
in resonant showers.

The world speaks to me in pictures,
my soul answers in music.

The sky tells its beads all night
on the countless stars
in memory of the sun.

The darkness of night, like pain, is dumb,
the darkness of dawn, like peace, is silent.

Pride engraves his frowns in stones,
loe offers her surrender in flowers.

The obsequious brush curtails truth
in diference to the canvas which is narrow.

The hill in its longing for the far-away sky
wishes to be like the cloud
with its endless urge of seeking.

To justify their own spilling of ink
they spell the day as night.

Profit smiles on goodness
when the good is profitable.

In its swelling pride
the bubble doubts the turth of the sea,
and laughs and bursts into emptiness.

Love is an endless mystery,
for it has nothing else to explain its.

My clouds, sorrowing in the dark,
forget that they themselves
have hidden the sun.

Man discovers his own wealth
when God comes to ask gifts of him.

You leave your memory as a flame
to my lonely lamp of separation.

I came to offer thee a flower,
but thou must have all my garden,—
It is thine.

The picture—a memory of light
treasured by the shadow.

It is easy to make faces at the sun,
He is exposed by his own light in all

History slowly smothers its truth,
but hastily struggles to revive it
in the terrible penance of pain.

My work is rewarded in daily wages,
I wait for my final value in love.

Beauty knows to say, "Enough,"
barbarism clamours for still more.

God loves to see in me, not his servant,
but himself who serves all.

The darkness of night is in harmony with day,
the morning of mist is discordant.

In the bounteous time of roses love is wine,—
it is food in the famished hour
when their petals are shed.

An unknown flower in a strange land
speaks to the poet:
"Are we not of the same soil, my lover?"

I am able to love my God
because He gives me freedom to deny Him.

My untuned strings beg for music
in their anguished cry of shame.

The worm thinks it strange and foolish
that man does not eat his books.

The clouded sky to-day bears the visior
of the shadow of a divine sadness
on the forehead of brooding eternity.

The shade of my tree is for passers-by,
its fruit for the one for whom I wait.

Flushed with the glow of sunset
earth seems like a ripe fruit
ready to be harvested by night.

Light accepts darkness for his spouse
for the sake of creation.

The reed waits for his master's breath,
the Master goes seeking for his reed.

To the blind pen the hand that writes is unreal,
its writing unmeaning.

The sea smites his own barren breast
because he has no flowers to offer to the moon.

The greed for fruit misses the flower.

God in His temple of stars
waits for man to bring him his lamp.

The fire restrained in the tree fashions flowers.
Released from bonds, the shameless flame
dies in barren ashes.

The sky sets no snare to capture the moon,
it is her own freedom which binds her.
The light that fills the sky
seeks its limit in a dew-drop on the grass.

Wealth is the burden of bigness,
Welfare the fulness of being.

The razor-blade is proud of its keenness
when it sneers at the sun.

The butterfly has leisure to love the lotus,
not the bee busily storing honey.

Child, thou bringest to my heart
the babble of the wind and the water,
the flower's speechless secrets, the clouds' dreams,
the mute gaze of wonder of the morning sky.

The rainbow among the clouds may be great
but the little butterfly among the bushes is greater.

The mist weaves her net round the morning,
captivates him, and makes him blind.

The Morning Star whispers to Dawn,
"Tell me that you are only for me."
"Yes," she answers,
"And also only for that nameless flower."

The sky remains infinitely vacant
for earth there to build its heaven with dreams.

Perhaps the crescent moon smiles in doubt
at being told that it is a fragment
awaiting perfection.

Let the evening forgive the mistakes of the day
and thus win peace for herself.

Beauty smiles in the confinement of the bud,
in the heart of a sweet incompleteness.

Your flitting love lightly brushed with its wings
my sun-flower
and never asked if it was ready to surrender its honey.

Leaves are silences
around flowers which are their words.

The tree bears its thousand years
as one large majestic moment.

My offerings are not for the temple at the end of the road,
but for the wayside shrines
that surprise me at every bend.

Hour smile, my love, like the smell of a strange flower,
is simple and inexplicable.

Death laughs when the merit of the dead is exaggerated
for it swells his store with more than he can claim.

The sigh of the shore follows in vain
the breeze that hastens the ship across the sea.

Truth loves its limits,
for there it meets the beautiful.

Between the shores of Me and Thee
there is the loud ocean, my own surging self,
which I long to cross.

The right to possess boasts foolishly
of its right to enjoy.

The rose is a great deal more
than a blushing apology for the thorn.

Day offers to the silence of stars
his golden lute to be tuned
for the endless life.

The wise know how to teach,
the fool how to smite.

The centre is still and silent in the heart
of an enternal dance of circles.

The judge thinks that he is just when he compares
The oil of another's lamp
with the light of his own.

The captive flower in the King's wreath
smiles bitterly when the meadow-flower envies her.

Its store of snow is the hill's own burden,
its outpouring if streams is borne by all the world.

Listen to the prayer of the forest
for its freedom in flowers.

Let your love see me
even through the barrier of nearness.

The spirit of work in creation is there
to carry and help the spirit of play.

To carry the burden of the insturment,
count the cost of its material,
and never to know that it is for music,
is the tragedy of deaf life.

Faith is the bird that feels the light
and sings when the dawn is still dark.

I bring to thee, night, my day's empty cup,
to be cleansed with thy cool darkness
for a new morning's festival.

The mountain fir, in its rustling,
modulates the memory of its fights with the storm
into a hymn of peace.

God honoured me with his fight
when I was rebellious,
He ignored me when I was languid.

The sectarina thinks
that he has the sea
ladled into his private pond.

In the shady depth of life
are the lonely nests of memories
that shrink from words.

Let my love find its strength
in the service of day,
its peace in the union of night.

Life sends up in blades of grass
its silent hymn of praise
to the unnamed Light.

The stars of night are to me
the memorials of my day's faded flowers.

Open thy door to that which must go,
for the loss becomes unseemly when obstructed.

True end is not in the reaching of the limit,
but in a completion which is limitless.

The shore whispers to the sea:
"Write to me what thy waves struggle to say."
The sea writes in foam again and again
and wipes off the lines in a boisterous despair.

Let the touch ofthy finger thrill my life's strings
and make the music thine and mine.

The inner world rounded in my life like a fruit,
matured in joy and sorrow,
will drop into the darkness of the orogonal soil
for some further course of creation.

Form is in Matter, rhythm in Force,
meaning in the Person.

There are seekers of wisdom and seekers of wealth,
I seek thy company so that I may sing.

As the tree its leaves, I shed my words on the earth,
let my thoughts unuttered flower in thy silence.

My faith in truth, my vision of the perfect,
help thee, Master, in thy creation.

All the delights that I have felt
in life's fruits and flowers
let me offer to thee at the end of the feast,
in a perfect union of love.

Some have thought deeply and explored the
meaning of thy truth,
and they are great;
I have listened to catch the music of thy play,
and I am glad.

The tree is a winged spirit
released from the bondage of seed,
pursuing its adventure of life
across the unknown.

The lotus offers its beauty to the heaven,
the grass its service to the earth.

The sun's kiss mellows into abandonment
the miserliness of the green fruit clinging to its stem.

The flame met the earthen lamp in me,
and what a great marvel of light!

Mistakes live in the neighbourhood of truth
and therefore delude us.

The cloud laughed at the rainbow
saying that is was an upstart
gaudy in its emptiness.
The rainbow calmly answered,
"I am as inevitably real as tha sun himself."

Let me not grope in vain in the dark
but keep my mind still in the faith
that the day will break
and truth will appear
in its simplicity.

Through the silent night
I hear the returning vagrant hopes of the morning
knock at my heart.

My new love comes
bringing to me the eternal wealth of the old.

The earth gazes at the moon and wonders
that she sould have all her music in her smile.

Day with its glare of curiosity
puts the stars to flight.

My mind has itstrue union with thee, O sky,
at the window which is mine own,
and not in the open
where thou hast thy sole kingdom.

Man claims God's flowers as his own
when he weaves them in a garland.

The buried city, laid bare to the sun of a new age,
is ashamed that is has lost all its song.

Like my heart's pain that has long missed its meaning,
the sun's rays robed in dark
hide themselves under the ground.
Like my heart'spain at love's sudden touch,
they change their veil at the spring's call
and come out in the carnival of colours,
in flowers and leaves.

My life's empty flute
waits for its final music
like the primal darkness
before the stars came out.

Emancipation from the bondage of the soil
is no freedom for the tree.

The tapestry of life's story is woven
with the threads of life's ties
ever joining and breaking.

Those thoughts of mine that are never captured by words
perch upon my song and dance.

My soul to-night loses itself
in the silent heart of a tree
standing alone among the whispers of immensity.

Pearl shells cast up by the sea
on death's barren beach,—
a magnificent wastefulness of creative life.

The sunlight opens for me the word's gate,
love's light its terasure.

My life like the reed with ist stops,
has its play od colours
through the gaps in its hopes and gains.

Let not my thanks to thee
rob my silence of its fuller homage.

Life's aspirations come
in the guise of children.

The faded flower sighs
that the spring has vanished for ever.

In my life's garden
my wealth has been of the shadows and lights
that are never gathered and stored.

The fruit that I Have gained for ever
is thet which thou hast accepted.

The jasmine knows the sun to be her brother
in the heaven.

Light is young, the ancient light;
shadows are of the moment, they are born old.

I feel that the ferry of my songs at the day's end
will brong me across to the other shore
from where I shall see.

The butterfly flitting from flower to flower
ever remains mine,
I lose the one that is netted by me.

Your voice, free bird, reaches my sleeping nest,
and my drowsy wings dream
of a voyage to the light
above the clouds.

I miss the meaning of my own part
in the play of life
because I know not of the parts
that others play.

The flower sheds all its petals
and finds the fruit.

I leave my songs behind me
to the bloom of the ever-returning honeysuckles
and the joy of the wind from the south.

Dead leaves when they lose themselves in soil
take part in the life of the forest.

The mind ever seeks its words
from its sounds and silence
as the sky from its darkness and light.

The unseen dark plays on his flute
and the rhythm of light
eddies into stars and suns,
into thoughts and reams.

My songs are to sing
that I have loved Thy singing.

When the voice of the Silent touches my words
I know him and therefore I know myself.

My last salutations are to them
who knew me imperfect and loved me.

Love's gift cannot be given,
it waits to be accepted.

When death comes and whispers to me,
"Thy days are ended,"
let me say to him, "I have lived in love
and not in mere time."
He will ask, "Will thy songs remain?"
I shall say, "I know not, but this I know
that often when I sang I found my eternity."

"Let me light my lamp,"
say the star,
'and never debate
if it will help to remove the darkness."

Before the end of my journey
may I reach within myself
the one which is the all,
leaving the outer shell
to float away with the drifting multitude
upon the current of chance and change.

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Sunday, May 23, 2010

Wettersaeule Aachen Bahnhof Verwaltungsgebaeude

Das Wetter - live

Die Aachener Wettersäule auf dem städtischen Verwaltungsgebäude am Bahnhof wird von der Zentralwarte der STAWAG gesteuert. Die Säule zeigt durch ihr verschiedenfarbiges Licht von Kugel und Schaft an, wie das Wetter in den nächsten Stunden wird.

Die Funktion

Das Wetteramt Essen liefert die Wettervorhersagedaten. Nach Einbruch der Dämmerung wird die Wettersäule über einen Fernsteuerbefehl eingeschaltet. Nach Sonnenaufgang wird sie ebenfalls ferngesteuert ausgeschaltet. Die Zentralwarte der STAWAG prüft die Funktion.

Der Schaft:

  • Steigendes Licht: Temperatur steigend
  • Fallendes Licht: Temperatur fallend
  • Konstantes Licht: Temperatur gleich bleibend

Die Kugel:

  • Blaues Licht: heiter bis wolkig und trocken
  • Goldgelbes Licht: bedeckt bis bewölkt, ohne Niederschlag
  • Weißes Licht: Niederschläge, Regen oder Schnee
  • Dauerlicht: beständige Wettertendenz
  • Blinkendes Licht: unbeständige Wettertendenz

Die Historie


Bau der Wettersäule nach dem Vorbild eines Wetterturmes in New York


Übergabe an die Stadt Aachen nach Fertigstellung


Stilllegung der Anlage


Übernahme und Reparatur durch die STAWAG


Grundlegende Restaurierung und Erneuerung mit Fernschaltung über die Rundsteuerung

Die technischen Daten

  • Erbaut 1956
  • Höhe 11 Meter
  • Gesamthöhe über 40 Meter
  • 180 Leuchtröhren in 3 Farben
  • 11 Einstellmöglichkeiten

Wer kennt sie nicht, die Aachener Wettersäule auf dem städtischen Verwaltungsgebäude am Bahnhof. 1956 wurde sie von dem Aachener Unternehmer Pongs nach New Yorker Vorbild für seine Heimatstadt Aachen in Auftrag gegeben. Insgesamt besteht die Wettersäule aus 180 Leuchtröhren in 3 Farben und es bestehen 18 verschiedene Einstellungsmöglichkeiten. Die Säule zeigt bei Dunkelheit durch ihr verschiedenfarbiges Licht von Kugel und Schaft an, wie das Wetter am folgenden Tag wird.

Nach ihrer Fertigstellung wurde die 11 Meter hohe, in Deutschland einmaligen Wettersäule, im Jahr 1958 an die Stadt Aachen übergeben und erlangte schnell den Charakter eines modernen Wahrzeichens. Durch den Aufbau auf dem Verwaltungsgebäude beträgt die Gesamthöhe über 40 Meter. So bekommt auch sicherlich so mancher aufmerksamer Zugreisender aus Richtung Köln bei Einfahrt in den Aachener Bahnhof den ersten fragenden Augenkontakt mit, was dieses Gebilde auf dem Dach des Hochhauses wohl sei. Etwa ein Denkmal, ein Kunstobjekt oder eine altmodische Sendemastanlage. In Kombination mit dem ebenfalls auf dem Dach befindlichen Luftsirenenpilz ist es für manchen Ortsfremden ein unlösbares Rätsel. Betrachtet man die Säule in voller Funktion bei Dunkelheit scheidet auch die Vermutung, eine besonders große Leuchtreklame erblickt zu haben, aus, da sich der Sinn und somit die Werbebotschaft dem staunenden Betrachter nicht erschließt.

Nacht für Nacht zeigt die Wettersäule durch ihre verschieden farbige Leucht- und Blinkkombinationen die bevorstehende Wetterlage an. Wie viele Leute die Aachener Wetterprognose in den Abend- und frühen Morgenstunden zur Kenntnis nehmen, ist unbekannt. Nicht unbekannt ist aber die Tatsache, dass ich mich schon seit frühere Kindheit in den Sechsziger Jahren an den stählernden Wetterfrosch erinnern kann. Mein Vater führte zusammen mit meinem Opa ein Friseurgeschäft in der Kurbrunnenstraße mit freiem Blick auf die in der Nachbarschaft leuchtende Säule. Ich erinnere mich daran, dass ich im Winter schon als Kind vor dem zu Bett gehen neugierig aus dem Fenster Richtung Wettersäule geschaut habe, um endlich die erlösende weiße Anzeige zu sehen, dass in der Nacht oder am nächsten Tag endlich Schnee fallen würde, damit meine Gleitschuhe und mein Schlitten zum Einsatz kommen können. Heutzutage blicke ich im Sommer auf die Wettersäule um Grillabende besser planen zu können oder im Winter, ob bei fallenden Temperaturen Frost oder Schnee gemeldet wird, damit ich einplanen kann morgens meine Autoscheiben frei kratzen zu müssen.

So hatte ich in den letzten 40 Jahren von meinen verschiedenen Wohnungen aus das Glück den kostenlosen Service der Wettersäule nutzen zu können. Richtig nutzen kann man dies jedoch nur, wenn man auch das Einmaleins der Lichtsignale kennt:

Der Schaft zeigt entweder steigendes Licht bei steigenden Temperaturen, fallendes Licht bei fallenden Temperaturen oder konstantes Licht bei gleichbleibenden Temperaturen anzeigen.

Die wie eine große Krone thronende Kugel bietet mehrere Möglichkeiten der Wetteranzeige. Die beliebteste Anzeige dürfte wohl das blaue Licht sein. Es steht für heiter bis wolkig und trocken. Gelbes Licht bedeutet bedeckt bis bewölkt, ohne Niederschlag. Bei weißem Licht sollte am nächsten Tag der Schirm mitgenommen werden, es sind Niederschläge, Regen oder im Winter sogar Schnee zu erwarten. Erstrahlt die Kugel im Dauerlicht so sind beständige Wettertendenzen zu erwarten. Bei blinkendem Licht werden unbeständige Wettertendenzen erwartet.

Es meldeten sich sofort Dutzende Anrufer bei der STAWAG Zentrale, von wo aus heutzutage die Wettersäule gesteuert wird, wenn diese einmal ihren Dienst versagt. Da sich die Ausfälle mehrten, erfolgte 1974 die Stilllegung der gesamten Anlage. Es dauerte 3 Jahre bis die STAWAG die Wettersäule repariert hatte. 1983 erfolgte eine grundlegende Restaurierung und Erneuerung mit Fernschaltung. Zuletzt war die Säule im Jahr 2008 für 4 Wochen ausser Betrieb als bei Wartungsarbeiten die Röhren erneuert wurden und die ganze Säule gereinigt wurde. von Uwe Reuters Oktober 2009

Dubuque, Iowa.

The top light shows the forecast conditions,

* White = Clear
* Green = Cloudy
* Red = Rain
* Flashing red = Snow

The lights on the beacon's tower show the temperature forecast,

* Steady = No change
* Flashing up = Warmer
* Flashing down = Colder

Weather beacon

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

"Weatherball" redirects here. For the antenna-protecting structure, see Radome.

A weather beacon is a beacon that indicates the local weather forecast in a code of colored or flashing lights. Often, a short poem or jingle accompanies the code to make it easier to remember. (example)

The beacon is usually on the roof of a tall building in a central business district, but some are attached to towers. The beacons are most commonly owned by financial services companies and television stations and are part of advertising and public relations programs. They provide a very basic forecast for the general public and not as an aid to navigation.

In addition to displaying weather forecasts, some weather beacons have been used to signal victory or defeat for a professional sports home team.


The first attempt to create a weather beacon as a form of advertising was from Douglas Leigh, who, in 1941, arranged a lighting scheme for the Empire State Building to display a weather forecast code with a decoder to be packaged with Coca-Cola bottles. The plan was never implemented because of the attack on Pearl Harbor later that year. Mr. Leigh resurrected his idea in Minneapolis in October 1949 with the Northwestern National Bank Weatherball.

In Australia, the Mutual Life and Citizens insurance company installed weather beacons atop its buildings in 1957 and '58.

Weather beacons were most popular during the 1950s and '60s.

* Coastal warning display tower
* Time ball
* Paris balloon
* Harbinger at The Met Condos, Toronto, is a colored beacon on the roof that indicates the current wind speed.

List of weather beacons


* New South Wales
o MLC Building, North Sydney
o Westpac Place, Sydney

* Queensland
o Hitachi Building (MLC Building), 239 George Street, Brisbane (1976 -- 6pm, 26 November 2007)
o Old MLC Building, 243 Edward Street, Brisbane (28 July 1958 -- ????; non-functioning)

* South Australia
o Beacon House (MLC Building), Victoria Square, Adelaide (June 1958 -- December 1979)

* Victoria
o IOOF Building (formerly MLC), 303 Collins Street, Melbourne (1973 -- ????; non-functioning)
o Carlton & United Brewery, Abbotsford

* Western Australia
o Kingsgate Apartments (formerly MLC building) 171 St Georges Terrace, Perth (October 1957 -- ????; dismantled)


* Who's afraid of Red, Green and Blue: Weather Tower, Dexia Tower, Brussels (22 October 2007 -- 22 December 2007)


* Kitchener City Hall, Kingston, Ontario
* Canada Life Building, Toronto, Ontario (9 August 1951 -- present)
* 505 Boulevard René-Lévesque Ouest, Montreal, Quebec (dismantled)
* The Plains Hotel, Regina


* Vejrpigerne (Weather Girls), Richshuset, The City Hall Square, Copenhagen
* Tomorrow's Weather, Copenhagen


* Die Aachener Wettersäule, Aachen


* Tempozan Harbor Village Ferris wheel, Osaka


* Beyaz?t Tower, Istanbul

United Kingdom

* Light Towers Project (Coventry Point, Mercia House, Hillman House), Coventry
* Castlemilk Lighting Project, Glasgow

United States

* California
o Mattei Building (formerly Guarantee Savings), Fresno (non-functioning)
o KXTV Weather Tower, Sacramento (24 August 2001 -- present)
o One Rincon Hill South Tower, San Francisco (8 December 2008 -- present)

* Florida
o American Federal Savings and Loan Association weather ball, Fidelity Storage building, 53 W. Jackson St., Orlando (1963 -- 1974; dismantled)
o First Federal Savings & Loan, Fourth Street and Central Avenue, St. Petersburg (1953 -- 6 April 1970)

* Illinois
o Weather Bell, Bell Federal Savings Building (street level), 79 West Monroe Street, Chicago
+ Bell Federal Savings branch office, Michigan Avenue, Chicago
o WLS-TV Thermometer, Marina City, Chicago (1964 -- 1978; dismantled)

* Iowa
o KCCI, Des Moines
o American Trust Tower, Dubuque
o KCAU-TV Weather Ball, Terra Centre, Sioux City

* Kentucky
o Cincinnati Radisson, Covington

* Louisiana
o Falstaff Brewery Weather Ball, 2601 Gravier St, New Orleans (1 August 1952 -- 7 December 1978; 2008 -- present)

* Massachusetts
o Berkeley Building, Boston (15 March 1950 -- present)

* Michigan
o Citizens Bank Weatherball, Flint (30 October 1956 -- present)
o 13 Weatherball, WZZM-TV, Grand Rapids (1967 -- 1987 as Michigan National Bank; 2003 -- present)

* Minnesota
o WEBC Weather Beacon, Duluth
o Northwestern National Bank Weatherball, Minneapolis (7 October 1949 -- November 1982; dismantled)
+ Saint Paul branch office (dismantled)
+ Montevideo branch office
+ Rochester branch office
* Missouri
o KCTV Tower, Kansas City
o Business Men's Assurance Company (BMA) weather beacon, 215 W. Pershing Road, Kansas City (dismantled)
o Terra Cotta Lofts (formerly General American Life Insurance Company building), 1501 Locust Street, St. Louis (1956 -- 1979)

* Montana
o US Bank Tower, Billings (dismantled)
o Union Bank Weather Ball, Helena

* Nebraska
o KMTV Weather Tower, N. 72nd Street, Omaha

* New York
o Mutual of New York Building, W. 55th Street & Broadway, New York City (non-functioning)
o AXA (MONY) Weatherstar, Syracuse

* North Dakota
o Provident Beacon, Bismarck

* Ohio
o Chiquita Center, Cincinnati (non-functioning)

* Oklahoma
o First Liberty Bank, Ramsey Tower/City Place, Oklahoma City (dismantled)
o NBT Weather Teller, 320 South Boston Building, Tulsa

* Oregon
o Standard Insurance Plaza, Portland
o Weather Machine, Pioneer Courthouse Square, Portland

* Pennsylvania
o WTAE-TV Weather Watch, Carnegie Science Center, Pittsburgh
o Gulf Tower, Pittsburgh
o Berks County Courthouse, 633 Court Street, Reading, Pennsylvania

* South Dakota
o KELO weatherball, Sherman Hotel, Aberdeen (dismantled)
o First National Bank, Pierre
o National Bank of South Dakota (now US Bank), 141 N. Main Avenue, Sioux Falls (non-functioning)
+ East Branch, East 10th & Omaha, Sioux Falls (dismantled)
+ South Branch, 33rd & Minnesota, Sioux Falls (non-functioning)
+ Sunset Branch, West 41st & Louise Avenue (dismantled)

* Tennessee
o Provident Weather Beacon, Provident Life and Accident Insurance Company (now Unum), Maclellan Building, Chattanooga (12 January 1952 -- ????; dismantled)
o Life & Casualty Tower, Nashville

* Texas
o Mercantile Weather Tower, Mercantile National Bank Building, Dallas (1958--1993; 12 February 2008 -- present)
o 100 North Stanton Street, El Paso (1955 -- ????; non-functioning)
o Texas National Bank (later Conoco) Weather Eye, Travis Tower, Houston (17 October 1955 -- 1964; dismantled)
o Alamo National Bank weather spire (now Drury Plaza Hotel), 105 S. St. Mary's Street, San Antonio

* Utah
o KSL-TV 5 Eyewitness Weather Tower, Trolley Square, Salt Lake City
o Walker Center, 175 S. Main Street, Salt Lake City (1953 -- 1982; 2008 -- present)

* Virginia
o Newmarket Shopping Center, Newport News[citation needed]
* Wisconsin
o Weather Flame, Wisconsin Gas Building, Milwaukee (1956 -- present)
o Oshkosh
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Friday, May 21, 2010

Maori lover boys in Austria 1860

NZ Herald

Strangers in a strange land: Toetoe and Te Rerehau in Vienna

4:00AM Saturday Oct 17, 2009 By Chris Barton

Film-maker Tearepa Kahi joined forces with producer Alexander Behse to create a feeling of what it was like to walk in the shoes of Wiremu Toetoe and Hemara Te Rerehau. Photo / Brett Phibbs

When Wiremu Toetoe and Hemara Te Rerehau went to Europe in 1859 on board the Austrian frigate Novara, Te Rerehau kept a journal.

His beautiful cursive handwriting tells, in te reo Maori, of wondrous things:
"Water comes out of fountains made in the form of lions and bears, for they have gaping mouths and water gushes forth from inside the mouths of these animals which are made of stone."

There was also a meeting with Emperor Franz Josef, travelling by "land steamer" and seeing tigers and lions for the first time at the Imperial Zoological Gardens in Vienna.

"When the lion roars in hunger, his tail shakes ... On his tail there is a cluster of hair with a pointed end like the horn of a cow."

But while Te Rerehau's wide-eyed observations tell much of the pair's excellent adventure, for a diary-like account there's a surprising lack of private thoughts.

There is little mention, for example, of how each of them interacted with Austrian women - except that they seemed to be in high demand, needing an appointment book to keep track of their social engagements.

And on the scandal - that Toetoe had a son, with the daughter of an officer no less, and that the mother was unable to keep her child, who was sent away to an orphanage in Hungary - Te Rerehau's journal is silent.

It's just one of the twists and turns uncovered in The Flight of Te Hookioi, a documentary retelling Toetoe and Te Rerehau's remarkable story.

A story that sees the emperor gift the two Maori chiefs a printing press that makes its way back to New Zealand, briefly produces Te Hookioi, a te reo newspaper promoting the Kingitanga movement, and then ends up rusting on the banks of Waipa River.

"We made a decision to try to create a feeling of what it is like to walk in their shoes in taking this journey," says director Tearepa Kahi.

"I was in awe and when we went through these places - the Vienna Zoo, the Imperial Palace - there were moments when I felt a sense of what they must have gone through."

The story begins early in 1859 when the Austrian Empire included the ports of Trieste and Venice. At the behest of Archduke Maximilian, brother of the Emperor and head of the Imperial Navy, the frigate Novara sailed into the Waitemata Harbour. On board were a team of seven scientists - including Dr Ferdinand von Hochstetter, who later became known as the father of New Zealand geology.

The Novara, on a round-the-world scientific expedition, was boldly going to new worlds, seeking out new knowledge and adding to its collection of specimens in any way it could.

The chief scientist, Karl von Scherzer, wrote in his journal: "Since the first day of our arrival, I gave the order to have some nice tattooed aboriginals who are capable and willing to accompany us as seamen on the Novara."

Which is how Toetoe, 32, and Te Rerehau, 20, began their journey. Kahi and producer Alexander Behse began theirs on Te Kotahitanga Marae in the Waikato. For the German-born Behse, getting the permission from the whanau was the standout moment.

He'd never been called on to a marae before.

"I've never needed to go down that track. That for me was very scary." Permission wasn't automatic and both Behse and Kahi got quite a grilling.

"There were moments in there where I would have just liked to walk out," says Behse, who had been looking for a story about German and New Zealand cultural exchange. Part-adventure, part-history and part-travel, it had all the elements his company, Monsoon Pictures, specialises in.

Although he had lived in New Zealand for five years, on the marae Behse was a stranger in strange land. Normally getting the green light involves sorting out the mundane issue of whether any copyright exists. Here, as Behse was confronted with questions about what gave him the right to tell the story, none of that counted. "The Maori world is different. It is their story, no matter how old it is."

For Kahi, of Tainui descent, there was simply no choice. Seeking the whanau's blessing is what you do - something he has done many times before, including for his award-winning short film Taua, when he had asked for permission to drag a waka through the dense bush of the Waitakere Ranges in West Auckland.

"All of that matters very little when you are dealing with someone's direct ancestor. You come in with credentials, that you've made stuff before. But for the whanau it's, 'You're talking about our great-great-great-grandfather - so who are you and what will you do with him?"'

Much to Behse's relief, consent was given, making for a better story. The climax is a return to the marae for an emotional presentation to the whanau of their research findings - including a signed copy of the contract Toetoe and Te Rerehau made with the captain of the Novara, plus long-lost photos of both men.

There is a Austrian counterpart to the marae scene in the small ballroom of the Imperial Palace, where Kahi meets Michael and Markus Habsburg, great-grand-nephews of the Austrian Emperor.

Kahi greets the startled descendants with a formal mihi and then presents them with a copy of the first edition of Te Hookioi, which carries the words: "This publication was made with the printing press that was gifted by the King of Austria."

The Austrian segment - shot in seven days - also turned the tables on Kahi, who was now the stranger in a strange land, whereas Behse, who knew Vienna well, was in comfortable territory and using his German language to open doors.

He was helped by Dr Georg Sauer's thesis which, drawing on the journals and writing of Hochstetter, provided more detail of Toetoe and Te Rerehau's time in Vienna.

Initially, the pair were deliberately kept "out of sight of the public eye" by Alois Auer, head of the Imperial Printery, where they learned all aspects of the printing trade. But eventually they made a spectacular public debut in a procession with the crew of the Novara.

Te Rerehau writes: "When the Pakeha noticed us, all the onlookers shouted 'bravo, bravo,
New Zealand'; they holloed at us and followed us ... Soon the Pakeha were rushing in and dragging us out of the procession and the women too pulled at us to have a good look, whereupon the batons of the policemen fell upon the people who were dragging us in this unruly way."

After their public outing, the two Maori in Vienna became sought-after objects of curiosity. Sauer talks about people watching them eat - apparently thinking they might be dining on human flesh.
There is reference also to their "gallant propensities" and full appointment book for social engagements.

Kahi remains astonished by Te Rerehau's journal, which was originally translated by Maori language scholar Dr Helen Hogan in her book Bravo, Neu Zeeland.

"It's a real piece of Maori literature. There are beautiful words in this diary that we don't hear any more."

Unfortunately, the journal stops just as Toetoe and Te Rerehau are about to depart Vienna, leaving Kahi and Behse to piece together what happens next from other sources. Especially useful was Dr Sascha Nolden's doctorate on Hochstetter.

Kahi, as both narrator and interviewer, tells Toetoe's and Te Rerehau's story in a deeply personal and culturally distinctive style.

But the return to New Zealand raises more questions than it answers. On their way home, Toetoe and Te Rerehau travel to London with Hochstetter, gaining an audience with Queen Victoria and pledging their allegiance - just as war is breaking out in Taranaki.

Franz Josef's printing-press gift finds its way back to New Zealand, but strangely Toetoe and Te Rerehau, now well-versed in all aspects of print, have little involvement in what it produces.

Briefly, the te reo newspaper Te Hokioi e Rere Atu Na (The Mythical Bird that Flies Up There) does cause a stir by promoting the cause of the Maori King and attacking the land greed of the Pakeha. The Government in Auckland is not pleased and sets up a rival te reo printing press, publishing Te Pihoihoi Moke Moke (The Lone Sparrow on the Rooftop), which offends many Maori with its criticism of their King and advocacy of Pakeha settlement of the Waikato.

The Waikato wars intervene and the press falls abruptly silent, ending up ignominiously
rusting on the banks of the Waipa River.

Quite how it gets there is unclear, although stories abound: about it tipping from a boat as it was being moved across the river, of the letter blocks being melted down for ammunition, and of it being used to press cakes of torori, or home-grown tobacco.

Kahi brings back what he knows to the whanau, but agrees the story of what happens to both men after their return to New Zealand waits to be told.

Te Rerehau comes back with a suit of armour, leads King Tawhiao's guards, and goes on to have a large family.

Toetoe, a postmaster before he left New Zealand, goes back into an administrative role. Eventually he dies penniless, found naked in the streets of Waiuku with no land and everything taken from him.

The Flight of Te Hookioi - 8.30pm Wednesday, October 21, Maori Television.

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