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Poetry
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27 July 2011
1.08pm
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McLennonSon
In the middle of the roundabout
Rishikesh
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10 May 2011
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27 July 2011
3.15pm
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mithveaen
Sitarday's room
Apple rooftop
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1 May 2010
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I wasn't that much into poetry until I read http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/F.....ndo_Pessoa

 

Love is a Company. (El amor es una compañia)

 

I enjoy Love's company

I don't know how to walk the roads alone

because I can't walk by myself
A visible thought makes me walk faster
and see less, and at the same time, makes me like even more when I see all
even his absense is a thing that's with me
and I like hm so much that I don't know how to want him
If I don't see him, I imagine him and I'm strong like tall trees
but if I see him, I tremble, I don't know what I have done with my feelings in his absence.
everything I am and all my strength abandones me
All the reality looks at me like a sunflower with his face in the middle

 

The happy sun is shining
 
The happy sun is shining
The fields are green and gay,
But my poor heart is pining
For something far away.
It's pining just for you,
It's pining for thy kiss.
It does not matter if you're true
To this.
What matter is just you.

I now the sea is beaming
Under the summer sun.
I know the waves are gleaming,
Each one and every one.
But I am far from you,
And so far from your kiss!
And that's all I get that's really true
In this.
What matters is just you.

Oh, yes, the sky is splendid,
So blue as it now,
The air and light are blended,
Oh yes, hot, anyhow,

Nothing of this is you
I'm absent from your kiss,
That's all I get that's sad and true
In this
What matter is just you.

 

If you can read his work I strongly recommend it. His masterpiece is The Book of Disquiet, I just got it and I'm going to read it next week.

 

Another poet I read when I was in school was Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz, proudly Mexican and one of the first feminist writers. I hate it her in those days but I'm reading again her work and it's fantastic. In my wish book list there are books written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning. 

 

Edit: Another poet I have read just one book and I love is Wislawa Szymborska. She won the Nobel Prize in 1996 and her poem Love at First Sight was Kryztoff Kieslowski inspiration for his movie Three Colors : Red.

 

Here's the poem in this link.

 

http://www.mission.net/poland/.....vesigh.htm

Here comes the sun….. Scoobie-doobie…… Something in the way she moves…..attracts me like a cauliflower… Bop. Bop, cat bop. Go, Johnny, Go. Beware of Darkness…  I believe in SH...
27 July 2011
10.23pm
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kelicopter
Sitting in an English Garden
Shea Stadium
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6 November 2010
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a-hard-days-night-ringo-8 heart

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "As I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—
Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box—
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "And your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!"

The following people thank kelicopter for this post:

Silly Girl
"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."
"When I cannot sing my heart, I can only speak my mind."
28 July 2011
1.18am
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Zig
The Toppermost of the Poppermost
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I'm a sucker for Poe (elementary penguin be damned!).

 

The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,'

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,' said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.'

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-nevermore."'

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.'

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,' I cried, `thy
God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!'
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

The following people thank Zig for this post:

Oudis

To the fountain of perpetual mirth, Let it roll for all its worth.

Every Little Thing you buy from Amazon or iTunes will help the Beatles Bible if you use these links: Amazon | iTunes

28 July 2011
4.17am
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PennyLane
Sitting singing songs for everyone by the mountain stream
Apple rooftop
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4 December 2010
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28 July 2011
9.48am
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An unidentified flying cupcake
The Star-Club
Forum Posts: 71
Member Since:
22 September 2010
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Zig said:

I'm a sucker for Poe (elementary penguin be damned!).

 

The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`'Tis some visitor,' I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.'
But the poem I really really like is Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. It just rings so true.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

My favourite poet is Mahmoud Darwish, a Palestinian poet whose works are translated into many languages. His death – not so long ago – was a tremendous loss..
Do I have to keep on talking till I can't go on!
28 July 2011
11.49am
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McLennonSon
In the middle of the roundabout
Rishikesh
Forum Posts: 831
Member Since:
10 May 2011
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Woman in Red (still in progress)

 

   Woman in Red

   Yes, She's the Woman in Red 

   Woman in Red

   Yes, She's the Woman in Red

   She's always asking you

   'What The Heck Is A Bed?'

 

She keeps you down

You wanna go up

If you try to argue with her

she will go stuck

 

She don't have a cup

only hand

She's the queen of losers

but always command

 

   Woman in Red

   Yes, She's the Woman in Red

   Woman in Red

   Yes, She's the Woman in Red

   She don't have car

   so she goes to work with a dog-sled

 

Always on the run

She having no fun

Always serious

Still is anxious

 

She hikes day and night

Has to be polite

She's no good woman

Beacause she's belgian 

 

   Woman in Red

   Yes, She's the Woman in Red

   Woman in Red

   Yes, She's the Woman in Red

   She's so fast 

   She's always ahead


My Music Blog. One and one don't make two One and one make one.
29 July 2011
11.16am
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The Walrus
Working for the national health
Apple rooftop
Forum Posts: 1036
Member Since:
4 December 2010
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If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

The following people thank The Walrus for this post:

Oudis
And I neeeeeeeeed her all the time
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