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Poems and Poets

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01 Mar 2014 18:15

Christian wrote:E até lá, Portuguezes! trabalhae.
Que EI-Rey-Menino náo tarda a surgir,
Que elle ha-de vir, ha-de vir, ha-de vir!

- Antonio Pereira Nobre, Despedidas (1895-1899)

And until then, portuguese - work!
So that the Child-king may soon return,
For he has to come, has to come, has to come!


I have worked with Portuguese people and they start dead on time, leave dead on time and to the shame of us all in-between work like a pack mule:)
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01 Mar 2014 18:17

Zam_Olyas wrote:Thank you, Good Christian.

edit: tinkov did call me a troll..in regards to your question on that thread...coz i told him he was full of ****


If I am a troll,
It is because I am flotsam and jetsam,
A dandelion seed on a breeze,
Carried without direction at the mercy of the forces that take me.
Powerless and….
Defeated.
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27 Oct 2014 23:43

Ich kenne die Weise, ich kenne den Text,
Ich kenn auch die Herren Verfasser;
Ich weiß, sie tranken heimlich Wein
Und predigten öffentlich Wasser.

Heinrich Heine - Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen

I know the tune, I know the words,
I also know every author;
I know they secretly drank wine,
While publicly preaching water.

Heinrich Heine - Germany. A winter's tale

http://www.heinrich-heine.net/winter/wintereng1.htm
piccoli equivoci senza importanza.

Visit my blog on spanish history: http://www.histoires-espagnoles.blogspot.fr
User avatar Christian
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28 Oct 2014 00:50

Interesting. Any reason for this poem at this time?

(Also, I had forgotten just how long it was, it has been literally ages since the last time I read it, about a decade I guess)
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28 Oct 2014 03:46

Vandaag de dag als was zo piercing
Tot niet voorstellen dat de smaak, hoewel de wind blaast schande schande
In plaats van dorre bladeren vallende bladeren

Eerlijk dit hart vol van verdachte
Maar geen tijd om de mond te spreken
Het lied van de nacht, zoemen zoemen in de oren
Verstoren het gebrul vroeg krachtterm

In het stof dat te lang bedekt
Wist je sterft Wanneer vermoedelijk
Toen verliet gegaan niets.
rosasiva
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30 Oct 2014 16:01

Rechtschreibfehler wrote:Interesting. Any reason for this poem at this time?

(Also, I had forgotten just how long it was, it has been literally ages since the last time I read it, about a decade I guess)


No particular reason. Though me knowing this passage is a good example of how the internet influences culture today. The first time I read it was.... in the comment section of a news article. In a way that's sad - in another day, someone of my cultural background and education would have probably known it from learning about it at school, or from personal interest. In another way though, I feel that it shows what the internet can be at its best: an endless source for discovery and learning. Just because I wasted time reading pointless comments, I stumbled across this passage that I liked, which lead me to look up the whole thing and learn about its author. I can think of quite a few other similar examples that happened to me.

Of course the ideal scenario would be if I took it all the way, and decided to actually buy the book and read the whole thing. Currently I am not planning on taking it that far, for various reasons, but I keep it in the back of my head and hopefully someday in the future I'll remember and actually go through with it. My girlfriend is pretty good about this, she can download all the classics and a lot of poetry from her library on her Kindle for free. This way she has already read a ton of great literature without having paid a dime. I don't have a Kindle and much prefer buying actual books, especially when it comes to classics or poetry. I guess it has a lot to do with being able to put them in your bookshelf afterwards like trophies and impress your friends when they come over. But still - what else are people gonna put in their bookshelves?

A few days ago I thought of this stanza by Heine during a conversation with my dad (I forgot about which precise topic), but couldn't quite remember it - so I went and looked it up again, and decided to post it here!
piccoli equivoci senza importanza.

Visit my blog on spanish history: http://www.histoires-espagnoles.blogspot.fr
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30 Oct 2014 16:13

Here are two beauiful renditions by Monique Morelli of poems from Louis Aragon:

L'Affiche Rouge

L'Affiche Rouge is the story of a group of underground résistance fighters in WWII, who were caught by the nazis and executed. The group was mainly composed of foreigners, of which most were Armenians. The Nazis seized the opportunity and put up a red poster ("affiche rouge") in French cities, where they presented the photos of the men and asked: "Are these the liberators?"

More information here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Affiche_Rouge
Image

Il m'arrive parfois d'Espagne

A beautiful poem about Spain, which Aragon visited once in 1925, then during the Civil War in 1936. This poem was composed in 1954, when Aragon spent time close to the Spanish border and contemplated the country that lay just across the Pyrenees "behind bars". Aragon returns to Spain one last time in 1980, two years before his death.
piccoli equivoci senza importanza.

Visit my blog on spanish history: http://www.histoires-espagnoles.blogspot.fr
User avatar Christian
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23 Nov 2014 07:20

The friends that have it I do wrong
Whenever I remake a song,
Should know what issue is at stake:
It is myself that I remake.

W.B. Yeats
7-11 becomes a convenience store...and the ancient Egyptians wept.
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Re: Poems and Poets

28 Oct 2016 04:19

Los que ampliaron el Canal de Panamá
(y fueron clasificados como “silver roll” y no como “golden roll”),

los que repararon la flota del Pacífico en las bases de California,

los que se pudrieron en las cárceles de Guatemala, México, Honduras, Nicaragua por ladrones, por contrabandistas, por estafadores, por hambrientos

los siempre sospechosos de todo (“me permito remitirle al interfecto por esquinero sospechoso y con el agravante de ser salvadoreño”),

las que llenaron los bares y los burdeles de todos los puertos y las capitales de la zona (“La gruta azul”, “El Calzoncito”, “Happyland”),

los sembradores de maíz en plena selva extranjera,

los reyes de la página roja,

los que nunca sabe nadie de dónde son,

los mejores artesanos del mundo,

los que fueron cosidos a balazos al cruzar la frontera,

los que murieron de paludismo de las picadas del escorpión o la barba amarilla en el infierno de las bananeras,

los que lloraron borrachos por el himno nacional bajo el ciclón del Pacífico o la nieve del norte,

los arrimados, los mendigos, los marihuaneros,

los guanacos hijos de la gran puta,

los que apenitas pudieron regresar,

los que tuvieron un poco más de suerte,

los eternos indocumentados,

los hacelotodo, los vendelotodo, los comelotodo,

los primeros en sacar el cuchillo,

los tristes más tristes del mundo,

mis compatriotas,

mis hermanos.

Roque Dalton - Poema de amor
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Re: Poems and Poets

29 Oct 2016 10:30

Best poem ever written in my opinion:

The Hollow Men - T.S. Eliot

Marlon Brando recited an excerpt of it in Apocalypse Now but on the bonus DVD of the Apocalypse Now Redux version, you have the whole thing as recited by Marlon Brando.

Eliot is reflecting about the cause to WWI, about the lack of morality ("hollow") and the rise in technology and intellectual knowledge ("stuffed"). Of course it could very well fit with the Vietnam War as suggested by Coppola.

Great lecture about the Hollow Men here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFKOnHfR0jw

Mistah Kurtz-he dead
A penny for the Old Guy


I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken GLASS
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.


II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer-

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom


III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.


IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.


V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

1. Mistah Kurtz: a character in Joseph Conrad's "Heart of Darkness."
2. A...Old Guy: a cry of English children on the streets on Guy Fawkes Day, November 5, when they carry straw effigies of Guy Fawkes and beg for MONEY for fireworks to celebrate the day. Fawkes was a traitor who attempted with conspirators to blow up both houses of Parliament in 1605; the "gunpowder plot" failed.
3. Those...Kingdom: Those who have represented something positive and direct are blessed in Paradise. The reference is to Dante's "Paradiso".
4. Eyes: eyes of those in eternity who had faith and confidence and were a force that acted and were not paralyzed.
5. crossed stave: refers to scarecrows
6. tumid river: swollen river. The River Acheron in Hell in Dante's "Inferno". The damned must cross this river to get to the land of the dead.
7. Multifoliate rose: in dante's "Divine Comedy" paradise is described as a rose of many leaves.
8. prickly pear: cactus
9. Between...act: a reference to "Julius Caesar" "Between the acting of a dreadful thing/And the first motion, all the interim is/Like a phantasma or a hideous dream."
10. For...Kingdom: the beginning of the closing words of the Lord's Prayer. © by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
https://allpoetry.com/The-Hollow-Men
Echoes
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29 Oct 2016 19:17

One of my favourite poems

Grodek - Georg Trakl

Am Abend tönen die herbstlichen Wälder
Von tödlichen Waffen, die goldnen Ebenen
Und blauen Seen, darüber die Sonne
Düstrer hinrollt; umfängt die Nacht
Sterbende Krieger, die wilde Klage
Ihrer zerbrochenen Münder.
Doch stille sammelt im Weidengrund
Rotes Gewölk, darin ein zürnender Gott wohnt
Das vergossne Blut sich, mondne Kühle;
Alle Straßen münden in schwarze Verwesung.
Unter goldnem Gezweig der Nacht und Sternen
Es schwankt der Schwester Schatten durch den schweigenden Hain,
Zu grüßen die Geister der Helden, die blutenden Häupter;
Und leise tönen im Rohr die dunkeln Flöten des Herbstes.
O stolzere Trauer! ihr ehernen Altäre
Die heiße Flamme des Geistes nährt heute ein gewaltiger Schmerz,
Die ungebornen Enkel.
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30 Oct 2016 04:18

Robert Burns, 'A Man's a Man for a' That'. You may struggle with some of the lowland Scots words but the message is men (women) are the same all over. Followed by a wee link to Paolo Nutini singing it with passion:

A Man's a Man for a' That, a poem by Robert Burns:

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an' a' that;
The coward slave - we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a' that!
For a' that, an' a' that.
Our toils obscure an' a' that,
The rank is but the guinea's stamp,
The Man's the gowd for a' that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an' a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man's a Man for a' that:
For a' that, and a' that,
Their tinsel show, an' a' that;
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie ca'd a lord,
Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that,
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
His ribband, star, an' a' that,
The man o' independent mind,
He looks an' laughs at a' that.

A Prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an' a' that!
But an honest man's aboon his might –
Guid faith, he mauna fa' that!
For a' that, an' a' that,
Their dignities, an' a' that,
The pith o' Sense an' pride o' Worth
Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a' that,
That Sense and Worth, o'er a' the earth
Shall bear the gree an' a' that.
For a' that, an' a' that,
It's comin yet for a' that,
That Man to Man the warld o'er
Shall brithers be for a' that.

Robert Burns

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0WHIfSjQaUA
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30 Oct 2016 04:48

I'll give you a link first this time to the talented Rachel Sermanni from Carrbridge singing probably one of Burns's greatest love songs. The great thing about Burns is that so much of his poetry is matched to music (Auld Lang Syne probably being the most universally known and sung). Anyway, this is a great love song for a woman he is about to lose and never see again. Hope you enjoy:)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BA_d6kqJDuc

Ae Fond Kiss Related Poem Content Details
BY ROBERT BURNS
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, and then forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy;
But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love forever.
Had we never lov'd sae kindly,
Had we never lov'd sae blindly,
Never met—or never parted—
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace. enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae fareweel, alas, forever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee!
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09 Nov 2016 17:09

One of my favourites at this time of the year, turn down the central heating while you read this one.

The Garden of Proserpine
BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE

Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.

I am tired of tears and laughter,
And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
And everything but sleep.

Here life has death for neighbour,
And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labour,
Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
And no such things grow here.

No growth of moor or coppice,
No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
For dead men deadly wine.

Pale, without name or number,
In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
Comes out of darkness morn.

Though one were strong as seven,
He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
In the end it is not well.

Pale, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves, she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her
To men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.

She waits for each and other,
She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
And flowers are put to scorn.

There go the loves that wither,
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
Red strays of ruined springs.

We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.

From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.

Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.
TheTibetanHat
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Re:

10 Nov 2016 01:34

Christian wrote:Ich kenne die Weise, ich kenne den Text,
Ich kenn auch die Herren Verfasser;
Ich weiß, sie tranken heimlich Wein
Und predigten öffentlich Wasser.

Heinrich Heine - Deutschland. Ein Wintermärchen

I know the tune, I know the words,
I also know every author;
I know they secretly drank wine,
While publicly preaching water.

Heinrich Heine - Germany. A winter's tale

http://www.heinrich-heine.net/winter/wintereng1.htm


Thank you! It's pretty simple. I probably try to learn it by heart.
JaraM
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Re: Poems and Poets

11 Nov 2016 14:45

ah, you loved me as a loser
but now you're afraid that I just might win
you know the way to stop me
but you don't have the discipline

Leonard Norman Cohen, CC (21Sept1934-7Nov2016)
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12 Nov 2016 23:46

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

-William Blake-
JaraM
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