A few poems I like

Orhan Veli & Nazım Hikmet poems

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A few poems I like

#1  Postby aliihsanasl » Nov 02, 2010 9:35 pm

Orhan Veli

THE PARADE OF LOVE


The first one was that slender, reedy girl,
I think now she's the wife of a merchant.
I wonder how fat she's grown.
But still I'd like to see her very much.
It isn't easy, first love.

........................... goes up
......................... we stood in the street
......................... even though
........... our names were written side by side on the walls
........................... in the fire.

The third was Miss Munevver, she was older than me,
As I wrote and wrote and tossed letters into her garden
She was in stitches reading them.
Remembering those letters,
I feel ashamed, as though it were today.

The fourth was wild.
She used to tell me dirty stories.
One day she undressed in front of me.
Years have passed, I still can't forget it.
So many times it entered my dreams.

Let's skip the fifth and come to the sixth.
Her name was Nurunnisa.
Oh, my beauty,
Oh, my brunette,
Oh, my lovely, my lovely
Nurunnisa!

The seventh was Aliye, a society woman,
But I couldn't appreciate her very much;
Like all society women
Everything depended on earrings and fur coats.

The eighth was more or less the same shit;
Look for honor in somebody else's wife,
But if asked of you to throw a tantrum,
Lies, fits;
Lying was second nature to her.

The name of the ninth was Ayten.
She was a belly dancer in a bar;
While working she was the slave of any man
But after work
She slept with whom she pleased.

The tenth grew smart
And left me.
She wasn't wrong either;
Making love is the business of the rich or the idle
Or the jobless;

If two hearts get together
The world is beautiful, it's true,
But two naked bodies
Belong in a bathtub.

The eleventh was a serious worker.
What else could she do?
She was a maid for a sadist;
Her name was Luxandra;
At night she would come to my room
And stay till morning.
She drank cognac, got drunk.
And before dawn, she went back to work.

Let's come to the last one.
I got attached to her
The way I loved no one else.
She wasn't only a woman, but a person.
Not foolishly after fancy manners,
Or greedy for goods and jewelry.
``If we are free'' she said;
``If we are equal'' she said.
She also knew how to love people
The way she loved living.


This poem, which was found wrapped around his toothbrush after
his death, is unfinished.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I AM LISTENING TO ISTANBUL


I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
First a breeze is blowing
And leaves swaying
Slowly on the trees;
Far, far away the bells of the
Water carriers ringing,
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is passing by,
Birds are passing by, screaming, screaming,
Fish nets being withdrawn in fishing weirs,
A woman's toe dabbling in water,
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening,
The cool Grand Bazaar,
Mahmutpasha twittering
Full of pigeons,
Its wast courtyard,
Sounds of hammering from the docks,
In the summer breeze far, far away the odor of sweat,
I am listening.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
The drunkenness of old times
In the wooden seaside villa with its deserted boat house
The roaring southwestern wind is trapped,
My thoughts are trapped
Listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A coquette is passing by on the sidewalk,
Curses, sings, sings, passes;
Something is falling from your hand
To the ground,
It must be a rose.
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed
A bird is flying round your skirt;
I know if your forehead is hot or cold
Or your lips are wet and dry;
Or if a white moon is rising above the pistachio tree
My heart's fluttering tells me...
I am listening to Istanbul with my eyes closed.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Nazım Hikmet

The Walnut Tree

my head foaming clouds, sea inside me and out
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
an old walnut, knot by knot, shred by shred
Neither you are aware of this, nor the police

I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
My leaves are nimble, nimble like fish in water
My leaves are sheer, sheer like a silk handkerchief
pick, wipe, my rose, the tear from your eyes
My leaves are my hands, I have one hundred thousand
I touch you with one hundred thousand hands, I touch Istanbul
My leaves are my eyes, I look in amazement
I watch you with one hundred thousand eyes, I watch Istanbul
Like one hundred thousand hearts, beat, beat my leaves

I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
neither you are aware of this, nor the police

------------------------------------------------------------------

ON LIVING

I

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people-
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees-
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.


II

Let's say you're seriously ill, need surgery -
which is to say we might not get
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad
about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see it's raining,
or still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast ...
Let's say we're at the front-
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face, dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which could last years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say,
before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind-
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if we will never die.


III

This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet-
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space ...
You must grieve for this right now
-you have to feel this sorrow now-
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say ``I lived'' ...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

Comrades, if I don't live to see the day
- I mean,if I die before freedom comes -
take me away
and bury me in a village cemetery in Anatolia.

The worker Osman whom Hassan Bey ordered shot
can lie on one side of me, and on the other side
the martyr Aysha, who gave birth in the rye
and died inside of forty days.

Tractors and songs can pass below the cemetery -
in the dawn light, new people, the smell of burnt gasoline,
fields held in common, water in canals,
no drought or fear of the police.

Of course, we won't hear those songs:
the dead lie stretched out underground
and rot like black branches,
deaf, dumb, and blind under the earth.

But, I sang those songs
before they were written,
I smelled the burnt gasoline
before the blueprints for the tractors were drawn.

As for my neighbors,
the worker Osman and the martyr Aysha,
they felt the great longing while alive,
maybe without even knowing it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------
"If someday my teachings conflict with science, choose science"

Mustafa Kemal ATATÜRK
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Re: A few poems I like

#2  Postby Ironclad » Nov 02, 2010 9:40 pm

Cool.

My favourite is by Spike Milligan

There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in
But they are ever so small
That's why rain is thin
For Van Youngman - see you amongst the stardust, old buddy

"If there was no such thing as science, you'd be right " - Sean Lock

"God ....an inventive destroyer" - Broks
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Re: A few poems I like

#3  Postby Aca » Nov 02, 2010 9:49 pm

my favourite

The Albatross by Charles Baudelaire

Often, to amuse themselves, the crew of the ship
Would fell an albatross, the largest of sea birds,
Indolent companions of their trip
As they slide across the deep sea's bitters.

Scarcely had they dropped to the plank
Than these blue kings, maladroit and ashamed
Let their great white wings sink
Like an oar dragging under the water's plane.

The winged visitor, so awkward and weak!
So recently beautiful, now comic and ugly!
One sailor grinds a pipe into his beak,
Another, limping, mimics the infirm bird that once could fly.

The poet is like the prince of the clouds
Who haunts the storm and laughs at lightning.
He's exiled to the ground and its hooting crowds;
His giant wings prevent him from walking.
on an island marooned in the Middle Ages
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Re: A few poems I like

#4  Postby logical bob » Nov 03, 2010 12:57 am

^^ :thumbup:

The Sick Rose by William Blake

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,

Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy;
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.


On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer by John Keats

MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne:
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific—and all his men
Look'd at each other with a wild surmise—
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
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Re: A few poems I like

#5  Postby Wilde » Nov 07, 2010 5:03 pm

There are tons that I love, but this one popped into my mind first on reading the topic title.

Antarctica, Derek Mahon

‘I am just going outside and may be some time.’
The others nod, pretending not to know.
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.

He leaves them reading and begins to climb,
Goading his ghost into the howling snow;
He is just going outside and may be some time.

The tent recedes beneath its crust of rime
And frostbite is replaced by vertigo:
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.

Need we consider it some sort of crime,
This numb self-sacrifice of the weakest? No,
He is just going outside and may be some time .

In fact, for ever. Solitary enzyme,
Though the night yield no glimmer there will glow,
At the heart of the ridiculous, the sublime.
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Re: A few poems I like

#6  Postby kiore » Nov 07, 2010 6:33 pm

OK my contribution, a poem by the beat poet Richard Brautigan, has an interesting connection for me as it was my first and only public performance in Paris, I was a last minute stand in to read this as part of a performance on love poetry..
Note I read in my natural accent, and wasn't required to fake an American one. A very strange piece indeed and now well I think I really do like it. For A, this will always be ours as we read this together me in English you in French:

I Was Trying to Describe You to Someone

by Richard Brautigan

I was trying to describe you to someone a few days ago. You don't look like any girl I've ever seen before.

I couldn't say "Well she looks just like Jane Fonda, except that she's got red hair, and her mouth is different and of course, she's not a movie star..."

I couldn't say that because you dont look like Jane Fonda at all.

I finally ended up describing you as a movie I saw when I was a child in Tacoma Washington. I guess I saw it in 1941 or 42, somewhere in there. I think I was seven, or eight, or six.

It was a movie about rural electrification, a perfect 1930's New Deal morality kind of movie to show kids. The movie was about farmers living in the country without electricity. They had to use lanterns to see by at night, for sewing and reading, and they didn't have any appliances like toasters or washing machines, and they couldn't listen to the radio. They built a dam with big electric generators and they put poles across the countryside and strung wire over fields and pastures.

There was an incredible heroic dimension that came from the simple putting up of poles for the wires to travel along. They looked ancient and modern at the same time.

Then the movie showed electricity like a young Greek god, coming to the farmer to take away forever the dark ways of his life. Suddenly, religiously, with the throwing of a switch, the farmer had electric lights to see by when he milked his cows in the early black winter mornings. The farmer's family got to listen to the radio and have a toaster and lots of bright lights to sew dresses and read the newspaper by.

It was really a fantastic movie and excited me like listening to the Star Spangled Banner, or seeing photographs of President Roosevelt, or hearing him on the radio "... the President of the United States... "

I wanted electricity to go everywhere in the world. I wanted all the farmers in the world to be able to listen to President Roosevelt on the radio....

And that's how you look to me.
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Re: A few poems I like

#7  Postby cherries » Nov 07, 2010 7:00 pm

just some of her poems that i like.

We Alone

by Alice Walker

We alone can devalue gold
by not caring
if it falls or rises
in the marketplace.
Wherever there is gold
there is a chain, you know,
and if your chain
is gold
so much the worse
for you.

Feathers, shells
and sea-shaped stones
are all as rare.

This could be our revolution:
to love what is plentiful
as much as
what's scarce.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈





WHO ?
BY ALICE WALKER

Who has not been
invaded
by the Wasichu?

Not I, said the people.

Not I, said the trees.

Not I, said the waters.

Not I, said the rocks.

Not I, said the air.

Moon!

We hoped
you were safe.

"Most books on witchcraft will tell you that witches work naked.
This is because most books on witchcraft were written by men."
-Terry Pratchett / Neil Gaiman




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Re: A few poems I like

#8  Postby Amergin » Dec 02, 2010 4:49 am

Mud

Wide and slow, the Ganges flows,
from heaven to earth,
brown from the Himalayas’ melted snows
joining with summer rains
to deliver amrita to the ancient ghats.

River boats, poled by crews,
limbs gilded with sweat, carved by light,
ferry pilgrims to the cleansing pools.

Choose one man then!
That fifth, that rests for a moment? Him?
Or choose any other,
they are all moulded from the same glistening mud;
Shapes lost against the light,
identities blurred, burnt slender,
slender and black against the fusing flare of a setting sun.

See how he watches the sadhus bathe and pray,
wonders at their saffron robes and whitened faces
then bends to his task again.
Back and arms ache.
This is the reality he creates; the world he lives in;
this ache, this river, this pole
gripped and thrust into a river’s heart,
into clinging mud, that strews glittering drops,
bright beads upon the river’s skin
where drops and river become one again.

Golden light washes over the glowing ghats
golden waters lap the golden steps.

The sadhus seek release from the cycle;
from the ashes and the wisps of smoke
rising like copper wire into the evening sky;
from the swirl of white petals
along the eddies of the darkening river;
from the dust that spins and glides
across beams of last sunlight;
from the skitter of gnats
picking haloes from the river;
from the drift of stars;
from the dancers and the dance.


He smells the evening meal, dahl and rice,
hears the music thrill over the waters,
the sneeze of cymbals, the plaintive cry of sitar,
the patter of the tabla’s rhythms.
The breath turns,
a sadhu shifts his buttocks,
throws his prayers to the evening sky,
the tiller guides, the pole thrusts deep into the mud
and all is renewed to fail again.

Perfumes pervade
to spice a twilight melting into night.
A thousand candles,
buoyed on leaves of camphor,
float out like dreams,
carry prayers beyond the ghats,
where ripples move the flames
to touch and part, glow a while,
then fade and die beyond the bend.

He will sleep with the river licking
at the boards beside his head,
gently rocked;
sleep to wake
to last evening’s rice cold in the pot
and brush away the illusory torment
of the host of sudden flies.
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Re: A few poems I like

#9  Postby Berceuse » Dec 02, 2010 5:07 am

My hands-down favorite is "Snake" by D.H. Lawrence.

A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob-tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before
me.

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of
the stone trough
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
i o And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.

Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second comer, waiting.

He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.

And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him? Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him? Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.

And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid, But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.

He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste.
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.

And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the albatross
And I wished he would come back, my snake.

For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.

And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.
When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.
- Erasmus
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Re: A few poems I like

#10  Postby THWOTH » Jan 25, 2011 6:03 pm

Well, being as it's Burns Nyt t'nyt... :D

    Home
    Robert Burns, 1786


    O thou pale orb that silent shines
    While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
    Thou seest a wretch who inly pines.
    And wanders here to wail and weep!
    With woe I nightly vigils keep,
    Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam;
    And mourn, in lamentation deep,
    How life and love are all a dream!

    I joyless view thy rays adorn
    The faintly-marked, distant hill;
    I joyless view thy trembling horn,
    Reflected in the gurgling rill:
    My fondly-fluttering heart, be still!
    Thou busy pow'r, remembrance, cease!
    Ah! must the agonizing thrill
    For ever bar returning peace!

    No idly-feign'd, poetic pains,
    My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim:
    No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains;
    No fabled tortures, quaint and tame.
    The plighted faith, the mutual flame,
    The oft-attested pow'rs above,
    The promis'd father's tender name;
    These were the pledges of my love!

    Encircled in her clasping arms,
    How have the raptur'd moments flown!
    How have I wish'd for fortune's charms,
    For her dear sake, and her's alone!
    And, must I think it! is she gone,
    My secret heart's exulting boast?
    And does she heedless hear my groan?
    And is she ever, ever lost?

    Oh! can she bear so base a heart,
    So lost to honour, lost to truth,
    As from the fondest lover part,
    The plighted husband of her youth?
    Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!
    Her way may lie thro' rough distress!
    Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe
    Her sorrows share, and make them less?

    Ye winged hours that o'er us pass'd,
    Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd,
    Your dear remembrance in my breast
    My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd:
    That breast, how dreary now, and void,
    For her too scanty once of room!
    Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd,
    And not a wish to gild the gloom!

    The morn, that warns th' approaching day,
    Awakes me up to toil and woe;
    I see the hours in long array,
    That I must suffer, lingering, slow:
    Full many a pang, and many a throe,
    Keen recollection's direful train,
    Must wring my soul, were Phoebus, low,
    Shall kiss the distant western main.

    And when my nightly couch I try,
    Sore harass'd out with care and grief,
    My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,
    Keep watchings with the nightly thief:
    Or if I slumber, fancy, chief,
    Reigns, haggard-wild, in sore affright:
    Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief
    From such a horror-breathing night.

    O thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse
    Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway
    Oft has thy silent-marking glance
    Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray!
    The time, unheeded, sped away,
    While love's luxurious pulse beat high,
    Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,
    To mark the mutual-kindling eye.

    Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set!
    Scenes, never, never to return!
    Scenes, if in stupor I forget,
    Again I feel, again I burn!
    From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn,
    Life's weary vale I'll wander thro';
    And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn
    A faithless woman's broken vow!
"No-one is exempt from speaking nonsense – the only misfortune is to do it solemnly."
Michel de Montaigne, Essais, 1580
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Re: A few poems I like

#11  Postby Kazaman » Jan 25, 2011 6:22 pm

Nothing Gold can Stay

Robert Frost

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

Vers Libre

Lucy Maud Montgomery

I feel
Very much
Like taking
Its unholy perpetrators
By the hair
Of their heads
(If they havn't any hair)
And dragging them around
A few times,
And then cutting them
Into small, irregular pieces
And burying them
In the depths of the blue sea.
They are without form
And void,
Or at least
The stuff they produce
Is.
They are too lazy
To hunt up rhymes;
And that
Is all
That is the matter with them.

Sonnet XVIII

William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
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Re: A few poems I like

#12  Postby THWOTH » Oct 09, 2011 5:01 pm

.
    My Lost Youth
    Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

    Birds of Passage (1845)

    Often I think of the beautiful town
    ........That is seated by the sea;
    Often in thought go up and down
    The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
    ........And my youth comes back to me.
    ........And a verse of a Lapland song
    ........Is haunting my memory still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
    ........And catch, in sudden gleams,
    The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
    And islands that were the Hersperides
    ........Of all my boyish dreams.
    ........And the burden of that old song,
    ........It murmurs and whispers still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    I remember the black wharves and the slips,
    ........And the sea-tides tossing free;
    And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
    And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
    ........And the magic of the sea.
    ........And the voice of that wayward song
    ........Is singing and saying still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
    ........And the fort upon the hill;
    The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
    The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
    ........And the bugle wild and shrill.
    ........And the music of that old song
    ........Throbs in my memory still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    I remember the sea-fight far away,
    ........How it thundered o'er the tide!
    And the dead captains, as they lay
    In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay,
    ........Where they in battle died.
    ........And the sound of that mournful song
    ........Goes through me with a thrill:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    I can see the breezy dome of groves,
    ........The shadows of Deering's Woods;
    And the friendships old and the early loves
    Come back with a sabbath sound, as of doves
    ........In quiet neighborhoods.
    ........And the verse of that sweet old song,
    ........It flutters and murmurs still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
    ........Across the schoolboy's brain;
    The song and the silence in the heart,
    That in part are prophecies, and in part
    ........Are longings wild and vain.
    ........And the voice of that fitful song
    ........Sings on, and is never still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    There are things of which I may not speak;
    ........There are dreams that cannot die;
    There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
    And bring a pallor into the cheek,
    ........And a mist before the eye.
    ........And the words of that fatal song
    ........Come over me like a chill:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    Strange to me now are the forms I meet
    ........When I visit the dear old town;
    But the native air is pure and sweet,
    And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
    ........As they balance up and down,
    ........Are singing the beautiful song,
    ........Are sighing and whispering still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

    And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
    ........And with joy that is almost pain
    My heart goes back to wander there,
    And among the dreams of the days that were,
    ........I find my lost youth again.
    ........And the strange and beautiful song,
    ........The groves are repeating it still:
    ........"A boy's will is the wind's will,
    And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."



EveryPoet listing for Longfellow.
"No-one is exempt from speaking nonsense – the only misfortune is to do it solemnly."
Michel de Montaigne, Essais, 1580
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Re: A few poems I like

#13  Postby Aca » Oct 13, 2011 8:52 pm

his poem was eventualy taken by Goran Bregovic and turned into a rock song in 1980. I'll attempt to translate, so forgive the clumsiness of it all :shy:


Dusko Trifunovic - Pristao sam Bicu sve sta hoce

Pristao sam bicu sve sto hoce
Evo prodajem dusu vragu svome
I ostacu samo crna tacka
Poslije ove igre kad me slome
Kad me mirno slome
Pristao sam bicu sve sto hoce

Mislio sam da se zvijeri boje
Ove vatre koja trag mi prati
I to sam mislio
A sad nosim kako mi ga skroje
Po meni se nista nece zvati
Po meni se nista nece zvati

Zablude sam, evo, prestao da brojim
Nemam kome da se vratim kuci
Dokle pjevam dotle i postojim
Prijatelji bivsi, prijatelji buduci
Pamtite me po pjesmama mojim
Pamtite me po pjesmama mojim


Dusko Trifunovic - I gave in, I'll be everything they want me to be


I gave in, I'll be everything they want me to be
here, I'm selling my soul to that devil of theirs
I'll remain a black stain,
after this game, when they brake me,
when they brake me in peace,
I gave in, I'll be everything they want me to be

I thought that the beast will be scared
of the fire that follows my trail
thats what i thought
Now i wear what cut out for me
Nothing will be called by my name
Nothing will be called by my name

I lost count of my mistakes,
i have no home to come back to
I exist as long as i sing,
my ex friends, my future friends,
remember me for my songs,
remember me for my songs
on an island marooned in the Middle Ages
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Re: A few poems I like

#14  Postby aliihsanasl » Dec 28, 2011 9:38 pm

The Long Awaited

Neither a patient awaits the morning
Nor a grave do a newly dead
And the devil awaits a sin, either
As much as I wait for you

I don’t want you to come any more
I have found you in your absence
Your image shall fill my mind,
Your return doesn’t matter anymore.

Necip Fazıl Kısakürek

Translator: Selda Eryılmaz

To My Mother

Mother, you came into my dream
Let my pray be your quilt
Don’t feel cold in your grave

I can neither understand nor explain
The chaser is already after me
Life came to an end at last.

Necip Fazıl Kısakürek

Translator: Seher Borcekli
"If someday my teachings conflict with science, choose science"

Mustafa Kemal ATATÜRK
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Re: A few poems I like

#15  Postby NamelessFaceless » Dec 29, 2011 10:49 pm

I just memorized Invictus. Just for the hell of it.

Invictus - William Earnest Henley (1875)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
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Re: A few poems I like

#16  Postby THWOTH » Jan 14, 2012 2:41 am

From 'A Shropshire Lad' by A.E. Houseman...

    LXII

      ..."Terence, this is stupid stuff:
      You eat your victuals fast enough;
      There can't be much amiss, 'tis clear,
      To see the rate you drink your beer.
      But oh, good Lord, the verse you make,
      It gives a chap the belly-ache.
      The cow, the old cow, she is dead;
      It sleeps well, the horned head:
      We poor lads, 'tis our turn now
      To hear such tunes as killed the cow.
      Pretty friendship 'tis to rhyme
      Your friends to death before their time
      Moping melancholy mad:
      Come, pipe a tune to dance to, lad."

      ...Why, if 'tis dancing you would be,
      There's brisker pipes than poetry.
      Say, for what were hop-yards meant,
      Or why was Burton built on Trent?
      Oh many a peer of England brews
      Livelier liquor than the Muse,
      And malt does more than Milton can
      To justify God's ways to man.
      Ale, man, ale's the stuff to drink
      For fellows whom it hurts to think:
      Look into the pewter pot
      To see the world as the world's not.
      And faith, 'tis pleasant till 'tis past:
      The mischief is that 'twill not last.
      Oh I have been to Ludlow fair
      And left my necktie God knows where,
      And carried half way home, or near,
      Pints and quarts of Ludlow beer:
      Then the world seemed none so bad,
      And I myself a sterling lad;
      And down in lovely muck I've lain,
      Happy till I woke again.
      Then I saw the morning sky:
      Heigho, the tale was all a lie;
      The world, it was the old world yet,
      I was I, my things were wet,
      And nothing now remained to do
      But begin the game anew.

      ...Therefore, since the world has still
      Much good, but much less good than ill,
      And while the sun and moon endure
      Luck's a chance, but trouble's sure,
      I'd face it as a wise man would,
      And train for ill and not for good.
      'Tis true, the stuff I bring for sale
      Is not so brisk a brew as ale:
      Out of a stem that scored the hand
      I wrung it in a weary land.
      But take it: if the smack is sour
      The better for the embittered hour;
      It will do good to heart and head
      When your soul is in my soul's stead;
      And I will friend you, if I may,
      In the dark and cloudy day.

      ...There was a king reigned in the East:
      There, when kings will sit to feast,
      They get their fill before they think
      With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
      He gathered all that sprang to birth
      From the many-venomed earth;
      First a little, thence to more,
      He sampled all her killing store;
      And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
      Sate the king when healths went round.
      They put arsenic in his meat
      And stared aghast to watch him eat;
      They poured strychnine in his cup
      And shook to see him drink it up:
      They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
      Them it was their poison hurt.
      --I tell the tale that I heard told.
      Mithridates, he died old.


      -- 1896
      -- http://www.bigeye.com/housman.htm
"No-one is exempt from speaking nonsense – the only misfortune is to do it solemnly."
Michel de Montaigne, Essais, 1580
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Re: A few poems I like

#17  Postby happyhappa » Jan 26, 2012 12:44 am

These are beautiful! Talk about healing words!
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Re: A few poems I like

#18  Postby THWOTH » Nov 21, 2013 8:21 pm

I've created a version of Raymond Queneau's 1961 Oulipo composition, Cent mille milliards de poèmes (A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems),

In a similar fashion:

    A vast balloon

    Fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
    Crow was Crow without fail, but what is a hare?

    What is of advantage?
    Was this Crow's Theology?

    Such strong teeth
    Opening and opening

    The earth replies all night, like a deep drum
    For the one path of his flight is direct
    His brain shuttered and his eyes winced from it as from open flame

From: A Random Poem: after lines by Ted Hughes
"No-one is exempt from speaking nonsense – the only misfortune is to do it solemnly."
Michel de Montaigne, Essais, 1580
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Re: A few poems I like

#19  Postby orpheus » Nov 22, 2013 5:03 am

THWOTH wrote:I've created a version of Raymond Queneau's 1961 Oulipo composition, Cent mille milliards de poèmes (A Hundred Thousand Billion Poems),

In a similar fashion:

    A vast balloon

    Fly up, and revolve it all slowly -
    Crow was Crow without fail, but what is a hare?

    What is of advantage?
    Was this Crow's Theology?

    Such strong teeth
    Opening and opening

    The earth replies all night, like a deep drum
    For the one path of his flight is direct
    His brain shuttered and his eyes winced from it as from open flame

From: A Random Poem: after lines by Ted Hughes


A fellow OULIPO fan!! :cheers:
“A way a lone a last a loved a long the”

—James Joyce
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Re: A few poems I like

#20  Postby orpheus » Nov 22, 2013 5:12 am

what would I do without this world faceless incurious
where to be lasts but an instant where every instant
spills in the void the ignorance of having been
without this wave where in the end
body and shadow together are engulfed
what would I do without this silence where the murmurs die
the pantings the frenzies towards succour towards love
without this sky that soars above its ballast dust

what would I do what I did yesterday and the day before
peering out of my deadlight looking for another
wandering like me eddying far from all the living
in a convulsive space
among the voices voiceless
that throng my hiddenness

—Samuel Beckett
“A way a lone a last a loved a long the”

—James Joyce
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