Blissful

Post Your Favourite Poems

182 posts in this topic

@ Servidor, this poem is for you, dedicated to the unrequited love :no:

 

 

Unforeseen Events by Karl Krolow

 

Always something unexpected happens.

He who takes off one shirt

Has to take off three more

And a walk between two elms

Ends in the jungle.

He who looks at a woman

Is lost

For the moment comes

When she calls his glances

To account.

Even metaphysics

Begins by inconspicuously

Exciting hearts.

 

Astonishment paves the way

For the incomprehensible.

Unforeseen events

Redeem the minutes

Before death.

Even a hempen rope

Permits various decisions.

Edited by Marbles
Gotham, Servidor and StarryNight like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Thank you for the poem Marbles.

 

"Even a hempen rope

Permits various decisions."

 

You know I thought about it? I was on a bus. But then I thought, it would be hard. First where would you get a rope strong enough and long enough? I don't know anything about ropes. Are they expensive? Probably. Then where would you find a roof able to hold your whole weight suspended? And high enough to keep you off the ground? I would decide to do it and fail and get so frustrated that I give up. And so here we are.

Marbles likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Thank you for the poem Marbles.

 

"Even a hempen rope

Permits various decisions."

 

You know I thought about it? I was on a bus. But then I thought, it would be hard. First where would you get a rope strong enough and long enough? I don't know anything about ropes. Are they expensive? Probably. Then where would you find a roof able to hold your whole weight suspended? And high enough to keep you off the ground? I would decide to do it and fail and get so frustrated that I give up. And so here we are.

 

A hempen rope 'permits various decisions'. You know, you could use that to hang someone else too :D

 

In any case I'm glad the hempen rope are expensive and the roofs weak!

Servidor likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Марина Цветаева  Вёрсты № 2 Marina Tsvetaeva Milestones  2

 

I planted an apple tree:

For the youngto play happily,

For the old man'slost boyhood,

For the gardener'senjoyment.

 

To my parlor I furtively

Lured a white turtledove:

To the robber'svexation,

To the housewife'selation.

 

I gave birth to a daughter

Eyes blue as the waters,

A voice that isdovelike,

And hair-like the sunlight.

For the woe of young girls,

For the woe of young boys.

Marbles likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

There is no one who can marry nature's telluric metaphor with longing, praise, personal transformation, and the adoration of the beloved with a twinge of melancholic sensuality in such a way as the maestro does. Here's one of the most admired love poems of Pablo Nerdua. The unwavering, unrelenting, and eternal beauty of the italics [emphasis mine]

 

Every Day You Play

 

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

 

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

 

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

 

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

 

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

 

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

 

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

 

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

 

 

 

 

Blissful likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Пушкин — Признание Puskin Confession

 

I love you, though I rage at it,

Though it is shame and toil misguided,
And to my stupidity self-derided
Here at your feet I will admit!
It doesn't suit my years, my station,
Good sense has long been overdue!
And yet, by every indication
Love's plague has stricken me anew:
You're out of sight - I'm bored, I'm yawning;
You're here - I suffer and feel blue,
And barely keep myself from owning,
My angel, how much I care for you!
Why, when your girlish chatter
Drifts from next door your light tread,
Your rustling dress, my senses scatter
And I completely lose my head.
You smile - I flush with exultation;
You turn away - I'm plunged in gloom,
Your pale hand is compensation
For a whole day of imagined doom.
When to the frame with artless motion
You bend to cross-stitch, all devotion,
Your eyes and curls down-beguiled,
My heart goes out in mute emotion,
Rejoicing in you like a child!
Dare I confess to you my sighing,
How jealously I chafe and balk
When you set forth, defying
Bad weather, on a lengthy walk?
And then your solitary crying,
Those two whispers out of sight,
Your carriage to Opochka plying,
And the piano late at night...
Aline! I ask but to be pitied,
I do not dare to plead for love;
Love, for the sins I have committed,
I am perhaps unworthy of.
But make believe! Your gaze, my angel,
Is fit to conjure with, believe me!
Ah, it is easy to deceive me!...
I want to be deceived myself!

 

1828

Edited by Servidor
Marbles likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Пушкин — Признание Puskin Confession

 

I love you, though I rage at it,

Though it is shame and toil misguided,

And to my stupidity self-derided

Here at your feet I will admit!

It doesn't suit my years, my station,

Good sense has long been overdue!

And yet, by every indication

Love's plague has stricken me anew:

You're out of sight - I'm bored, I'm yawning;

You're here - I suffer and feel blue,

And barely keep myself from owning,

My angel, how much I care for you!

Why, when your girlish chatter

Drifts from next door your light tread,

Your rustling dress, my senses scatter

And I completely lose my head.

You smile - I flush with exultation;

You turn away - I'm plunged in gloom,

Your pale hand is compensation

For a whole day of imagined doom.

When to the frame with artless motion

You bend to cross-stitch, all devotion,

Your eyes and curls down-beguiled,

My heart goes out in mute emotion,

Rejoicing in you like a child!

Dare I confess to you my sighing,

How jealously I chafe and balk

When you set forth, defying

Bad weather, on a lengthy walk?

And then your solitary crying,

Those two whispers out of sight,

Your carriage to Opochka plying,

And the piano late at night...

Aline! I ask but to be pitied,

I do not dare to plead for love;

Love, for the sins I have committed,

I am perhaps unworthy of.

But make believe! Your gaze, my angel,

Is fit to conjure with, believe me!

Ah, it is easy to deceive me!...

I want to be deceived myself!

 

1828

 

Wah wah. Mukarrar!

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

It's spoken word poetry, several syllable rhymes:

 

Well this newcomer's known, to move with the seasons
Couple winter lodges, few summer homes
I'm there for every "ooh", "um", and moan
And make sure when the new Hummer roams, the shoes come in chrome
I ain't new at buying white, yellow, and cucumber stones
That send chills through a woman bones, but life gets gruesome alone
Even though I got the kinda bread that won't matter if a few crumbs are blown

Flights, I done flew some alone
Now I wanna wake up everyday with you in a new number zone

Mama mia, it's you I'mma phone
Just to erase all the negative views from your dome

And I promise this fellas G, it's so gangsta it'll calm all that jealousy
And drama you tellin me, so mama come yell at me
So I can put the top down, and we can cruise like Tom and Penelope

My charm is a felony

-John David Jackson

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

René-François Sully-Prudhomme Les Berceaux (The Cradles)

 

Le long du Quai, les grands vaisseaux,
Que la houle incline en silence,
Ne prennent pas garde aux berceaux,
Que la main des femmes balance.

 

Along the quay, the grand ships,

which the waves tilt silently,

take no notice of the cradles,

which the hands of women rock.

Mais viendra le jour des adieux,
Car il faut que les femmes pleurent,
Et que les hommes curieux
Tentent les horizons qui leurrent!

 

But there will come the day of goodbyes,

because women must weep,

and the men who are curious 

attempt the horizons that lure them!

Et ce jour-là les grands vaisseaux,
Fuyant le port qui diminue,
Sentent leur masse retenue
Par l'âme des lointains berceaux.

 

And on that day the grand ships,

leaving the port that fades away,

feel their hulls held back

by the soul of the distant cradles.

Gotham and Marbles like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
W. B. Yeats1865 - 1939
The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
Had hid away earth’s old and weary cry.

And then you came with those red mournful lips,
And with you came the whole of the world’s tears,
And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden of her myriad years.

And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves
Are shaken with earth’s old and weary cry.
Marbles and Servidor like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

There Was Earth - Paul Celan

 

There was earth inside them, and
they dug.

 

They dug and they dug, so their day
went by for them, their night. And they did not praise
God

 

who, so they heard, wanted all this,
who, so they heard, knew all this.

 

They dug and heard nothing more;
they did not grow wise, invented no song,
thought up for themselves no language,
They dug.

 

There came a stillness, and there came a storm,
and all the oceans came.
I dig, you dig, and the worm digs too,
and that singing out there says: They dig.

 

O one, o none, o no one, o you:
Where did the way lead when it led nowhere?
O you dig and I dig, and I dig towards you,
and on our finger the ring awakes.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

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 dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand’rest 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.

- William Shakespeare

LeftCoastMom, Pinata and Blissful like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The intellectual is always showing off,

the lover is always getting lost.

The intellectual runs away.

afraid of drowning;

the whole business of love

is to drown in the sea.

Intellectuals plan their repose;

lovers are ashamed to rest.

The lover is always alone.

even surrounded by people;

like water and oil, he remains apart.

The man who goes to the trouble

of giving advice to a lover

get nothing. He's mocked by passion.

Love is like musk. It attracts attention.

Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade.

- Rumi

Marbles, Pinata and LeftCoastMom like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

(salam)

My dreams are of a field afar

My dreams are of a field afar
And blood and smoke and shot.
There in their graves my comrades are,
In my grave I am not.

I too was taught the trade of man
And spelt the lesson plain;
But they, when I forgot and ran,
Remembered and remain.

 

 Not my favourite but something I can connect with, what with all that's happening in Karachi

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

فـلـيـتـك تـحلو والحياةُ مريرةٌ *** ولـيـتـك تـرضى والأنامُ غِضابُ
But I hope to find sweetness in You when life becomes bitter
And I hope to find You pleased when the people become angry

ولـيـتَ الـذي بـيني وبينك عَامرٌ *** وبـيـنـي وبـيـن العالمين خَرابُ
Let the connection between You and I, be fully built up
Even if it means ruin for my connection with the people

إذا صـحَّ مِـنـكَ الوِدُّ فالكُلُّ هَيّنٌ *** وكُـلُّ الـذي فـوقَ التُّرابِ تُرابُ
If Your love for me is true, then all shall be easy
Because all that lies above the dust is really only dust.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Pablo Neruda in The Captain's Verses.

 

Poverty

 

Ah you don't want to,

you're scared

of poverty,

you don't want

to go to the market with worn-out shoes

and come back with the same old dress.

 

My love, we are not fond,

as the rich would like us to be,

of misery.

We shall extract it like an evil tooth

that up to now has bitten the heart of man.

 

But I don't want

you to fear it.

If through my fault it comes to your

dwelling,

if poverty drives away

your golden shoes,

let it not drive away your laughter which is

my life's bread.

If you can't pay the rent

go off to work with a proud step,

and remember, my love, that I am

watching you

and together we are the greatest wealth

that was ever gathered upon the earth.

Gotham, LeftCoastMom and reisiger like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

"The Prey" by Adil Abdullah, translated by Soheil Najm

Like a flock of eagles on their wounded prey

The furies have descended on Iraq

In spite of all their hatred for each other.

Each night they return to their lairs

Under the wing of darkness,

Oblivious to the blood

That smears their mouths.

But shame will seize their souls

When they discover, in the morning light

The prey they feasted on last night

Was the flesh of their own children.

Marbles, reisiger and LeftCoastMom like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The Right Kind of People
by Edwin Markham (1852-1940)

Gone is the city, gone the day,
Yet still the story and the meaning stay:
Once where a prophet in the palm shade basked
A traveler chanced at noon to rest his miles.
“What sort of people may they be,” he asked,
“In this proud city on the plains o’erspread?”
“Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?”
“What sort?” the packman scowled;
“Why, knaves and fools.”
“You’ll find the people here the same,” the wise man said.

Another stranger in the dusk drew near,
And pausing, cried, “What sort of people here
In your bright city where yon towers arise?”
“Well, friend, what sort of people whence you came?”
“What sort?” The pilgrim smiled,
“Good, true, and wise.”
“You’ll find the people here the same,” the wise man said.

 

Marbles likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Ah, this was a good thread. I want to revive it. Are there any SCers left who'd join me in the name poetry?

 

From a short poem of C.P. Cavafy, dedicated to this thread and ShiaChat.

 

 

Candles

 

The days of the future stand between us

like a line of burning candles-

golden candles, warm with life.

 

Behind them stand the days of our past,

a pitiful row of candles extinguished,

the nearest still sending up their smoke:

cold and melted, withered sticks.

 

I don't want to look; their image makes me sad,

it saddens me to recall their kindling.

I look ahead at the ones still burning.

 

I don't want to turn and see, with horror,

how quickly the line of shadow lengthens,

how quickly the number of snuffed candles grows.

 

 

Translated from the Greek by Avi Sharon.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Warning - This poem is somewhat mature themed!

The whole poem, the person he talks to is actually himself, the author, Jaime Gil de Biedma; this explains the title :P. The topic is self love, regardless of our flaws.

By far my most beloved poem, by a beloved artist. So much it says, and yet so true it is. The author talks about his flaws and vices, he despises what he sees in himself, but after all, he doesn't end up negating self love.

Against Jaime Gil de Biedma

What good is it, I wonder, to move up floors,
To leave behind the basement, darker than
My reputation – which says it all –
To hang white lace curtains

And to take on a maid,
To renounce my bohemian ways,
If you’re to come then, you, bore,
You, embarrassing guest, a fool dressed in my garb,
A useless drone, a disgrace,

With your clean washed hands,
To gobble up from my plate and leave a mess?
Barging in with bar drunks in tow,
A bunch of rentboys and flower girls,
The dead streets at dawn,

And yellow-lit elevators,
As you arrive, all boozed up,
And pause to confront yourself in the mirror,
The ravaged face,
The eyes, still ablaze with violence,

That you wish not shut. And dare I tell you off,
You’ll laugh me off, remind me of the past
And tell me I’ve grown older.
I could remind you that you’re no longer funny,
And that your carefree, nonchalant ease

Is actually sickening
In a thirty-something,
And that your charming,
Drowsy, boyish smile –
A winning smile at that – is but a sorry wreck,

Such a pathetic try.
When all the while you probe me with your
Waifish eyes, and cry,
And promise you will not.
If only you weren’t such a [edited: "night worker"]!

And had I only known, time back,
That you are strong when I am weak,
And you are weak when I am boiling mad…
Of your comebacks, I have a blurry feeling
Of panic, pity and regret,

And the utter despondence,
Impatience and resentment
Of suffering again, and yet again,
The unforgivable humiliation
Of too much intimacy.

At pains, I will take to your bed,
As though descending to hell,
To then drift off and fall asleep by your side.
Dying of helplessness at every step,
Stumbling on furniture,

We will find our way through my place,
Locked in an awkward embrace, wobbly
With liquor and muffled sobs.
Oh, ignoble servitude of loving human beings,
And the most ignoble of all –
To love oneself!

 

LeftCoastMom, Blissful and Marbles like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The movie based on Gibran's poetry is coming out soon.

 

Oh cool. That'd be something to look out for. Any more details about that?

Gaius I. Caesar likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Oh cool. That'd be something to look out for. Any more details about that?

http://blogoftheboss.com/kahlil-gibrans-the-prophet-premiere-in-beirut-if-gibran-was-on-the-red-carpet/#.VesiSBjLyqk.mailto

This is just the first blog about it that popped up on my search so I hope it's okay. You can actually find short trailers of the animation online. Looks beautiful. Salma Hayek is one of the voices.

Edited by LeftCoastMom

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

http://blogoftheboss.com/kahlil-gibrans-the-prophet-premiere-in-beirut-if-gibran-was-on-the-red-carpet/#.VesiSBjLyqk.mailto

This is just the first blog about it that popped up on my search so I hope it's okay. You can actually find short trailers of the animation online. Looks beautiful. Salma Hayek is one of the voices.

 

Thank you so much. I should have run a google search myself. How lazy I am!

 

So they are dramatizing The Prophet. I thought it was a film on his life and work. I'd have loved that more. I like Gibran's novellas and prose-poems better than his most famous book.

LeftCoastMom likes this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

My favorite poem right now is Dam Hama Dam Ali Ali by Rumi.

 

Sung most beautifully by no other than the maestro Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I love it too.

 

I think there's some ambiguity with respect to its actual author. Some credit it to Rumi's master, Shams-e-Tabrez.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wings
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with fearful trill
of the things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill 
for the caged bird
sings of freedom

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom. 

 
                ---Maya Angelou

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

^ A fine poem, apomo. I like its symbolic power and captivating imagery. Gotta read more of Maya Angelou.

 

and floats downstream
till the current ends

and dips his wings

in the orange sun rays

and dares to claim the sky.

 

A fantastic image merging the reflection off the stream with the rays in the sky.

apofomysback and reisiger like this

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!


Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.


Sign In Now

  • Recently Browsing   0 members

    No registered users viewing this page.